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CHAPTER SEVEN

W arm evening winds sweep gently between the sandstone houses.

I draw in a deep breath, relishing in the extraordinary pleasure of being able to breathe properly without coughing up blood, to be able to walk on my own, to once more feel the warmth of my own body, and to not be slowly but surely dying in a haze of freezing, burning pain. What an absolute luxury.

“The fuck are you scowling about?” Draven demands.

Opening my eyes again, I find Alistair stalking out of the small house we’ve been staying in with a deep scowl on his face. Behind him, Lyra practically skips across the threshold and pulls the door shut behind her. A glittering smile shines on her lips.

“I wrote half a fucking essay before I realized that she was just messing with me,” Alistair huffs, and shoots an annoyed look at Lyra.

Lyra just grins wider.

“An essay?” I ask, confused.

“To introduce himself for the official meeting with the Unseelie King,” Lyra replies, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Draven snorts and gives Alistair a sideways glance. “You’re so fucking gullible.”

“Shut up,” Alistair mutters, but he sounds more embarrassed than angry. “How was I supposed to know?—”

“Can you stop your incessant bickering so that we can get this dinner over with?” Isera cuts in, leveling an exasperated stare at all of us.

Without waiting for us to reply, she simply turns on her heel and marches up the street. After a collective shrug, we follow her.

The house that the Unseelie King allowed us to borrow is located just outside the castle area. As if he wants us close so that his guards can keep an eye on us but doesn’t trust us to stay in the actual castle with him.

Our street is deserted, but from just a couple of roads over, I can hear the faint murmur of a bustling city.

It’s evening, but the Unseelie fae seem to have plenty to do out in the city regardless.

Casting a glance over my shoulder, I gaze in their direction even though I can’t see anyone because the rows of buildings are blocking the view.

I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like to grow up in this city instead of the Seelie Court.

A few clanking sounds come from up ahead. I turn my gaze back to the view in front of me.

The castle guards, dressed in dark blue and silver, could see us the moment we stepped out of the door since they are stationed at the other end of the road, but all they do when we reach them is to open the small steel gate for us.

I glance between them before casting a look in the direction of the main gates, which are halfway on the other side of the castle.

Not exactly a grand welcome for us here by the side gate, but I suppose nothing about our visit here is normal.

A beautiful garden, complete with colorful flowers in full bloom and gently rippling fountains, meets us once we step inside the castle grounds.

I stare at it, once again trying to readjust my perception of the Unseelie Court.

Why have I always believed that this court is dark and ugly and full of decay?

Is it something that the dragon shifters have taught us?

Or does this prejudice come from our own people?

We only make it two steps into the garden before a servant dressed in black and blue livery appears before us.

“Please, follow me,” he says without preamble.

Gravel crunches faintly under our shoes as we follow the servant along a pathway through the lush bushes and swirling flowerbeds. Tilting my head back, I look up at the grand castle before us. In the bright moonlight, the pale stone facade shimmers like silver. It truly is beautiful.

The servant guides us in through a side door and then through a series of corridors before finally stopping in front of a surprisingly unremarkable door. When they said that we were invited to a dinner with the Unseelie King, this was not exactly what I had imagined.

Once we are all gathered outside the door, the servant lifts his hand and knocks twice. “Your Majesty. Your guests have arrived.”

“Send them in,” his voice comes from inside.

With a nod to us, the servant opens the door and motions for us to enter.

Worry flutters through my stomach, and I have a sudden feeling that we’re about to walk into a trap. I glance at the rest of my companions. Based on the expressions on their faces, they are thinking the same thing.

In the end, Draven just shrugs and strides through the door. Pushing my gloomy premonition to the back of my mind, I quickly follow him. And so do the others.

To my surprise, there is no trap waiting for us inside. At least not one that I can see. It really is just a small private dining room.

A rich dark blue carpet covers the pale stone floor, and paintings of breathtaking night skies and scenery decorate the walls.

In the middle of the room is a dark wooden table with nine chairs around it.

Four plain chairs line each long side, and then a grand high-backed chair made of carved wood has been positioned at the head of the table.

Faelight gems gleam from a chandelier above the table as well as from several swirling steel light holders along the tabletop.

The soft white light glints against the sparkling plates, already piled with food, but my gaze snaps straight to the lone person waiting inside the room.

Orion Nightbane is standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

His elegant garments are impeccable, the blue and black fabric entirely spotless, and the silver details on them glint in the light.

Even his long dark blue hair is done to perfection.

Underneath his spiky black crown, his hair falls down over his back with not a strand out of place.

And when he slides his black and silver eyes over the six of us, I suddenly feel like a piece of mud that he has just scraped off his shoe.

Before we left the borrowed house, I took a bath to get the worst of the dust and blood and sweat off my body.

But my boots are still scuffed, my pants frayed, and my shirt stained and ripped.

Even though it’s warm in here, a shiver rolls down my spine when a draft slides over the naked skin of my back, clearly visible through the large hole in my shirt.

Never before have I felt my station in life more than I do at this very moment. A destitute, low class fish cutter standing before a king.

I half expect him to throw us out. To tell us that our appearances are unacceptable. That it is a grave insult to look like this when dining with the Unseelie King.

But to my surprise, he doesn’t comment on our ragged appearances at all. Instead, all he says is, “Welcome.”

Unsure of what to do, I nod in acknowledgment. As do my friends.

A slight smile ghosts across Orion’s lips, but he simply motions towards the table and then saunters over to that grand chair at the head of the table.

Draven and I claim the seats closest to the king while Galen and Lyra take the empty ones on Draven’s side.

Isera sits down as far away from Orion as she can get, leaving Alistair standing in awkward hesitation for a moment.

Since there are four chairs on either long side, and Isera and I occupy the ones on the ends, there will be an empty chair between either me or Isera depending on where Alistair sits.

After a frown in Isera’s direction, Alistair sits down in the chair next to me. Isera doesn’t even seem to notice. Her hard eyes are locked firmly on the Unseelie King.

He holds her gaze, a knowing smile that is as sharp as a knife on his lips, for a few seconds. Then he breaks eye contact and sweeps his gaze over all of us instead.

“I will get right to it,” he says. “The man I want you to kill is called Danzo Wolfstalker and?—”

“You’ve been here,” Isera cuts off, her voice cracking through the air like a whip.

Her eyes burn with cold fury as she stares Orion down from across the table full of plates and food and glittering faelights.

“This whole time, you’ve been living your best lives here in the Unseelie Court while we have suffered under the dragon shifters’ rule for millennia. ”

Lyra winces at the venom in Isera’s voice at the mention of the dragon shifters’ role in our suffering. Next to her, Galen casts a worried glance between her and the Unseelie King.

For a few seconds, ringing silence descends on the dining room. Orion is watching Isera in a highly assessing way, as if he is trying to decide whether to play with her for his own amusement or to simply slit her throat.

I stifle a grimace at Isera’s blunt accusation. It might not have been delivered in a very diplomatic manner, but I don’t blame her for reacting like this. I said much the same to Nysara, the Unseelie spy back in Frostfell, when I learned that the Unseelie Court had been free all this time.

The entire room is holding its breath.

A slow and deadly sharp smile spreads across Orion’s lips as he finally replies. And it’s only one simple word.

“Yes.”

Isera’s fingers close around the dinner knife on the table before her.

Anticipation sparkles in Orion’s eyes, as if he is excited to see what she does next. But before things can get too far out of hand, Draven cuts in.

“Keep the stabbing to a minimum,” he growls, and levels a commanding stare on Isera. “We have a job to do.”

Orion slides his tongue along his teeth, his eyes still on Isera. “Indeed.”

“Why was your court never conquered?” Alistair blurts out before Isera can retort. Or stab someone. His pale brows are furrowed in genuine confusion as he looks at the Unseelie King. “Why did the Icehearts never try to conquer you the way they did us?”

For a few moments, Orion only keeps watching Isera. Then he at last tears his gaze from her and turns to the rest of us.

With a mocking glance in Draven’s direction, he replies, “Oh, they tried. They just never succeeded.”

“Because you’ve been hiding behind your wards,” Draven counters.