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I can’t keep all the anxiety inside and blurt out, “Are you going to hurt me?”

He stops cold at that, but he doesn’t meet my gaze, merely staring at the path ahead. “Why would I want to hurt you, kitten?”

There he goes again, answering my question with a question. “Because you’re Fae.”

Both fists balled at his sides, he starts walking again. “Is that all?”

I pick up the pace to keep up with his long strides. “If the question makes you so mad, why don’t you just say no?”

“I’ve been nothing but polite—” The word is heavy with meaning, full of fire and disappointment. A hot line of shame tickles along my spine before he finally spins around to face me. “Look. I won’t pretend my world is always pleasant. It’s dangerous and unforgiving, but I plan to train you, not hurt you. Okay?”

The answer soothes the ache between my ribs. “Okay.”

He’s holding his answers close and his secrets closer. A small voice in my head urges patience. If I’m being tricked, I’ll know soon enough. No need to kick and scream just yet.

We reach the last bend in the tunnel and cross through the door to the outside. The humidity is still jarring, the air not as heavy as it was last night, but probably building toward a scorching afternoon given the early hours. A small winding path along the walls of the castle offers glimpses of the interior courtyard, but tall green hedges obstruct the view.

Star-shaped blooms run along the covered porch. The series of umbrella-like clusters sag away from thin, leafless stems, hanging a few inches above our heads. Absolutely gorgeous. At the end of the small path, we emerge inside an open-air war room.

Mesh walls with diamond patterns open to a towering row of bushes on each side of the square-shaped training ground, their branches laden with lush foliage. The set-up offers seclusion and privacy from the outside world—and no doubt a respite from the hot, humid day. The sun sneaks past the vegetation in a few golden spots, casting shadows upon the sleek gray floors.

Weapons of different shapes and sizes hang on the wall closest to us, and a door-shaped mirror with round edges on its upper end is set in the stones next to it. So far, almost every room in the castle has direct access to the sceawere.

A blue, cylinder-shaped bag half my size hangs from the ceiling on the opposite side of the room. Various mannequins and targets pepper the space. The wooden back wall is painted with red and blue concentric circles, at least fifty yards away from where we’re standing.

One picks a crossbow from the bunch. “The Shadow Court is in charge of nightmares, dreams, and fantasies.” He aims at one of the targets on the opposite wall, and the metallic bolt lands straight in the center of the bullseye. “Nightmares sometimes take on a life of their own, and it’s my job—along with the other hunters—to keep them in line.”

I peruse the assorted weapons. “You hunt…nightmares?”

“Yes. I’m in charge of the rogue nightmares, and Two keeps the Dreaming’s magic from fading.”

“And Three?” I ask quickly. “The red-faced Lord mentioned him at dinner.”

One rolls his shoulders back, the crossbow falling to his side. “Three weaves fantasies. They’re more…volatile.”

“Why are fantasies more volatile?” I ask, imitating his ominous tone. Not waiting for his answer, I lift a jeweled sword and wince at the weight, quickly returning it to its holder.

Knights always make it seem so easy during tournaments…

“Fantasies are the dreams that overcome you when you’re awake. They lurk at the edge of the mortals’ subconscious and influence both dreams and nightmares.”

A chill tightens the skin at the nape of my neck. “If you guys are in charge of it all, what does the king do?”

A dark cloud pulses around him, his lips pressing together for a fleeting moment. “The king rules over the entire kingdom.”

Sounds like the king doesn’t lift a finger around here.

Hands linked behind my back, I skip closer to One. “And why do you wear a mask?”

The stiffness in his spine eases, and a touch of warmth returns to his voice. “You want to see my face, kitten?”

Yes. If I could see his eyes, I’d know whether I could trust him or not.

He rubs the narrow path between the obsidian mask and the edge of his hood, allowing me a glimpse of his ear. “The mask protects our magic. It needs to be worn at all times in the sceawere.”

I arch a playful brow, the answer more of a diversion than a true explanation. “We’re in Faerie, now.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “Even if I wanted to remove my mask in your presence, I wouldn’t. As long as you don’t have the Faerie sight, it would be too dangerous.”