Page 144 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

“Prince Nemeth?” The Fellian reaches out and shoves me the moment I get to my feet, nearly knocking me to the groundagain. What a bully. “He’s in the tower where he should be, doing his duty. Why do you care?”

I stare at him. Do I tell him that Nemeth left the tower? That I did, too? That I mated to Nemeth and I’m carrying his child? Something tells me he won’t believe me. “Why did you take me from my ship?”

“Did I say you could talk to me?” he snarls, reaching out and slapping me.

I’m so shocked that I put a hand to my cheek and stare at him. He’s treating me—a princess of Vestalin blood—like this? Then my anger kicks in. Because how dare he treat anyone like this? “Take me back to my ship. My mate is waiting for me there.”

“Your mate,” he sneers.

“Yes. MyFellianmate,” I emphasize, and decide to tell it all. I show him my hand, with its tattooed bite. “Prince Nemeth. That’s my mate.”

He blinks at me. Looks at my palm. Then he throws his head back and laughs. “You humans are coming up with more and more clever ways to get out of work. I’ve never met a lazier lot.”

“I’m not lying. Look at my hair. Look at my eyes. I’m a princess?—”

He grabs my face so hard I know I’m going to have bruises, his hand covering my mouth. I let out a muffled yelp, fear flooding through my veins. For the first time, I realize that I’m just as vulnerable as any human. There’s no Nemeth to protect me here. He might not even know that I’m missing.

“Humans don’t get to make demands of Fellians,” he sneers at me. “You lost the war. Humans say ‘yes master’ and ‘no master’ and do as they’re told.” He flings me away and I stagger backward, catching myself before I fall. He turns and glares at me. “Now…you tell me, female. Who’s your owner? Whose ship is that?”

“Yes, master,” I say sarcastically, wiping a line of blood off my cheek from where his claws have cut me. “No, master.”

His wings, tucked against his back, rattle in a way that I know means he’s angry. He strides forward and grabs me by the front of my dress. “You think you’re smart, human?”

“Yes, master,” I jibe. I’m no longer scared. Now I’m just pissed. “I’m a lot smarter than you, because you’re slapping around the pregnant mate of your prince.”

“You?” he sneers.

“Me.” I say it with such confidence that I think it rattles him.

He stares at me long and hard and then shakes his head. “Lies.” He grabs me by the shoulder. “You’re going in the dungeon until we figure out who your master is. He can whip you for your impudence. I’m tired of this shite.”

With that, he drags me down the hall as if I’m a piece of luggage.

I try to break free from his grip, but it’s like one of iron. I’m surprised he’s not flying, but I’m grateful, too. Walking to the dungeon—if that’s where we’re going—gives me the opportunity to have a good look around at this new, strange kingdom I find myself in.

Because Darkfell—if this is indeed Darkfell—is very, very strange.

Nemeth had told me that Darkfell was a sprawling city under the mountains, but I wasn’t able to visualize just what he meant. Now I can see it. The mountain itself is hollowed out, the “roof” of it so high in certain spots that it disappears into shadows. The rest of it is carved, and between the square houses that are stacked like blocks along cobbled paths, there are houses farther up, lining the high walls of the mountain itself. It’s like a hive , and everywhere I look are homes gleaming with the artificial lights at their doors. There are bright cloth awnings over what look like street booths, and as my captor drags me forward, wepass a fenced-off area that resembles rows and rows of Nemeth’s mushroom-farming board. It’s all neat and tidy and industrious.

What I don’t see are people.

There are a few, of course. There’s a Fellian in the mushroom garden who disappears into shadows the moment they see me being dragged down the street by my captor. I see a few men in uniform, dark-winged and hard-faced, watching as the male at my side hauls me along after him. But the streets feel strangely empty. I thought Darkfell would be crawling with people. With their limited space and so many houses, I thought I’d see nothing but people on top of people.

Instead, this place feels nearly as deserted as Lios. And as we head further into the city itself, the sprawl continues—streets forking into narrow alleyways, buildings clustered atop one another, even more of the nest-like homes high above—and yet many of the homes have no lights on at all. Some of the houses have a strange red symbol painted on the door, and whenever we see someone, they cover their mouth and move hastily past. The mountain seems to echo all around us. Surely a crowded mountain wouldn’t echo?

I turn to my Fellian captor. “Where is everyone?”

His expression grows ugly. He raises a fist to me and I flinch, throwing my hands up to protect myself. “You’ll shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you, female.”

I try to wriggle out of his grip again.“Prince Nemeth?—”

“—is in the tower,” the man says, his claws digging furrows into my skin. He’s almost bored, as if capturing humans is an everyday thing with him. As if it’s no big deal to see a human near Darkfell, whose border has been closed to us for hundreds of years.

“I’m his wife,” I try once more. “Prince Nemeth—he’s my husband. Can’t you cast a spell to see if I’m telling the truth or not? Use your magic.”

The man hauls me up so quickly that I yelp. My feet come off the ground and I dangle in midair, held aloft by the hand on my bodice. He snarls at me, showing huge fangs and a nasty demeanor. “Where did you hear that?”

“About Nemeth? He was in the tower with me. We left a few months ago?—”

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