Page 160 of Court of the Fae Princes

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I enter a chamber of crypts and restless dead, whose hollow eyes seem to be fixed on me. Dozens of dead guards line the wall like sentinels, an eerie army of death. Each looks frozen in time, their armor and weapons rusted and worn, but they stand ready for battle if it comes.

Then I see her, seated on a throne with roots curling behind her. Something about her is both strangely familiar and so alien that I almost wonder if she’s even a fae. Her hair is long and dark. Her gray gown clings to her like spiderwebs encasing her form, and she’s painfully thin. She’s beautiful, in an unsettling way.

As I draw closer, her power surges towards me, taking my breath away. And now I know it’s some of the power that I’ve been feeling. The power within her almost hums to the power within me. Like two wolves howling to one another, or two breezes mixing. Regardless, her power is overwhelming. I get the sense that she could end my life with just the flick of her wrist.

Yet, her expression is unexpected as her eyes fall on me. She’s studying me, eyes wide, taking me in like she’s been waiting for this moment, and it’s unsettling. Surely, she’s heard the rumors about me. She has to believe I’m some powerless creature with only a drop of power to my name, so why be fascinated by me?

Because I’m the soon-to-be queen of the four courts. That’s right. I have to be the queen of the four courts. I can’t forget. I can do this.

I stand up straighter and approach. “Keeper of Death,” I greet, but I don’t bow. A queen doesn’t bow.

“Queen of the Four Courts,” she responds, and there’s an edge of something in her voice, maybe respect.

“Where are they?” I say, and nothing more. She knows who I’m talking about.

She smiles. Fucking smiles. And it hits me. I hate her. I hate her with every ounce of my being for hurting my men. For being the reason for all of this.

She motions with her hands.

I hear a whisper of noise. The air in the room changes, growing even colder. So cold that I see my breath in front of my face. Then I hear the rattle of chains and the rattle of bones, both such recognizable sounds that it sends a shiver down my spine.

My resolve wavers when my eyes are drawn to my men as they’re hauled in and shoved to the ground where they’re bound. They have iron chains around their necks, wrists, and ankles, but, somehow, that’s not the worst part. All the injuries I saw in my dreams are there, and more.

I clench my fists. “Unchain them.”

A broader smile dances across her lips. “You’re bold.”

My chin rises. “I’m not someone you want to piss off.”

“Cassia.” My name is a rasp of pain from Prince Sulien’s lips, but all four of them are staring at me.

There’s no faith in their gazes. No hope in their eyes. Just desperation and fear. These are not the men I knew, and I’m going to make this woman feel every drop of pain she caused them, no matter how I have to do it.

“Trust me,” I tell them quietly. Even though they have no reason to.

The Keeper of Death sits on her throne with a look of amusement on her face as if to say the cute little human thinks she can come in and just save her four princes. I’m not that naive. She must think I was raised on fairy tales and fucking happily-ever-afters. She can’t know I was brought up in the trenches, but she’ll see soon enough.

“We need to talk,” I tell her as a calm settles over me.

A chilling smile curves the Keeper of Death’s pale lips. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this conversation.”

FOURTEEN

Cassia

A cold tension hangs in the air as I stand before the Keeper of Death. I don’t know if this is more fae riddle bullshit or her trying to get in my head, maybe both, but I’m not going to crack under her amused gaze. This might not be going the way I planned, but the stakes are too high to screw up.

My gaze shifts back to my poor men. Prince Forrest with his shoulders bent, wincing, as if even sitting still hurts. Prince Cobar, his curls filthy, streaks of blood and dirt leaving tracks across his face, his whole body trembling as if he might fall over at any point. Prince Zane with his intense pale eyes locked onto mine even while blood slides from an unseen wound on his arm. Something about the way he looks at me seems to be pleading for forgiveness. Prince Sulien, his shirt in shreds, gaping wounds covering nearly every inch of him, his gaze faraway, as if he’s having trouble even focusing on the here and now.

This bitch made a mistake messing with my men.

“What do you mean you’ve been waiting for us to speak for a long time?” I demand.

Her eyes light up, like she was waiting for that question. “I’ve been waiting nearly twenty-three years, to be exact.”

What the fuck? I snort. “You wanted to talk to me as a newborn? What for? To hear what sounds I make while I shit?”

To my surprise, she doesn’t flinch or even react to my crudeness. If anything, she seems excited by it. “You’re brave. I’m not surprised.”

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