Page 57 of The Forbidden Dragon King
They say of fae that they are impossibly, painfully beautiful. The most beautiful people in all the realms.
With Daire, I used to think that if I sat on that ledge and indulged in staring at him too long, then I would be blinded.
It’s why the other realms have often coveted to conquer and possess the Unseelie.
Now, the Shadow Fae King himself is held in an iron and gold cage, displayed as not only a pet but a trophy.
My heart aches.
Beauty is dangerous; it gets you noticed. I have always led a life of being invisible. It’s lonely but safer.
Except, haven’t I been noticed now?
I glance down at the dragon scale bracelet, which jangles around my wrist.
On the other hand, beauty can also be sharper than a blade…like the look right now in those lavender eyes.
“Is it petting time at the zoo, love?” Daire’s musical voice is coolly amused, but there is a frosty edge underneath that makes me shiver.
Daire is Unseelie, cold death and shadows. I must never forget that.
I wet my dry lips, shakily grabbing the hunk of bread and holding it up to the bars for him to see.
“Looks like it’s actually feeding time at the zoo. Throw it to me then. Maybe I’ll perform a trick for you.”
“You are a trickster,” I reply, before I can stop myself.
Silence.
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
“Shadow Wolves once knelt for fae. Nay, you worshiped us asgods.” Daire’s amusement transforms to rage. His gaze becomes dark and icy. “You’d gladly lay down your lives on the battlefield as an offering to theold feathered gods. Yet as soon as I am caged, you mock me…?”
To my shock, he rises to his full height, sweeping his large wings out behind him.
I’m frozen to the spot, unable to run. Except, terrified as I am in the face of the Raven King’s righteous fury, I’m spellbound by him.
Like this, I could worship him.
Daire is no less of a king than Aurelius is. It doesn’t matter that Aurelius insists that the fae is fallen or that his magic is suppressed by iron.
When Daire stalks closer to the front of the cage into the pooling moonlight, I gasp.
This close, I realize that every legend about the Shadow Fae’s unnatural beauty is right. Except, Daire has been wounded in the battle. I don’t know how he’s managing to stand.
My heart aches like seeing something holy desecrated.
Daire’s ice white skin is covered in scattered bruises, blood, and dirt. His right eye is swollen shut. His lip is busted.
Somehow, these injuries enhance his beauty because they show that a god can be hurt.
He can be touched.
He’s a lure — a trap.
I dig my fingers into my arm to resist leaning closer to him.
Daire’s silver curls, which tumble to his shoulders, are streaked with something that looks like ashes. So are his gorgeous wings, which are large enough that they have unfurled perilously close to the sides of the cage.
