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The vaulted room is packed to the brim with fairies in loincloths and bandeaus, leather pants and body paint. It’s all so primal, and oddly—savagely—sensual.

The fairies pin us in from all sides, making our trip down the aisle slow and claustrophobic.

I take in the hordes of them, their exotic faces ranging from curious to bloodthirsty. Beyond them, I catch sight of the top of the makeshift throne, carved from rock and fitted with bone and steel. But it’s not until we’re nearly at the end of the aisle that the crowd parts, and I finally see him.

The king.

He lounges on the stone throne, his legs splayed out. In place of a shirt, he wears dozens of bleached bone necklaces, each one strung with a dizzying number of teeth and bones. His brown leather trousers hang low on his tan hips, and strapped to them are several blades, some made from stone, others steel.

His chestnut hair is plaited back from his face, and it hangs in ropes over his shoulders. A crown made out of metal and bone perches high on his head. The thing is fashioned crudely, and I’m surprised that a fae would wear such a thing. It looks like something I made in art class when I was five.

His glittering green eyes fall first on Des before skipping over to me. Here, they take their time, moving from my face to my chest, hips, and legs. Then they make a slow climb back up. As he assesses me, his fingers tap against an armrest.

I would’ve said he was bored, except there’s far too much interest sparking in his eyes.

The fairies in front of us stop and kneel. “Your Majesty,” they murmur.

“I see we have visitors.” The king says this like Des and I are offending his sensibilities.Hissensibilities. The man sitting in the I-was-drunk-when-I-made-this chair.

The kneeling fairies now stand, turning to us.

“Bow before His Eminence, Lord of the Banished, Master of the Forgotten, Protector of the Maligned, King Typhus Henbane,” one of our escorts commands, though he looks a little ill while he says it.

The Bargainer saunters forward a few steps. “You have titles? Howcharming.”

King Henbane stands, his chestnut hair gleaming under the torchlight and his necklaces rustling. “Forced your way into my presence without even a bow to show for it. Can’t say I’m surprised at your impetuousness, Desmond Flynn.”

So he knows who Des is. I also notice that he dropped my mate’s title. Definitely a snub there. And today is really not the day. The Bargainer seems particularly prickly.

Typhus’s gaze slides to me, and again he assesses me. This time, however, there’s more than a touch of scorn in them. “But for your slave lover to not show me respect …” He clicks his tongue. “Last time I endured such a grave insult, I impaled the fairy for it.”

Down our bond, I feel a flash of white hot anger. But looking at Des, you would never know it.

The King of Night gives the Typhus a mocking smile. “Last time I saw a jester pretending to be a king, I actually laughed.”

Oooooh, burn.

The room goes deathly silent.

Welp, that got their attention.

This king’s wings flicker behind his back, and his face ticks. “If you came here to curry my favor,oh great king, then you might want to start over.”

“You are an exiled criminal still serving out your sentence. In what world would I seek out your favor?”

Typhus laughs in the face of that, the crowd echoing the sentiment.

When the room quiets down he says, “Do you know how I came to be?” The king sits back down on his throne. “I was already strong before I was ever sent here some hundred and fifty years ago. And I have since imbibed countless men’s magic.”

Even a day here has left me with what feels like a mild hangover. I can’t imagine years, decades,centuriesof this. Typhus must be powerful, to live here for this long and still have so much magic.

“Thousands have gifted me their powers,” he continues, “all in return for my protection … protection which you are now threatening.”

Des raises his eyebrows. “Is that right?”

“We’re not in your kingdom anymore. We’re in mine.”

He doesn’t say it, but he’s implying that Des and I are bound byloi du royaume—that we must submit to Typhus’s rule and the laws of his land.