Page 13 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

“Third rule: you have to trust me. We can’t hope to fool a bunch of powerful royals and convince them that we’re engaged if you’re constantly shutting me out.

Just now, you were checking the street for something, and those red storm clouds are suspicious as fuck. What are they? I can keep a secret.”

“So can I,” I mutter, trying to move past him.

His hand curls tighter around my upper arm. “What was that sound before? Tell me.”

I shove him forcefully through the mirror, catching him off guard, and leap after him into the frozen depths of the sceawere. Thick, insidious ribbons of mist ghost along my cheeks, spooking me.

The sceawere, the space between worlds, is usually frosty and clear, like a sunny, windy winter afternoon, but not today.

An eerie, creeping mist gathers around us, its silvery rolls swallowing us deeper with every breath, each step heavy and sluggish.

The thick fog blurs my vision, and the ground beneath me shifts with an unsettling fluidity.

“I might be cocky, but you’re downright mental,” Seth chokes out, peeling himself off the bottom of the in-between.

My skin prickles, a chill running down my spine. Seth’s jaw is clenched, his masked face scanning the haze, his breaths shallow. There’s no sound, no sign of movement, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Whatever you were running from followed us,” Seth whispers.

“That’s impossible.”

Cupids can’t follow me through the glass to enter the sceawere.

That’s their one weakness. This is something else.

A growl echoes through the mist, too close and yet coming from all angles at once.

My pulse spikes, the ensuing silence raising goosebumps on my arms. Seth and I instinctively press our backs to one another, searching for the source of the sound.

The nightmare preying on us starts as a shadow, creeping into the edges of my vision like a growing stain on a glass mirror.

A monstrous wolf takes shape, its spiky fur shimmering, its eyes burning with malice.

The edges of its body are slightly translucent, but the crack of its joints as it lowers into a hunter’s crouch leaves me no doubt that the apparition is solid enough to maim and kill us.

It lunges at me without a second’s hesitation.

I raise my arm in front of me to protect myself, and the sharp edge of its canines tears through my jacket, taking hold of my arm with its powerful jaw.

A dull ache spreads across my arm, but I clench my fist, sending a burst of light forward to blind the wolf.

The beast whimpers, opening its jaw and stumbling back, but the flash is quickly swallowed by the heavy mist, and only provides a quick diversion.

Seth swerves around me, his hands crackling with energy.

Lightning snakes from his fingers, the bolt-shaped arches slithering toward one another and merging into a sword of pure electricity.

He swings the newly-formed blade at the beast but misses the mark, a meaningless chunk of fur separating from the creature.

I check on my bite wound, relieved to see the nightmare’s teeth only punctured the skin instead of tearing it off the bone. Hopefully, using my magic in the in-between will not create special, sceawere-adapted cupids, but I’ve never tried it. I never had to.

I dig the balls of my feet into the almost-liquid terrain, gasping for breath, and summon a long Light dagger in my palm.

Fighting here is like wading through mud.

Each movement drags, and my limbs tremble from the effort.

The swings of Seth’s lightning sword are slow and labored, but the glowing, crackling weapon draws the beast’s attention away from me.

The wolf leaps toward Seth, but he manages to side-step away from the beast and retaliates with a quick strike. A splash of black blood sprays his face, coming from the wolf’s front limb, and the nightmare howls, jerking around to leap again.

I dash under the wolf as it flies through the air, angling my blade up to slit its jugular vein and carotid artery, using its own momentum to cut deep. The dagger shakes in my grip, but I hold on, knuckles white. Tar-like blood drenches my hands and arms and freckles my masked face.

Seth’s sword cleaves the nightmare’s body in two as it collides at his feet, reducing it to shadows that dust into the air.

Mist still presses around us, but the beast is gone.

I dismiss my weapon, my entire body shaking from the cold and sheer claustrophobia of it all. “By Eros, you weren’t exaggerating when you said the magic was going haywire.”

“Didn’t you believe what I said? Faerie’s fucked.”

I tug on my raincoat’s pocket, Percy still tucked safely inside. “Are you alright, Percy?”

“Five by five.”

Seth’s gaze falls to my right hand. “You’re a dual wielder too? How did I not know that?”

“I dabble in Light magic,” I grumble.

He frowns at my grumpy answer. “Is one of your ancestors from the Sun Court?”

“None of your business.”

“You really don’t trust me at all.”

“What can I say? I’m not a very trusting person.”

“Good job with the wolf.” He reaches for his neck and swallows hard, as though he remembers exactly how close I came to slitting his throat, too. “You don’t shy away from violence, do you?”

“I inherited an unhealthy taste for bloodshed and destruction from my sire.”

Seth’s brows lift. “Sire? Ouch. I’m the bastard son of a king who disavowed me, and I still called him my father.”

I press my lips together, debating whether or not to elaborate, but I can’t hold it in. “Believe me, the man who sired me isn’t worthy of the name.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Wasn’t he a crow, your father? Some common Fae from the Shadowlands? Is that why you’re so…direct?”

He means rude, and I crack a smile. “Maybe.”

No one can know who my true father is, but Seth’s been told the well-crafted lie my grandfather had catered to for decades before he died.

“I heard he lost his marbles after your mother died, started spewing venom about the seven crowns, and died in some prison or another?”

“If that’s what you heard, then it must be true.” I grab the strings of glass inside the sceawere to play the address for the Winter castle, much as one would play a melody on a violin, using the tattoos inked on my lower arm.

Seth hovers closer. “Let me do it. I just came from Wintermere.”

I brace the tips of my fingers on his upper arm and shove him off in a precise and deliberate fashion. “I’m perfectly capable of finding my way, thank you.”

But, as it turns out, I’m not quite as efficient as I’d hoped in locating Elio’s study.

Despite my attempts to enter the passage I use every year when I visit the Winter King, I can’t find it, which means it’s either been destroyed, or a new set of wards is blocking the way.

I keep my face relaxed not to let Seth know anything is wrong and continue my search.

But after many failed attempts, my pulse quickens, and I handle the strings a little harder, making the many glimpses of the different portals leading to Wintermere blur together.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” Seth cracks, all smiles.

“Gods, stop breathing down my neck, I’ll find it,” I grit through my teeth.

Traveling the sceawere takes much skill, concentration, and patience, but it’s also a bit of an art.

For the life of me, I can’t find the mirror I’m looking for, warded or not.

I keep landing back at the one right next to the Winter castle, like I’m being forced in this direction by some unknown power, and I motion for Seth to move forward.

"Let’s get out of here before another wolf shows up. "

Seth leans in. "That wasn’t an answer. About your father."

I give him a nasty side-eye. "It was as much of an answer as you’re going to get."

"Oh, this," he waves a hand between us, "is going to be fun."