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The entire time Des’s face remained pleasantly passive, but through our bond I could feel the cool breath of his magic, stirred to agitation.

Don’t piss off my boyfriend, yo.

When he catches me staring, he drops the façade to flash me a devilish little smile. Then the façade is back up and he’s the cool but implacable Bargainer once more.

Around us, our guards walk stiffly, their spears and knives out and their expressions menacing. None of them, however, get too close to me or Des, lest they tempt the Night King’s anger again.

I glance at the cavern ceiling high above me. All those stories about fairies living Under the Hill were true, after all.

Our armed escorts lead us past buildings that rise from the earth into the air, looking as though they’d been formed from a single lump of clay. We pass rows and rows of these buildings, each one occupied by cagey fairies who’ve carved out some life for themselves.

Just like the land above, the air here is parched of magic. But it’s not just magic that’s missing from this place. I’ve come to expect a certain fae elegance with the Otherworld, yet most of the buildings are devoid of decoration; no one’s attempted to carve designs on lintels, or paint on adornments. Just as noticeable as the lack of aesthetics is the careless disrepair of the place. There are bits of litter here and graffiti there. The building across the way is stained and partially collapsed. The one next to it has been crudely patched up with mud and hide. It’s all so very un-fae like.

We leave this city-center through a corridor cut into the rock. Already we’ve descended hundreds of feet, but judging by the passage’s downward slope, we’re about to head even deeper into the ground.

I glance at the wall sconces where flames flicker; the scent wafting from them closes up my windpipes. It smells like burning hair and rotting flesh, and I’m seriously concerned that’s what the odd candles are made from.

After a dizzying number of switchbacks and a few flights of stairs, our group comes upon two armed fairies who block the passageway. One of them is a Fauna fae, his soft fox’s ears poking from between his red hair. The other could be from any of the other kingdoms, his hair a bright blond and his eyes the color of moss. Both wear the same patchy, homemade uniforms.

“The King of the Night and his mate request an audience with the king,” one of our escorts now says to the fae standing guard.

The one with the fox ears grunts, taking a nice long perusal of me, his gaze lingering on my tits, hips, and legs because apparently every criminal here has to act like a fucking cliché.

His attention moves to Des, and his lip curls. “If the king can’t drain them, he doesn’t want to see them.”

For a beat, nothing happens.

But then Des’s magic rips across the room, throwing the banished fairies against the dank, earthen walls.

Not going to lie, it’s been a real rough day for this group.

The Night King’s power pins them there, and it’s so obvious that if we so wanted to, we could waltz right in to see this king, and none of his lackeys could stop us.

“You have to forgive your fellow soldier,” Des says, stepping up to Fox Ears. “He didn’t word our demands correctly. This isn’t arequest. It’s an order. But go ahead, defy it. I do soloveto hear fairies scream.” He touches Fox Ear’s cheek.

The fairy shakes his head back and forth, whimpering as though he can feel the first tendrils of pain.

Des assesses him for a moment, then with a flick of his wrist, he releases all the men.

They crumple to the floor, rubbing their formerly pinned limbs.

The fairies’ posturing appears to be over, but before any of them can pick themselves up, Des looms over Fox Ears. “Oh, and a word of warning: look at my mate again with anything other than respect and benevolence, and you’ll lose your eyes.”

Damn.

Fox Ears bows his head, his ears drooping, his posture turning submissive. He nods, and with that, he and the other guard step aside and let our entourage pass by.

“Got to threaten every damn grain of sand in this place …” Des mutters under his breath.

I can’t help but agree with him. The only thing anyone seems to respect around here is power.

We pass three more sets of guards (two of which also need to be threatened) and descend deeper into the mountain before we finally arrive at a massive stone door.

This far beneath the earth, where the sky is only a distant memory, I can feel the barest breath of magic.

So the Banished Lands haven’t been reaped ofallpower. Just the vast, vast majority of it. And now I understand why the citizens of the Banished Lands built down. Because the lower you go, the closer to magic you get. And in a world where everyone’s suffocating in its absence, even the barest hint of it is precious.

The stone door is pushed open, and I get my first good look at the king’s inner sanctum.