Page 5

Cate

My guest privileges had been revoked.

I woke up to find I couldn’t leave my room. Every time I tried, it was like I hit an invisible brick wall. No one bothered to check on me. I was beginning to hope these witches would hurry the hell up when a diminutive redhead wheeled a cart laden with breakfast—piles of cheeses and meats, pastries wafting their buttery scents, glossy velvet-dusted berries, and, most importantly, coffee—into my room.

“I guess they want me to stay here?” I asked her, already knowing the answer.

She laid china and silverware on the table by the window, working with a quiet precision and determined to avoid talking to the prisoner.

Because that’s definitely what I was this morning.

When everything was in place, she turned and nodded for me to take a seat.

“I’m surprised Oberon is feeding me,” I admitted as she began piling food onto my plate. “What’s your name?”

She shook her head and offered an apologetic smile, dipping her head in a half curtsy before darting out of the room like a frightened mouse. So much for finding an ally. Not that it would help. If I couldn’t give Oberon the ring, I had nothing to bargain with, and a housemaid wasn’t going to be able to help.

I turned my attention to the food, stomach already growling despite the gloomy thoughts. I’d been awake for hours, and thanks to the fact that fae food never made you full, I was starving.

“She can’t speak to you,” a lofty voice informed me from the doorway.

I whipped toward it, half a croissant shoved in my mouth, to find Titania sneering at me. I swallowed hard. “Are you ever worried that your face is going to get stuck like that?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Not going to give us a smile, then?” I plucked a bit from the remaining half of the croissant, its delicate layers shattering and dusting the carpet with crumbs.

She grimaced at the mess but stepped inside. “The help isn’t allowed to speak.”

“Maybe they just don’t want to talk to you.” I knew that I didn’t.

“Gods, you’re dense. Lach really loves you? He must be getting desperate.” She waved a hand, and the crumbs on the floor vanished. It pretty much proved that karma didn’t exist that such horrible people had access to such incredible magic. I’d be so much nicer if I never had to vacuum. “The staff cannot speak. They are spelled to remain silent.”

“Spelled?” My appetite vanished. “What kind of monster—”

Before I could finish the sentence, the monster himself strode through the door.

“Mind your manners,” Oberon ordered me. Across the room, Titania snorted. She knew how to play his game, all right, and it involved kissing her brother’s ass at all times.

I bit my tongue so hard that I half expected to swallow it. This was a means to an end. I couldn’t risk what would happen if Oberon attacked the Nether Court. If the court was in danger, Lach would return and quickly find himself at the mercy of the Wild Hunt.

I was protecting him, too.

My stomach pitched, spiraling into a pit, as two Hallow Court guards entered the room.

Neither of them said a word—their brutish physiques and the bulges of holsters under their suit jackets spoke for them. They stepped to the side to allow two women to pass. The younger of the two bowed her head slightly to Oberon, but her silver-haired companion showed no hint of deference. Despite the churning waves of anxiety rolling through me, I nearly smiled to see him frown at the slight.

The younger adjusted the embroidered gloves she wore. A curious choice. Otherwise, she looked remarkably normal in her jeans and sweater. Her hair was pulled into a tight blond knot on the top of her head. “It’s an honor, Your—”

“You summoned us?” The elder cut her off, annoyance on her deeply lined face. She wore no gloves, and her modest dress was cut in an old-fashioned style.

Oberon’s nostrils flared as he regarded the old witch. “And you took your time, Ilsa.” He nodded once at the other witch. “Marin.”

“I’m not the one who needs help.” Ilsa straightened under his glare, tilting her chin up.

“You have access to my court by my grace,” he reminded her. “I suppose you think you are above serving the court now that the source of your magic has been returned.”

“No,” the younger one, Marin, jumped in, throwing a pleading look at her companion. “We were in the city preparing for the blood moon. We came as soon as we received word you needed us.”

She nudged Ilsa in the rib cage. Sighing, the other witch nodded, but she didn’t say anything. Oberon, however, looked mollified.

Such a delicate ego for a man who considered himself deadly.

He gestured to me. “She has something I desire—a ring.”

“Have you tried asking her for it?” Ilsa asked dryly.

I barely swallowed a laugh, even as Titania stiffened.

Oberon’s eyes flashed like the lightning of a vengeful god. “Cate and I have a bargain,” he said through gritted teeth, “but it seems she can’t fulfill her end of it. I’m afraid she’s the one who needs your help before I lose patience.”

Icy dread doused any lingering amusement.

I twisted the ring around my finger, but it didn’t budge. Ilsa’s eyes tracked the movement, but she remained silent.

“I believe there is a spell binding it to her,” Oberon continued. “It’s not fae magic. I want to know what it is and why it’s been placed.”

Marin started toward me, and I resisted the urge to run. Barely. Warning tingled across my skin, my entire body going taut, as though this woman was a predator.

Swear that you will never take it off… Fucking swear it.

I shut out Lach’s voice even as guilt flooded through me, hot and sticky and unwelcome. This was the right thing to do—no matter what I had promised him. He couldn’t have known it would come to this.

But the sharp edge of guilt morphed into something oily. I was thinking like a fae—warping the situation to suit me.

Marin’s eyes held mine, a silent demand for compliance as she reached for me. I hesitated, and she impatiently yanked my hand up for inspection. The pleasantries were reserved for Oberon, it seemed. Her leather-clad finger grazed the esmeraude, and a sharp twang of pain shot across my fingers and through my arm. I wrenched my hand away.

“What the hell?” I stroked the lingering throb. “That hurt!”

“You were right to call us,” Marin said, reaching toward me again.

But before she could touch me, the older witch took a step closer, as swift as a striking serpent. Her gaze flickered around us, pausing to assess Oberon with a calculating gleam. The room seemed to hold its breath; even the fae prince shifted on his feet and looked to where his guards stood silently by. “Marin forgets herself,” Ilsa said slowly. “Before we assist you, I want assurances as to that other matter.”

His eyes rolled, and I felt the increasingly familiar urge to slap him. “I will see to it,” he said blandly.

“You will release our friend,” Ilsa stipulated, “and then we will deliver the ring.”

Something clenched in my stomach, but I didn’t dare ask who Oberon had captured, didn’t dare think of the growls I’d heard during my explorations, didn’t dare wonder who else he had locked away in this beautiful prison—or what he was doing to them.

Tension crackled in the room like that spark of foreign magic that lingered on my skin. It wouldn’t take much for it to ignite. I’d seen what a fae prince could do, and I had no doubt that as powerful as these witches might be, they couldn’t stand against him in the Otherworld, where his magic was at its strongest.

Annoyance rolled off him, but he waved a hand. “It’s a bargain.” He turned to the guard closest to him. “Go see that our witch guest finds her way back to her world, and remind her to stay there this time.”

My heart jumped into my throat. Another “guest.” Words were a game to him, twisting them to suit his narrative and his desires. He had played me when we first met. That hadn’t changed, but what other games was he playing now? A chill trickled down my spine.

“Happy?” he asked Ilsa before pointing at me. “Now do your part.”

Marin moved toward me again, but Ilsa stepped between us. “Allow me.” The younger witch frowned but fell back. Ilsa stretched out her palm but made no move to grab me as her companion had. “When you are ready.”

Oberon muttered under his breath, but she ignored him. I swallowed, yet the lump in my throat didn’t budge. Bracing myself for the shock, I closed my eyes and placed my hand in hers.

Her touch was featherlight, skin cool and soft on mine. No pain came. I pried open an eye to find Ilsa studying the ring, but she didn’t touch it. Instead, she began a low chant in a strange language. Hairs pricked on the back of my neck as the energy in the room shifted, her voice weaving through it until delicate threads of light appeared all around us. They shimmered, winking in and out of sight. I opened my eyes entirely, unable to resist their hypnotic pull.

Oberon drummed his fingers on his arms behind her, sighing heavily. Marin’s eyes widened, and she cleared her throat ever so slightly. How could they be so blasé in the presence of magic?

Ilsa’s eyes lifted to mine, and she gave a slight, nearly imperceptible shake of her head. My mouth opened, questions poised to jump out at her, but she dropped my hand before I could say a word.

“It’s an old binding spell,” she announced, turning away from me.

“Unbind it,” Oberon snapped.

She answered with a serpentine smile. “It’s not that simple. The ring is bound to her. Only she can remove it.”

“But I can’t,” I blurted out, cheeks growing hot. “I tried.”

The last thing I needed was for Oberon to think I was trying to screw him. I tugged on the ring, yanking with all my strength until I found myself gasping from the pain.

“Either she is a very good actress, or you’re wrong,” Oberon said.

But Ilsa shrugged. “I’m not wrong, and she is not acting. Only she can remove it, but only when its conditions have been met.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I glared at her. It wasn’t enough that I needed to get this stupid ring off, that doing so would break my promise to Lach, that giving it away would mean surrendering the only tangible link to my parents. Now I had to pass a test, too?

“Something is holding you back from removing it,” Ilsa continued. “You do not wish to remove it, so you cannot.”

“Oh, I wish to remove it.” And then I was going to jam it down someone’s throat.

“She looks positively violent.” Oberon’s laugh grated on my fraying nerves. “I think I believe her.”

“There may be another way. If you are interested?” Marin directed the question at Oberon.

He nodded. “That would be useful.”

Ilsa tensed but didn’t interrupt as Marin went on. “It’s old magic, which means it will play by old magic’s rules. In the past, magic often attached to specific people.”

Oberon beckoned her to continue more quickly. “Just tell me what needs to be done. I don’t need a history lesson.”

“There is another old binding spell that might trick this one. A handfasting might convince the ring that you are her.”

My stomach flipped, words failing me. She didn’t mean…

“Explain.” Oberon didn’t look nearly as disturbed as he should.

“When a witch’s handfasting is blessed by the goddess, the couple ceases to be two individuals in the eyes of magic.”

“And the two shall become one,” he murmured. His lip curled, and my stomach sank further. “So, I marry her, and the ring thinks I’m her?”

I couldn’t just sit here and act like I was okay with this. “Absolutely fucking not. That is not part of the bargain.”

They ignored me, Marin nodding. But Ilsa shook her head. “She would have to prepare like a witch. It won’t work if she doesn’t perform the sacred rituals to the goddess. The union must be blessed.”

“And how long will these rituals take?”

Marin seemed undeterred by her companion’s objection. “Three nights of rituals. The third must be performed at midnight under the moon.”

Laughter bubbled inside me, a hysterical edge taking hold. “You can’t actually be serious.” I glared at Oberon. “I’m not marrying you.”

But he continued to ignore me. “Make the arrangements.”

Ilsa cast one final glance at me, sadness in her eyes. Maybe she felt bad for selling someone out to save her friend, but it wasn’t going to stop her from doing it. Hate welled inside me, even as I could admit I didn’t blame her. “We will return tonight to perform the first ritual.”

I wanted to save my friends, but marrying Oberon? My chest tightened, my skin itching and burning like my soul was trying to escape this fate. There had to be another way. It wasn’t like Oberon wanted to marry me. He was clearly already in love with himself.

I remained silent as he guided the witches out of the room. Titania lingered behind while he dismissed them.

I was still weighing exactly how to tell Oberon to go fuck himself over this marriage idea when Titania spoke. “What’s the news out of London?” she asked him. “I can’t believe you made me sit through all of that. You could have just told us.”

London . The rage simmering inside me cooled into fear. Bain was in London.

“I thought it best to wait.” His eyes were trained on me. “I wanted to be sure Cate remained cooperative.”

“Stop teasing.” Titania pouted. “You can torture her, but I’m your sister.”

“I have no plans to torture Cate, so long as she fulfills her end of our arrangement.”

“About that.” I took a deep, if shaky, breath. “Marrying you wasn’t part of the terms. Find another way. I’m spoken for.”

His answering smile hollowed something in my chest. “I think you’ll find you aren’t. Not anymore. Lach made a move on the Infernal Court.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Reports are limited, but it’s what I expected,” he continued.

Blood roared in my ears. No. No. No.

Someone squealed with delight in the distance. Titania?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

“I’m afraid there is no one left to protect your friends in New Orleans, if you will not.”

I crumpled to the floor before he finished speaking. Lach had done exactly what Oberon expected—what I would expect him to do. He had sought vengeance, and now…

“Because Lachlan Gage is dead.”