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Pulling on the knot in a chastising manner, he clicks his tongue. “Never remove the blindfold, or the nightmares that prowl the in-between will claim you.”

I press the fabric to my forehead to keep it from sliding down. “How do you expect me to travel if I can’t see?”

“Just hold on to me,” he says, his arms now spread in invitation.

A nervous hiccup shakes my body. I do not want to walk into his sinister embrace, and my pulse flutters at my neck. The deep, paralyzing thuds of my heart urge me to turn on my heels and run.

The first test.

I shall not flee.

I shall not give in.

I shall endure.

I approach him, and the heat of his body is as dizzying as the bite of his magic. Darkness eddies my vision, and my bottom lip quakes, but he guides my hands patiently to his shoulders.

Musician calluses bump along my knuckles, and the fleeting skin-to-skin contact softens my knees. The sleek fabric of his jacket is fresh and closely knit, different from the crumbly caress of wool or the simple and rough touch of cotton. A long metallic line runs down the front of the strange garment, and a thick hood covers his hair—and ears.

He picks me up without a hitch, one arm braced lazily under my knees. My breasts strain against my corset, my breaths shallow and uneven, and the world beyond my monstrous captor blurs into an ocean of black.

“Now, pull the blindfold down and hold on tight,” he says. His hot breath scatters goosebumps on my neck, and he strolls forward, unencumbered by the added weight.

Liquid ice spreads over my skin, the pain as sudden and unexpected as a snake bite. In a flash, I’m both torn apart and glued back together. Frost stings my cheeks, and I grip the king hard, desperate for him not to drop me in this hellish place. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck, and my nails dig into the fabric of his collar.

“Easy, kitten, you’re alright.” A tinge of humor warms his husky voice as he lets go of my legs. “You’ll get used to it.”

I hold on for dear life. “I don’t want to get used to it.”

“No need for claws. Not just yet. Unless you want to hang on to me some more…”

If I could have crawled over his shoulders, I would have. I certainly tried.

A furious blush heats my cheeks, but I finally let go of him, surprised to find solid ground beneath my feet.

The dark king dusts off my arms like he’s making sure no part of me went missing during the voyage, and I tear the blindfold off, now standing in a bedroom riddled with paved stones. A wardrobe towers next to the neatly swept hearth, and a dark brown chest lays at the foot of a large bed.

A two-person bed…

“Where are we?” I try to hide my nerves, try to mask the fear and curiosity on my breath, thinking about the drawings Esme showed me.

“Your bedroom.”

Remember, he can’t touch you without your consent.

A chamber pot and a tub are visible behind a semi-opaque screen that splits the space in two, and the large free standing mirror that occupies an entire corner of the room shocks me to say the least.

A creature flies in from the glass as easily as I put one foot in front of the other. “A lean summer brings a leaner winter,” it mumbles. “Only three seeds this year, half as much as last year…”

Eyes wide, I stare at the three feet tall, floppy-eared apparition.

Deep wrinkles crack its dark blue skin. “By Morpheus, ye look as though ye’ve just had yer wings cut off, woman. I’m a sprite. Hevny ever seen one?”

“No. Never,” I admit.

The sprite isn’t wearing clothes, but it’s not that jarring considering her body is shaped like a tree trunk. Long fingernails polish off her look, the claws sharp enough to scratch my eyes out if she so desired. Still, seeing her whole face is a relief, her pink eyes truly beautiful.

The king walks over to the only door and spins around to face me, hands hidden behind his back. “I leave her in your capable hands, Baka.”