Page 13 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

It all felt harmless.

It wasn’t.

The king was fishing, his tone curious, but his gaze sharp with hunger, like a man who’d caught the scent of something long thought lost. I gave him only what he asked for. Nothing more. Let him pull the threads while I kept the tapestry intact.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he waved his hand.

“You may go.”

Dismissed like a servant.

I rose, bowed with the exact precision required, and turned toward the door.

I was nearly there when I heard him begin to mutter to himself.

I paused.

The words were low. Barely audible.

“Six hundred years… it should’ve faded by now…” His voice turned more ragged, more fevered. “If the fae blood lingers… if she has it…”

He trailed off.

My heart stumbled.

He was talking aboutme.

Or was he?

The fae.

The only one we knew of, the only one confirmed, was the prisoner in the dungeon.

I didn’t leave.

Not right away.

The door closed partially behind me, but I could see the king through the open space. I didn’t take a single step down the corridor. Instead, I shifted into the shadowed alcove just to the side, my breath held tight in my chest. The torchlight flickered against the stone, casting the room in amber firelight.

And then the king began to speak again.

But not to me.

To himself.

“They think I don’t know,” he muttered, voice low and sharp. “That I’ve grown soft. That the bloodline is weakening.”

I peeked around the edge, just enough to see him still seated on his dragon-carved chair. One hand gripped the armrest so tightly his knuckles were white, the other gesturing aimlessly as he stared into the fire like it might answer him.

“But I’ve seen the signs. I’ve read the texts. The Virelith Crystal was never destroyed. They think it was lost, buried, forgotten. Fools.”

His voice cracked on that word, then rose, urgent, almost frantic.

“The fae hid it. Buried it in light and silence, behind walls even they feared. And now the storm is coming again. I can feel it in my bones.”

He stood abruptly, pacing before the fire. His movements were sharp, erratic, like he couldn’t bear to stay still. His hand twitched as he spoke, fingers curling against the edge of his coat.

“They whisper in the shadows, traitors and half-bloods, whispering secrets behind my back. And her…the girl with the dragon.” His voice dropped to a hiss, breathless and wild. “She shines like they did. Like the old ones. The light and the fire.”