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A geas .

Marjani’s mouth twisted. Fane was bound to the king…had been working for him all this time.

He’d warned her that Sindre had spies everywhere. Hell, he’d flat out told her not to trust him. But had she listened? No.

She’d willingly come with him inside the castle, slept in the same bed. She’d even allowed the bastard to kiss her.

Holy singing crystals, did she know how to pick men.

His eyes flickered, and she knew he’d seen her contempt. He stared down his straight nose at her. “Do you want another quartz or not?”

“Yes.” She swallowed and made herself say, “Thank you.”

Because if it kept her out of a cage, she’d be grateful to him even if it choked her.

“We don’t have much time. Sindre’s an impatient man. But I know where I can get one outside the castle. I’ll be right back.”

And then he was gone, like the Flash in those human movies. One second, he was there; the next, the room was empty.

She sat down and fiddled with the checkers again. But she couldn’t focus.

She gazed unseeingly at the red checker in her hand. I trusted you.

She felt again his mouth on hers, his hands on her body. He’d been so gentle with her. Careful.

A black rage filled her head. She slammed the checker down on the board, denting the inlaid wood and scattering the other pieces across the table. A few fell on the floor.

With a growl, she gathered up the checkers and returned them to their box before getting up to pace restlessly to and fro. Forget him. It’s Sindre you have to worry about.

After what felt like an hour but was really only about ten minutes, Fane slipped back into the room with a quartz about the same size as hers. “Will this do?”

She turned the quartz over in her hand. It was an ordinary milky quartz, not amethyst, but it hummed a weak tune. If necessary, she could probably even make it glow to fool the fae.

“I think so. Yeah.”

She undid the knot in the leather cord securing her amethyst and tucked it into her bra before tying a new knot around the substitute quartz. She dropped the cord over her head. “I’m ready.”

“Jani?” Fane reached for her. When she just stared at his hand, he let it drop to his side. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Anger and hurt crammed her throat like sharp gravel. “I’m nothing to you. Just a job for the king.”

“That’s not true.”

She picked up her backpack. “Just take me to him.”

He blew out a breath and then opened the door. “Fine.”

This time, Fane did nothing to conceal Marjani’s presence. She attracted plenty of attention with her shaved head, drab clothes, and hiking boots. The looks ranged from coldly appraising to pity.

She stomped past, deliberately slamming her boot heels onto the bright blue tiles.

A pack of goblins trotted up. They swirled around her, snapping and snarling. She hissed and showed her fangs, and they gave high-pitched laughs like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard before continuing by.

The maze grew increasingly complicated, crisscrossing itself and turning abrupt corners. At times the pearly walls pressed in so the two of them had to walk in single file.

“I thought the king wanted to see me,” she muttered.

“He has a peculiar sense of humor.”

“Fucking awesome.”

Disoriented, she drew on her quartz, and discovered that she could “see” a pattern in the maze: two lefts and a right, three rights and a left, and so on, always heading steadily north. It was kind of like plotting a path to kings row in checkers.

She memorized the sequence. If she somehow escaped Sindre with her fur intact, she didn’t want to get lost in his damn maze.

“This way.” Fane ducked through an archway. At the end of a long hall was a huge oak door, leading to what her internal GPS told her was the north tower.

Her stomach knotted. She palmed her switchblade.

“Put that away, damn it.” He grabbed her arm. “You can’t fight your way out of this. You have to bargain with him.”

He was right, much as she hated to admit it. She shoved the switchblade back into her pocket.

“There. Now let me go.”

His grip tightened. “I’m not your enemy. Remember that.”

“So you keep saying,” she spat back. “And yet here I am.”

Fane released her. “I’m sorry.”

The black rage washed over her again. “Go to Hades,” she grated, and pushed past him.

Fane easily passed her with those long legs of his and reached the door first. It swung open on silent hinges, and she stalked into the tower on that wave of anger.

She was in a spacious antechamber. A big bodyguard with long black hair and silver eyes gave her a small bow. No scent, but maybe Sindre had given him one of those charms.

“Welcome, senhorita,” he said in a southern European accent. “The king is expecting you. You, also,” he said to Fane. “Please, enter.”

He indicated an arched doorway. Marjani nodded and continued through the door, Fane on her heels. They were in a huge, high-ceilinged room that took up most of the tower. She blinked.

Because it was snowing.

She shot a look up, but no, a glass-and-steel dome capped the tower. And yet, fat white flakes drifted down to settle on the marbled granite floor and the furniture scattered here and there in intimate groupings.

Silver and blue fae lights floated through the falling snow, augmenting the natural light from the long, narrow windows, and leafless trees around the perimeter stretched gnarled limbs toward the feeble sunlight.

The walls held towering bookcases filled with leather-bound books and museum-quality vases and statuettes, and an arched doorway like the one they’d come through marked each of the four compass points.

Presiding over it all was an impossibly beautiful man on an ivory velvet couch, one sinewy arm slung along the back, head tipped to the snowflakes. His white-blond hair spilled over broad shoulders, and he wore pale gray pants and a collarless white linen shirt that hugged his lean torso.

Sindre.

She didn’t need Fane’s whisper to know who he was. The man reeked of silver and power, the kind only an old, old fae could gather.

Not that he looked his age. She knew the king had seen more than a thousand turns of the sun, but he could’ve been Fane’s slightly older brother. They had the same sculpted features with slanted cheekbones and a straight, definite nose.

He lowered his chin to look at Marjani. She concealed a shiver, because his eyes gave his age away. They were the cold gray of glacial ice, the eyes of a man who’s seen entire civilizations come and go.

“Marjani Savonett.” Sindre scrutinized her as if she were a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. “Welcome to my court.”

The knot in her belly tightened another notch. It was never a good thing when a fae addressed you by your full name.

Setting her backpack by the door, she squared her shoulders and made herself walk forward. “Your highness. Peace to you and yours.” She inclined her head. “I apologize if I’m intruding.”

Those frosty eyes bored into hers. She forced herself not to squirm.

“You couldn’t have entered the castle without an invitation. Who invited you, I wonder?” He glanced at Fane, who remained a little behind her and to the side, feet apart and hands at his sides like a soldier at attention.

“I followed a man in,” she said before Fane could reply. “A dark-skinned man with silver hair,” she added, carefully sticking to the truth. “He didn’t see me. He was on a motorbike.”

“Lord Jon?” Sindre asked Fane.

“I wasn’t there, your highness.”

“No matter.” The king returned his gaze to Marjani. “I wanted to meet you, anyway.”

She swallowed. “Oh?”

A snowflake landed on her cheek and instantly melted, leaving an icy droplet behind. She brushed it away as Sindre unfolded his long body from the couch and strolled toward her. She clenched her toes in her boots and remained where she was.

He paused a few feet away, smelling of silver and snow.

She had to tip back her head to meet his eyes. He was even taller than Fane, with eyebrows and lashes the same white-blond as his hair. The snowflakes caught on them, forming glittering crystals.

Her fingers twitched. She’d never craved the reassurance of one of her knives so much, even though Sindre would probably freeze her in her tracks—literally—before she could stick a blade into him.

Ice fae drew life-energy from the movement of molecules.

Even young ice fae could suck the energy out of liquid water, turning it to ice, and the most powerful could draw energy from living things.

“You did well, Fane,” Sindre said without taking his gaze from her. “Bringing her to me. I like a man who thinks for himself.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fane give a tight nod.

Her lungs constricted. Was that what he’d done? Brought her to Sindre?

Fane shot her a miserable look.

Don’t think about it. Whatever Fane had or hadn’t done wasn’t important now. Not with this beautiful, deadly male eyeing her like a hungry lion would a rabbit.

Her chin lifted. “I brought myself. If Fane helped, he was only doing what I wanted.”

Sindre quirked a brow. “I beg your pardon.” His voice was soft and silky. Mocking.

She shrugged, out of her depth and sinking fast. Gods, she hated playing fae games. But the rage still burned in her, and it was rapidly being transferred to this mocking male.

She set her jaw. “Are you going to put me in one of those iron cages?”

Displeasure flitted across his face. “You know about the cages?” The falling snow came down harder, and the already cool tower grew even chillier.

“Why? Are they a secret?” She deliberately didn’t glance at Fane, but Sindre did.

“A secret? That’s a strong word for it.” He paced a slow circle around her, his expensive leather shoes kicking up the snow into small white clouds. “But an envoy should know better than to share my private business.”

She turned with him. “The man in that cage is my business.”

“Not anymore. He renounced your brother as his alpha.”