Page 3 of Fey Empire (Fey Lords #5)

Chapter three

T he shadows are whispering. I am quite sure of it. I am not imagining things. I swear I have not been down here long enough to lose my mind, and besides, it is entirely possible that fey shadows whisper.

At least, I hope it is that, and not that there is something in here with me.

I shudder and pull my knees up even closer to my chest. I’m sitting on the floor, huddled in this corner as if it is going to save me. It is silly, but I can’t force myself to stand in the middle of the dark cell. My instincts will not let me.

I peer out into the darkness again. The luminous moss has not grown any brighter. I still can’t see a thing.

I rest my head back down on my knees and concentrate on breathing instead.

It is warm in here. The rich, loamy scent of soil is filling the air. It doesn’t feel damp. So things could be a lot, lot worse.

It is just very dark. And very quiet. Nothing but the sound of my own breathing. And the faintly whispering shadows.

Another shiver dances down my spine. Hopefully, I won’t be in here for long. I’ve already lost track of time. Nobody has come with food or water, but I don’t feel hungry or thirsty. So there is only so much time that could have passed.

I really, really hope someone comes before I need to pee. Or worse. The thought of having to go in a corner is enough to bring me to tears.

Of course, when someone comes, it might not be with food and water or an opportunity to use a bathroom. It might be to torture me. Either for answers or for revenge. Possibly both.

My gulp of a swallow sounds obnoxiously loud in the near silence.

There might be a time in the future when I wish that having to piss on the floor in the corner of a cell was my greatest fear.

I hug my knees tighter and try to stop my trembling.

This could be my punishment right now. This unending dark and near perfect silence. For all I know, I could have been alone down here for centuries. It could be fey magic preventing me from feeling hungry.

I could be lost in my own mind. Endlessly twirling in my thoughts. Alone and spiralling for eternity.

Wait, was that the sound of soft footsteps, or am I truly hallucinating now?

No, that really is the sound of someone approaching. But is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Prince Selwyn’s magic tingles against my senses. His presence looms, even in the dark. I know it is him even though I cannot see him, cannot hear him. Just by his footsteps and the feel of him, I know who is approaching the door of my cell .

He reaches the wooden bars and pauses for a moment. Then the door drags over the ground. He steps inside and closes the wooden bars behind him.

The loud sound of his fingers snapping, rings out. A torch in a wall sconce that I didn’t even realise was there, bursts into life. A dazzling golden flame. I wince and scrunch my eyes up against the sudden brightness.

A new silence stretches. This one feels far more intimidating. I can feel the weight of the prince’s attention. He is standing there, staring down at me.

Oh goodness! I should be standing to greet him.

Hastily, I scramble to my feet. I fumble my way through a terrible curtsey. I really haven’t been practising them long enough to be fluid without a great deal of concentration. And right now, I can’t muster any concentration at all.

The best I can do is stand before him, eyes down, and try not to tremble too much.

The torch hisses faintly. It flickers, and shadows dance. I think I can hear the beating of my own heart.

“Meek little thing, aren’t you?” Prince Selwyn says softly.

I cannot tell if it is praise or an insult. Either way, I cannot fathom how to form a response.

He steps toward me. Every part of me wants to step back, to preserve this small distance between us. But I hold my ground.

“Your fear tastes strong, little vessel,” he rumbles.

I suck in a breath and remain silent. I really do think it is the best course of action. I am a mouse, and he is a cat, and anything, absolutely anything I do, will ignite his prey drive .

“Most people do not fear me,” he says, almost conversationally. “They believe the disguise I wear.” He pauses. “But you, little vessel, you see right through the sheep’s clothing, don’t you?. Tell me, do you like the wolf?”

Oh my. He is not a cat. He is a wolf. It is so clear now. I had the predator part right, but I misjudged the flavour. Prince Selwyn is pure wolf. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was a shifter and could turn into one.

He’d have a thick, tawny coat, and teeth that gleamed. Large amber eyes to see everything. Proud pointed ears to hear everything.

Suddenly, his fingers are on my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His gold-flecked eyes stare down at me, and I drown helplessly in them.

“Your magic is alluring. I am looking forward to claiming it.”

I swallow. We are all alone in a dark dungeon. With no chaperone. There is nothing to stop him from… doing anything he wants to.

A grimace of disgust briefly crosses his face. As if he read my thoughts and was insulted by them.

He releases my chin and steps back. I look back down at my feet. My lungs are working too fast, but I cannot slow them.

He may be able to do anything he likes, but everyone would know. Anyone with magic would be able to sense that my magic had been unleashed. They would know what was mine was now his. Everyone would see what he took, down here in the dark.

But would anyone care? Is Mother even alive? Did the assassin kill the treaty along with the prince ?

I could be worthless now.

My sleeping magic could be the only thing I have to offer.

The only thing worth taking.

His fingers brush over my shoulder. They run down my arm. Goosebumps erupt in their wake. A strange sensation blooms. It’s not an entirely unpleasant one.

Prince Selwyn is touching me as if he already owns me. And I don’t hate it.

“Were you aware of Lord Coxley’s plan?”

I inhale sharply through my nose. His touch was only to disarm me. He meant to throw me off balance. It wasn’t because of desire or longing, and I loathe how much that stings.

“No,” I say quietly.

I look up to show him the truth in my eyes.

He frowns. “Your word means nothing. Humans lie as easily as they breathe.”

Why did he ask me then? Wisely, I keep that thought to myself.

“I would not lie to my husband,” I say instead.

“I am not your husband,” he states coldly. Then he tilts his head to the side and regards me with a strange expression. “Do you wish for me to be your husband?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Of course, Prince Selwyn. It would be a great honour to be yours.”

He frowns again. Beautifully shaped brows drawing together. “Platitudes.”

I flinch and drop my gaze.

But he steps forward, closing the distance between us, and pulls my chin up again .

“How do you affect me so?” he demands angrily. “Your magic is delicious. Your body is pleasing enough.”

He falls silent. His free hand lifts, and he pokes me right in the middle of my forehead.

“But there is nothing in here.”

He glares at me. Brown eyes turning amber with frustration. “How do you hold my interest?”

I’m fairly confident it’s a rhetorical question. So I keep my silence. I merely lick my lips.

Prince Selwyn huffs out a little breath. He releases my chin, turns sharply on his heels and strides across the cell. He pulls open the door and strides out.

Just before he disappears out of view, he stops. He calls over his shoulder.

“Come. I will not have my future consort locked in a dungeon.”

My feet scurry to obey him. I hurry out of the cell and fall into place, three steps behind him.

Future consort. He called me his future consort. Does that mean the wedding is still on?

If so… is that a good thing or a bad thing?