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Her gaze roams over his body, and she licks her lips. “Get me some of that…a swimmer’s body and a chin dimple? I’m hooked.”

My jaw drops. I’m shocked to hear a woman speak so plainly about a man.

James’ shoulders wiggle underneath his white jacket. “I don’t know…the claw marks on his mask set me on edge.”

I nod in agreement and spread the cloth napkin over my knees out of habit. Most of the guests are seated by now, and food magically appears on our plates. Greasy, fragrant aromas rise from a steaming piece of meat—a bird of some kind—and an array of root vegetables.

Saliva fills my mouth, but I resist the urge to taste the food. I’ve eaten a large breakfast today, so I can skip this meal like Father advised. Mara and James dig in without a second thought, and I observe the cheery High Fae instead, each of their masks unique and mesmerizing.

Men and women laugh in earnest along the half-crescent table, patting each other’s backs and leaning into their neighbors without a shred of self-consciousness.

After a few minutes, Mara ties her red hair back in a bun at the nape of her neck with a tiny, round piece of fabric, and elbows my side. “Why aren’t you eating?”

I shrug. Her table manners rub me the wrong way. “Mortals shouldn’t eat Faerie food.”

“What are you going to do? Starve yourself to death? We live in Faerie now,” Mara says with her mouth full, unapologetically stuffing herself with the second serving that appeared on her empty plate.

Has she moved to Faerie for good? Of her own accord? What the crops is going on here?

“I’d rather ease into it.”

Mara pouts at my answer, and James gazes nervously into his wine.

Glasses and cutlery clink in a rhythmic melody throughout dinner, but One doesn’t touch his food, either.

As dessert is served, the dark Fae is still sitting alone at the identical table on the other side of the room, and the two empty seats next to him tickle my curiosity.

He’s wearing a mask, so it doesn’t make much sense, but I could swear he’s playing hide and seek with me. Every time I glance over to him, his impassive, covered face is angled to the High Fae, but whenever I look away, I feel the pressure of his gaze on me.

I test my theory a couple more times, certain it can’t be a coincidence, and clutch the cloth napkin in my lap in frustration. I’m unable to catch him with his mask angled in my direction, but I’m almost sure…

Finally, I raise my wine glass between us to stare at him through the amber-tinted liquid on the guise of rating its color, hue, and transparency. The subterfuge allows for a long, unabashed look, and this time, his lips quirk up in the shadow of a smile.

Before I can decide whether to smile back, a sprite flies to the king’s table and clears his throat. With slender arms, thick brows, and pink eyes, he’s very similar to Baka, and his brown skin is textured like the bark of an ancient tree.

He reads from the parchment in his hands with an air of ceremony, “All rise for His Majesty the King.”

Chapter 5

In His name

Compared to Baka’s accented rasp, this sprite’s voice is smooth and clear as a church bell. The Fae patrons stand, along with One, and we imitate them, the tables in front of us suddenly empty but for our wine glasses.

Mara leans closer to my ear. “God, this is so exciting.”

James laces his fingers at his front, not sharing her enthusiasm, the weight of the moment dragging down his shoulders.

“Lords and ladies of the Shadow Court, please welcome your one true king. Damian Morpheus Sombra, keeper of dreams, weaver of fantasies, and master of nightmares,” the sprite announces.

The Fae lords and ladies raise their wine glasses in cheer. “In his name.”

Dark clouds roll in and obscure the large wall behind the throne, and I hold my breath. The now black-as-ink surface of the mirror ripples in the king’s wake as he steps out of the glass. At first, his silhouette is blurry and incomplete, but the shadows cradling the dark specter slither out of view one by one like feathers being preened and smoothed over his back.

A black jacket with bronze accents shows off his broad shoulders. The fabric is embroidered with writing in the Fae alphabet, and a sleek, golden mask covers his entire face. The close-fitting collar of his shirt rests immediately below it, and thick gloves conceal his hands. Not one inch of skin is visible.

I thought only seeing the lips and chin of the dark knight was bad, but this is much worse.

The Shadow King doesn’t sit on his throne but marches over to our table instead. James quivers under his scrutiny, and Mara bites her bottom lip, her stomach clenching like she’s about to burst into a fit of laughter.