Page 43 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“Insatiable in more ways than one, aren’t you?” He smiles a little, pulling a wooden chair close to the bed. “Actually, it’s a pleasure to have someone who wants to listen. Most Unseelie these days simply want the results, the convenience. They have very little interest in how I create the magic that makes their lives easier.”
He begins explaining the dream magic, and I try to listen…
The next thing I know, I’m blinking back to consciousness. I can’t remember dreaming about anything.
But there are a few dozen tiny glass jars sitting on the table, with spiral threads of white and gold swirling inside. Multicolored sand sits at the bottom of each jar, while some grains levitate and float through the luminous, golden strands.
The White Rabbit stands nearby, holding one of the small jars, staring into it. His long rabbit ears are cocked forward. I can only see him in profile, by the light of the jars—the rest of the room is dark. The gash in his left cheek is relaxed, showing only a little of his teeth.
“How do you drink?” I murmur.
He startles visibly, whirling around. “What?”
“How do you drink?” I sit up, holding the sheets in front of my bare breasts. “Doesn’t the water simply run out of those?” I tap my cheek.
“I sip carefully, or I use a straw.” He’s staring at me with a strange expression—desperate and hollow, soft and sad.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Something has distressed you.”
He scoffs, but there’s a crack in the sound. “I am your end, kitten. Your inevitable doom. You do not care how I feel.”
“What does ‘inevitable’ mean?”
“Inescapable.”
“Oh.”
Something has unsettled him. I believe he truly enjoyed tasting my pussy—a term I learned when he mentioned it during my second climax. He didn’t seem distressed after that. So it must be the dreams or memories that have disturbed him—something he saw in my mind while I was asleep.
He’s showing me weakness in this moment. Another crack in his calm, studious exterior. I must take advantage of it—but carefully. Not begging for my life. No. The opposite, I think.
After a moment’s thought, I rise from the bed. I don’t bother with the sheet—he has already seen all of me, and there is nothing to hide from him anymore. The thought floods me with a strange, thrilling power.
The leash tugs at my throat, stopping me before I can quite reach him. “What if you are my doom, after all? Maybe Iwantyou to unravel me. I think any end in your hands would be a beautiful one.”
He looks down at my body, then back up to my face. With studied control, he sets the jar of dreams on the tray with the others.
“I am cruel. I know it. But it is not without reason or purpose. My study of magic has benefited countless Fae. My spells have restored minds, healed bodies, dispelled curses, repaired whole buildings, treated fields and gardens that suffered from disease.”
“I believe it.”
“This is how I was taught it must be done.” The intensity in his eyes makes my breath quicken. “Sacrifice a few for the good of all. Devote the one to the benefit of many. I know it’s difficult, facing your fate. I did not always face mine with grace. I—” His mouth works, and he looks away sharply.
“Your fate?” I ask softly.
His gaze whips back to mine. “That book in your cell is mine by right. By inheritance. My great-grandfather Lugus wrote it. It’s his life’s work.”
My eyes widen.
“My father wanted to be like him.” The Rabbit’s words tumble out, quick and sharp. “He wanted to change the realms like my great-grandfather did when he created the Unseelie. But my father did not have the skill or the talent of my ancestor. Every spell of his seemed to go wrong. He was careless with his research, sloppy with his notes. Experiments often went awry and had to be repeated. It was difficult for him to find willing subjects on which to test his spells. So he used me.”
Horror strikes my heart, a hail of cold arrows.
“I was his subject. Sometimes willing, because I truly wanted to help him. I wanted to learn. And I did learn.” The Rabbit picks up his white gloves. “Most of the time, the things he did to me could be reversed. But sometimes, without meaning to, he stumbled upon terrible discoveries. Things that could not be undone.” He lifts one of his scarred hands and touches the slit in his right cheek.
