Page 4 of Night Fae (Monsters of Veridia #3)

Zev's chains clinked as he slumped against the wall. The sound of Malik being dragged away echoed in his ears, replaced now by his father's measured breathing as Darius watched him, studying him like a specimen.

"Where are they taking him?" Zev wanted to know.

"To a secure room." Darius approached slowly, the silver goblet still in his hand. "Where he'll wait until we reach an agreement."

Zev tested the chains once more, feeling the runes etched into the metal resist his weakened magic.

"There's nothing to agree on."

"No?" His father swirled the contents of the goblet. The smell of wine and blood filled the air between them. "Your situation would suggest otherwise."

Darius crouched to bring his face level with Zev's. "The Court has need of your particular talents again, son."

"I'm not your son anymore." Zev met his father's gaze. "And not the Court's assassin either."

"Yet you could be." Darius stepped closer, bringing the goblet to Zev's lips. "Drink. We'll discuss terms after you've regained your strength."

Zev turned his head away. No way would he drink anything his father offered. "What terms? What do you want?"

"Your return to service." Darius lowered the goblet, his smile thin. "Your return to the life you were born for."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then your human becomes the Court's newest plaything." Darius said it so matter-of-factly he might have been discussing the weather. "The Prince has developed quite an interest in him already."

The blood in Zev's veins turned to ice. Of course the prince had developed an interest in the human. Annoyingly, Malik was just handsome enough to be his type. Tall and warm-eyed, with those dark lashes. Pretty but not fragile.

Not fragile unless the Prince of the Night got his hands on him, anyway. "Malik has nothing to do with this."

"True," Darius agreed. "But he matters to you. That makes him useful."

"I've only known him for a short time."

"Then why did you risk capture to save him?" Darius's smile widened. "You hid in a wardrobe like a child rather than leave him to face us alone."

Zev had no answer that wouldn't reveal too much.

"One assignment," his father continued. "Prove your loyalty with one kill, and we can negotiate further terms."

"One kill that will inevitably lead to more."

"Perhaps." Darius didn't bother to dance around the truth. "But your human friend will remain unharmed while you serve. Refuse, and his suffering begins tonight."

Zev's fingers curled into fists above his head, chains rattling with his frustration. "Who do you want me to kill?"

"Someone who's become a thorn in the Court's side." Darius raised the goblet again, pressing it against Zev's lips. "The details can wait until you've agreed."

Zev jerked his head away, wine spilling down his chin. "And after I complete this job?"

Darius wiped a drop of wine from Zev's jaw with his thumb. "The human's continued safety will depend on your continued service. Simple."

Of course. Zev understood. His father was demanding open-ended servitude with Malik's life as collateral.

Curses.

No human was worth that much trouble.

Zev scowled at the man who had sired him. "So you want me to become your weapon again, killing whoever you point me at for as long as I care about the human."

"For as long as you care indeed." Darius's smile had something predatory about it. "It's a better offer than you deserve, my treacherous son."

Zev laughed, a harsh sound that held no joy. "It's a terrible offer."

"And what will you do about it?" Darius gestured to the chains. "You're in no position to negotiate. Either accept the Court's mercy or watch your friend suffer. Those are your choices."

"The Court has no mercy to speak of."

"Of course it does." Darius lowered the goblet, seeing Zev wouldn't drink. "Perhaps, in time, you might earn certain... freedoms."

Meaningless promises. Zev knew what those freedoms would look like: a leash that would never be fully removed, a cage with slightly wider bars.

Darius moved toward the door. "I'll return at dawn for your answer. If you're wise, you'll take my offer." His eyes locked with Zev's. "If not, the Prince will be happy to play with your human."

The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving Zev alone with his thoughts.

His shoulders burned from the strain of the chains, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the weight of the choice before him. To serve the Court again, to kill in their name… He'd be breaking every promise he'd made to Rhys's memory when he'd left this place.

But refusing meant condemning Malik to torment and death.

Rhys's face flashed in his memory—laughing, alive, before the Court had killed him. Before Zev had failed to keep him safe.

If only Rhys were here now. If only Zev could ask his advice. He'd know what to do.

His moral compass had never been broken the way Zev's was. All Zev had was the honor code he'd made up for himself when he'd left this place, and it wasn't helping him now. According to his code, he could neither abandon his ally nor kill for his father.

In situations like this, it became apparent that his system was a poor substitute for that intrinsic knowledge other people seemed to have of what was right or wrong.

These days, even Knox seemed to be doing better at that than Zev.

What would Knox want him to do?

Let Malik die or kill someone else?

No, he wouldn't have to kill just one other person. He'd be killing countless people before his father was through with him, and he'd be losing himself in the process.

When he looked at the situation from that angle, the right answer became quite clear.

Then why did it feel so wrong?

The guards marched Malik down a long corridor, their grip on his arms firm enough to bruise. He didn't know where they were going, but they were entering a section of the palace different from the one he'd been in before.

It appeared even more opulent.

Especially when they stopped in front of a large door that seemed carved out of silver.

Malik looked at it and felt as if he'd swallowed a brick.

Whose chamber was this?

Did he want to know?

"May the shadows have mercy on you," one of the guards said softly.

"The prince rarely does." The other chuckled, and then he knocked, three measured taps on the door.

"Enter," called a voice from within—melodic and smooth as silk sliding over skin.

The doors swung open without being touched. The guards propelled Malik forward into a chamber with a ceiling so high Malik couldn't see the end. Everything in it screamed 'dark royalty' in a way that made Malik himself want to scream.

He knew exactly where he was, and he only wished he were anywhere else.

"Leave us," the voice commanded.

The guards released Malik and backed out, relief evident in their hurried steps.

Malik stood alone in the center of the room, fighting the urge to rub his arms where the guards had held him.

Fighting also the urge to turn around and run.

He knew he wouldn't get far.

"So nice to see you again, human."

Malik turned toward the voice.

The Prince of the Night Court stepped through a door to the side, and Malik's breath caught in his throat.

He'd caught a glimpse of the man earlier, but he hadn't had the time to take in what he was seeing.

The prince was beautiful. Perfection carved from starlight, with features so flawless they seemed unnatural.

His skin shimmered with an inner luminescence, and hair as black as night fell past his shoulders.

The prince's eyes, though—those were what really caught Malik. Completely black except for pupils of burning silver that seemed to see through flesh, through bone, straight into whatever made Malik himself .

Malik shuddered, and not only because of the image the prince presented. He'd spent long nights reading about this man and his capacity for casual cruelty.

There were many villains featured in Monsters of Veridia , but Malik had always thought the Prince of the Night was the worst of them all.

There was no speck of remorse, no sense of goodness within that creature.

He claimed to dedicate his life to upholding the faith of the Church of the Night, but all he did, he did to while away the boredom of his immortal existence.

He tortured the unbelievers not because he had to, not to teach anyone a lesson, not even because he believed it was the right thing to do, but simply because he thought it was entertaining.

And now the prince's lips curved into a smile as he looked at Malik. "You're staring."

"I apologize." Malik tore his gaze away.

"No need." The prince glided closer, flowing more than walking. "I'm accustomed to admiration."

He circled Malik slowly, appraising him like a collector might examine a curious artifact. "You know who I am, don't you?"

Malik swallowed. "Prince Ashelon."

"How fascinating." The Prince—Ashelon—reached out and traced one cold finger along Malik's jaw. "A human who claims to be from another world who knows who I am."

Malik fought the urge to recoil from the touch. The finger left a trail of ice on his skin, and something worse—a thin tendril of awareness that wasn't his own, like a hook seeking purchase in his mind.

"You're afraid," Ashelon observed, his voice almost gentle. "But not in the way the other humans were. You know exactly what I am. How curious."

The Prince's finger traced a path from Malik's jaw to his temple, lingering there. The cold penetrated deeper, a spiderweb of frost spreading through Malik's thoughts.

"I can taste your knowledge," Ashelon murmured. "It sits at the surface of your mind, half-formed and trembling. Tell me how you know me."

Malik's tongue felt heavy in his mouth. The truth would sound insane, but lying to someone who could apparently touch his thoughts seemed equally foolish.

"In my world, there are stories about yours," he managed. "About Veridia. The Courts. You."