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CHAPTER 1

MIRA

It’s a somber affair, paying tribute to the monsters who captured our kingdom. I step forward when the line moves. My stomach twists as I await my turn. The beautiful but terrifying fae soldiers who conquered my people stand on a dais, observing the proceedings with an air of cold malice. I try not to look at them, these creatures who are now our overlords.

Unfortunately, each household in the Kingdom of Trevos must offer a minimum of ten silver pieces to the fae, and those who lack the funds must provide comparable alternatives, such as livestock, jewels, fine textiles, or rare spices. The poorest families, however, are being forced to hand over a daughter or son. It’s tragic and cruel and so very wrong, and my heart breaks as I witness the tearful goodbyes at the front of the line.

The bag of silver in my pocket feels heavy. Too heavy. I’ll be lucky to keep my house and survive winter after making the contribution. The creditors who are breathing down my neck won’t be happy to learn I can’t pay them as soon as I’d promised, but at least I managed to scrounge together the required amount for the tribute. Pissing off human creditors likely isn’t as dangerous as pissing off the fae.

Agonized screams sound from outside, and I glance toward the open doors. The fae are rounding up runners, those who’ve tried to flee in the wake of King John’s surrender, which occurred just two days ago only hours after the start of the ill-fated battle. Some of the runners are being slaughtered, while others are being kept as slaves.

A shiver courses through me as the screams intensify, a crescendo of pain and terror. Earlier, as I waited to enter the castle, I’d kept my gaze straight ahead, not wishing to see the carnage. Hearing it is bad enough. So is smelling the blood. I feel on the verge of sickness.

The atmosphere inexplicably changes, and I look up to see a massive, dark-haired fae male striding into the castle. Not only does he possess thick, curving horns, but he also has massive, white feathered wings that disappear in an abrupt flash of light. I suppress a gasp, and the line shifts to the right as people attempt to give him a wide berth.

Gods. Why can’t I look away?

He’s perhaps the tallest fae I’ve ever seen, and his boots click ominously in the receiving hall, somehow drowning out the screams of the runners. As he approaches, I count over a dozen knives in varying sizes strapped to his belt and thighs.

Like most of the fae soldiers, he’s clad in form-fitting, black leather pants and a matching jacket. The jacket, however, is halfway open, revealing a glimpse of his muscular chest. His dark silver skin shimmers in the light, reminding me of the rare glittering moonflowers that grow deep in the forest.

But there’s nothing delicate about him.

He appears carved out of stone, his features sharp and chiseled and hard, a brutal soldier who emanates authority and darkness.

He pauses and scans the receiving hall with cold black eyes.

The eyes of a merciless predator.

My mouth goes dry when that unforgiving gaze lands on me.

He stares .

He stares and I’m still unable to look away.

Suddenly, I experience the sensation of falling. Time stops, and the whole realm fades until there’s only the two of us. As the moment stretches on, I forget how to breathe, and pressure builds in my chest.

His nostrils flare and his muscles tense. Though I don’t hear it, I swear a low growl rumbles from his chest. For one awful moment, I think he’s about to attack me.

Then he blinks, spins on his heel, and heads for the dais.

I suck in a much-needed breath as my body breaks into a tremble.

How many human soldiers did he kill during the battle? I can’t help but wonder. It’s said that only the most powerful fae possess wings, wings they can summon or make vanish at will. During the short but deadly battle, I occasionally peeked out my window to see massive fae soaring through the skies, some with white feathered wings, others with black batlike wings. I’d even glimpsed a few with golden, almost translucent wings.

Someone behind me clears their throat, and I notice the line has moved again. As I step forward, I touch the bag of silver in my pocket to reassure myself of its presence. I don’t want to reach the front of the line without the required tribute.

Oh gods. It’s almost my turn.

I watch as an elderly man tries to offer himself to the fae, only for the young woman standing next to him to be dragged away. His granddaughter, I presume, and probably the only family he has left. Entire households are required to show up together to pay tribute to our new fae overlords, even infants and the infirm.

As the last remaining member of my household, I’m here alone. My parents and brothers perished from an illness last winter, and though I’ve received plenty of offers, I’ve yet to marry. After watching my little brothers die, I can’t fathom getting married and starting a family of my own.

What if the same thing happened to my children? I’m not sure I could bear it.

I’d rather be alone. It’s safer. Less fraught with sorrow. That’s what I tell myself during the long quiet nights when my heart aches under the solitude.

There’s also the issue of my tiny but fertile homestead and my fear that prospective husbands are more interested in my property than me. It hasn’t escaped my notice that all the marriage proposals I’ve received thus far have come from second and third born sons, men who aren’t likely to inherit any land or money from their fathers.

Yes, I have some very good reasons for avoiding marriage. Even if sometimes it’s scary to be alone. Like right now.

At last, it’s my turn.

I step before Prince Lucas, who hails from the Summer Court, and perform an awkward curtsy. King John, the former ruler of Trevos, sits at the fae prince’s feet directly beneath the throne. I can’t help but wonder why the fae have allowed King John to live, though I suppose they’ll eventually kill him after a suitable period of humiliation.

“Please state your name, household status, address, and tribute,” a scribe says as he dips his quill in ink.

I draw in a deep breath and pray my voice comes out steady. “Mira Ambrose, last of my household. Twenty-Six Sunflower Lane. I offer ten pieces of silver.” After withdrawing the bag from my pocket, I hand it to the scribe’s assistant.

Before I turn to depart the receiving hall, I can’t help but notice the vacant look in King John’s eyes. Though he’s peering in my general direction, I’m not sure he sees me or anyone else. Have the fae glamoured him into despondency, or is he simply traumatized by recent events?

Just when I’m about to turn and walk away, a strange warmth spreads through my chest, and my gaze is pulled upward until I’m staring at the huge dark-haired fae male who recently entered the hall. The soldier with thick, curving horns who can summon white, feathered wings. He stands directly behind the fae prince, and his visage is… odd. He no longer appears stern and forbidding. Instead, he looks… shocked. Confused.

From my peripheral vision, I notice the scribe’s assistant is gesturing for me to step aside. I’m holding up the line. Tearing my eyes from the massive fae soldier isn’t easy, but I somehow manage to glance away and force my legs to move.

Each step I take feels wrong. It’s preposterous, but it’s as though the more space I put between myself and the fae male, the tighter my chest becomes. It’s like there’s a tug between us, a physical force that’s trying to pull us closer.

I suppress a gasp. He’s glamouring me. Or trying to. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. But why? Why would he try to keep me from leaving the castle? Why would he create feelings of warmth inside me?

Once I make it outside, I inhale the crisp early winter air as though my life depends upon it. I don’t pause. I keep walking and don’t dare look at the runners. The scent of their blood makes me nauseated, and I hasten my pace, eager to get away. Desperate to reach the safety of my home. Not for the first time, I consider how lucky I am that my homestead only sustained minimal damage during the brief but deadly battle.

I keep my head down as I traverse the streets, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact with the fae soldiers who are keeping patrol. Gods, they’re everywhere. I catch glimpses of their enormous leather-clad bodies as they march through the city. More than once, I feel the coldness of their gazes.

Relief rushes me when I reach Sunflower Lane. My little four-acre homestead rests on the outskirts of the kingdom but still within the stone walls. During the spring and summer months, it’s verdant with medicinal flowers, berry bushes, and numerous fruit and vegetable plants. Pride fills me as I recall how bountiful the harvest was this year, and I start to believe that I might indeed survive the winter. I have enough food put away, and I have access to fresh, clean water. If I can manage to stay warm and avoid illness or injury, I will survive.

Of course, I need to quickly earn enough money to pay the creditors back. I borrowed money in order to pay healers when my parents and brothers were sick, and eventually, to give them a proper burial. The creditors gave me a year to repay them. Unfortunately, as of this week, the year is up and the money is due. In anticipation of the due date, the creditors have sent notices to my house, and they’ve also accosted me in the street a few times.

If the fae hadn’t conquered Trevos and demanded a tribute from every household, I would’ve managed to pay my debts already, and I decide I don’t quite feel sorry for King John’s current predicament. His foolishness has caused the entire kingdom to suffer.

Perhaps I can sell some of the food I’ve stockpiled, or maybe I can work as a barmaid. I won’t lose my home. I won’t wind up homeless in the middle of winter. It simply can’t happen.

I open the front gate, and my heart sinks a bit as I spy the depleted stack of firewood beneath the overhang on the front porch. Obviously, buying more isn’t an option. Hm. Perhaps I can venture into the forest and cut my own firewood. Just like Papa used to do. Maybe. Once things settle down and it’s safe to leave the city. I don’t want to be mistaken for a runner and captured by the fae.

But surely they will have to allow hunters, trappers, and traders to leave the city. They can’t keep us locked down forever. There’s only so much food and other supplies inside the walls of Trevos.

I shut the gate behind me and glance down the street. When I spot a tall, leather-clad figure halfway down the road, I gasp.

It’s him . The scary fae male who tried to glamour me in the castle. His white wings are out, resplendent in the sunlight. Holy freaking gods. He followed me. But why?

As our eyes remain locked, time once again stands still. The warmth from earlier also fills me, and I have the oddest urge to approach the male. Yet I don’t dare make a move.

His visage morphs from stern to… tender.

My heart skips a beat.

What is wrong with me? I should be afraid. I should be running for my life. No sane woman wants to catch the notice of a fae male. It always ends badly. It is why girls are warned from an early age not to trek into the forest alone, because a depraved fae male might capture and keep you as his concubine. Until he tires of you and throws you off a mountain, that is. Or until he decides to rip your heart out and eat it for dessert. The varied stories are creative and gruesome, but all contain the same warning—stay away from the fae and never make deals with them, not even if your life depends upon it.

A growl rips from the fae’s throat, and his wings spread wider. Then he shoots into the sky and soars away, heading toward the castle.

I watch until he disappears in the clouds, pondering his identity. What is his name and what is his station among his people? Is he an important lord, or perhaps a commander or a royal?

Will I ever see him again?

Despite the warmth his presence evoked, a shiver skitters down my spine.

He knows where I live.