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The moment they clasp hands, the air around them wavers, rippling like waves.

“I swear to the Undying Gods, I am not behind the disappearances.”

The queen’s body seems to relax. She nods. “I swear to the Undying Gods on behalf of my kingdom that we will ally with the Night Kingdom for fifty years.”

The moment the words are spoken, the magic rippling around them implodes, sucking itself back into their clasped hands.

And then it’s over.

Chapter 37

“Enjoying yourself, slave?”

I spin, looking around the Flora Queen’s dark forest for the man who spoke. The sacred oaks around me shiver in the night air.

That voice…

So familiar.

But there’s no one here in the forest—no one but me.

I rub my arms, not sure how I ended up in the queen’s sacred oak grove.

No matter, I’ll just fly back to my room.

At my back, my wings open, beating a few times to loosen up.

Something drips onto my arm. Another wet drop splats against my hair.

I lift my forearm to my eyes. In the darkness, I can barely make out the fluid, only that it’s dark.

Dark and warm.

I suck in a breath.

Blood.

Another drop hits the crown of my head. I glance above me at the latticework of branches. The bark is oozing blood, and the longer I look, the heavier it flows down the trees. I hear drops of it hitting the leaves of the forest floor. It sounds like the beginning of a storm, the blood first coming in soft patters then faster and faster. The droplets hit my skin and my clothes.

A voice cuts through the darkness. “Life and death are such intimate lovers. Wouldn’t you agree?”

A man steps out of the woods, his irises and plaited hair as dark as the night.

He’s everything I ever imagined a fairy to be before I met Des. The upturned eyes, the expressive pouty mouth, the straight, narrow nose, and the pointed ears. He has the sinister beauty I’ve read about in fairy tales.

The man’s lips curve ever so slightly, his eyes brightening in that manic way that fae eyes do.

“Kill her,” another man says from behind me.

That voice! So painfully familiar. Any other time I’d whip around, but my gut is telling me the true menace is staring me down, and I will not turn my back on him.

“Her soul is not mine to take,” the black-eyed man says, still staring at me with a dark intensity.

I feel the bite of a blade at my throat, and from the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a lock of white-blond hair.

“You’re right,” the familiar voice at my back says. “It’s mine.”

All at once the realization slams into me.