Page 23 of The Cursed Crown

Staring at one of the many mirrors, Rissa lowered the crown on her head. To her surprise, it came to life the moment she dropped it on her head, turning a blue-green similar to the tone of her feathers, though the stone remained black. At least it was less of an eyesore.

There was a knock at the door. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m ready.”

Was she?

The King’s Wager

To assume that the unseelie high court was but another fae court, like any of the ones she’d seen, had been shortsighted and naive.

The seelie valued order. Titus’s court was organized in rows upon rows of gentry arranged by height and rank and beauty. Here, there was no order, no logic. Pucks danced around fountains of wine, along with imps, goblins, and gentries draped in gold.

The cavernous hall was packed to the brim. Woodland fae with antlers curving like branches toward the ceiling, tailed folks, and some half shifted into beast forms—the head of a horse, the behind of a donkey. Those kinds of folk existed in the seelie realm, but they would never have been invited to the royal court.

At the center of the hall, a dais bearing two thrones had been erected. Rissa noted the particular position of that stage: none of the vast arched windows could catch a perfect view of it, thereby protecting its occupants from a stray arrow. Yet, from the platform, they could observe every entry and exit. It wasn’t only a place chosen for a ruler; it was meant for a warrior.

One of the thrones was white, with a tall, arched back. Vines ran alongside it, as though attempting to break it. A few gold roses grew along the stems. The other one was low and bloodred, with a fine black marbling. Though it resembled a chaise more than a throne, the imposing bulk and its place of power distinguished it as the seat of a monarch.

Rydekar was lying back on the latter throne, appearing casual, relaxed. He wasn't. This was nothing like the man who'd laid down on her bed with his eyes closed. This was a predator, a lion letting his pride know he didn't fear any of them via indolence.

Ladies flocked to him, batting their long lashes, attempting to catch his attention, but Rydekar didn't so much as deign to glance their way. He spoke to Havryll, who stood to his right, and another fae dressed in regal attire. Far from being offended at the slight, the ladies never stopped fawning. Didn't they have any self-respect? Though in truth, Rissa couldn't pretend she didn't see the appeal. Of all the weapons in his arsenal, his beauty was perhaps the most insidious.

Though the night was young, and most of the crowd must have only just risen from their slumber, the scent of vice clogged the air, barely covered by heady perfumes. The mixture was overwhelming. Had the high windows not been wide open, Rissa would have thrown up.

Her hand tightened on Khal’s arm. She’d been relieved to find the affable general, rather than his galling cousin, when she’d opened her bedroom. The fact that the man had knocked rather than barging in should have been an indication that she wasn’t dealing with Rydekar. Now, she was even more so. If the unseelie king had been the one she’d clung on to for dear life, she wouldn’t have heard the end of it. She could imagine Rydekar’s knowing grin, and the veiled insults he would have whispered in her ear.

Khal simply placed a calming hand on top of hers and smiled down at her reassuringly.

She had but a minute to compose herself and observe the scene, till a short, almost neckless pukka cleared his throat and tapped the marbled floor with a heavy staff shaped like a scepter—or a mace. “Her Royal Highness, Serissa Braer," the page announced loud and clear. "General Khalven Oberon."

Rissa expected that the crowd's gaze focused on her, but she wouldn't know. Rydekar's violet eyes cut through the crowd to light on her. The advisor she didn't know kept talking to him, but he lifted one hand, cutting him off, all the while openly staring at her.

This was nothing like the way he'd looked at her before—like she was a disappointment, something he wished he could crush. It wasn't even like the way he'd eyed her with suspicion after she'd given him a taste of what one got for messing with a nightmare. He was looking at her like she was the only woman in the room, the only one who mattered. He was looking at her with hunger. Desire.

Rydekar rose from his red throne slowly. Although it was possible that she was just under the impression his movements were slow, focused as she was on him. Then he smiled, extending his palm forward. Toward her.

Come to me.

Rissa wished she could snort. He was playing games with their audience, fooling the court into thinking he cared for her. What had he said? That he wanted to present a united front to her people and his. This was a step beyond that. He was treating her like his lover. Hisqueen. She wanted to throttle him, wipe his fake grin off his face.

What else had she expected? Rydekar had made no secret of his desire to control the seelie forces. Faking a relationship with her was a shortcut to that in his warped mind, she guessed.

Rissa forced a breath out before letting go of Khal's arm with a marked reluctance. She'd only taken one step when the crowd rushed to part before her, leaving a clear path to the throne.

No one had ever done that for her. Not at her father's court, not anywhere.

Keeping her gaze high, she climbed the seven steps until she reached Rydekar. He took her hand and bowed over it, to press his lips against the back of her palm.

Her eyes widened as an electric jolt coursed through her, starting underneath his mouth and running along her every limb, only to settle at her core.

Rydekar grinned against her skin, lifting his eyes to her before straightening up. "You like looking down on me," he noted.

Damn her, but she did.

Rissa let him guide her to the white throne at his side. "This wasn't part of our deal," she pointed out.

She'd made her stance clear about what she thought of pretending to occupy this very throne before they'd even reached the Old Keep, but though he'd been quick to accept her conditions, he was pushing at every opportunity.

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