Page 41 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

Thorns

DEVI

T he wind howls outside the narrow windows, pressing through the cracks in the stone walls.

The fire in the hearth has dwindled to embers by the time Percy flutters through the glass and lands softly on the mattress.

I sit cross-legged on the bed, arms wrapped around myself.

My heels are off, abandoned by the rug. The bare skin of my back is cold from the lingering bite of storm-drenched air, but there’s nothing to sleep in except this damn dress.

“Seth is alright,” Percy whispers. “Alaric just came to speak with him, so I left.”

I open the covers to make space for him. “Stay close to me, tonight. We can’t risk you being seen.”

After Alaric confiscated the blade, I won’t lose Percy, too.

My Faeling hops closer.

“Aren’t you going to ask if I slept with him?” I say flippantly.

“I already know you didn’t.”

“How?”

He taps two fingers to my heart. “Your heartbeat is peaceful.”

A shiver rakes through me, and I tighten the covers around my frame. “Then why do I feel so empty?”

“Excellent question.”

“What’s the answer?” I plead.

He sways from his heels to his toes. “You’ve been lonely for decades, diamantay . Since your guy came along, you’ve felt connected to him. Even though you’re fighting it, you don’t feel quite so alone when he’s around.”

I meet his eyes. “What are you talking about? I’m not alone, I have you. And Seth’s not my guy.”

Percy sits down fully and folds his hands in his lap. “You haven’t felt that sting of loneliness and despair in days. Not since Seth rained into our lives,” he says, doubling-down on bugging me, his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

I hold my forehead and shake my head at his stubbornness. “He’s not for me, Percy.”

“Maybe he’s the only one for you,” my Faeling replies softly. “Because of how Freya hated you, how badly she treated you, even as a kid. Because of everything that made you too much for other men. Seth’s seen all that, but he’s not afraid.”

I press the flesh of my palms to my eyes. “You gave me hell for accepting his offer.”

“I gave you hell because I could see how much you wanted to hurt him.” Percy lets the silence settle between us before adding, “What happened at dinner?”

I exhale slowly. “Alaric wants to force Tatiana into marriage. He offered to free us if I manage to get her to agree. He’ll even grant us passage to Zepharion so I can kill Luther.”

“How are you supposed to sway Tatiana’s heart without magic?”

“Well, I didn’t lead with that. But it gets worse. If I refuse to help him, Alaric could keep us here for as long as he wants.” I play with my braids, stroking them down in a nervous, restless fashion. “He’s the new Storm King.”

Percy’s eyes widen. “Bloody fucking hells.”

The next morning and afternoon is spent in lock-up, toying with the supplies Brel fetched for me and the ingredients from my backpack.

I might not be able to carve forbidden arrows, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.

Decades alongside Mabel taught me a lot, and Seth’s not entirely wrong when he calls me a witch.

Blood magic is not needed to brew a love potion.

A small blackened cauldron dangles from a rack above the fire, swaying in the heat. Dried damiana leaves coat my fingers with sap, their peppery aroma sticking to the roof of my mouth. The water comes to a boil, unspooling a tangle of scents.

“I should go and warn Seth,” Percy says. “Explain to him what’s happened.”

“I told you. I can’t risk you being found.”

I gather the next ingredients.

Red lotus for a pliable mind, angel trumpets for a lush, heady high, and wild tuberose to induce obsession. Add a few drops of honey to sweeten the taste, and some hair Percy stole from Alaric’s pillow, and voilà!

One fall-for-the-villain flask, ready to serve.

“Seth needs to know that Alaric is the new king,” Percy insists.

“Then you’ll tell him tonight, after the ball.”

The mixture simmers into a thick, fragrant steam that curls into my hair and clothes.

I bottle a dose. “Here. Its effect should last about a day, enough for Alaric to be satisfied. If everything goes according to plan, he’ll never suspect that I used a cheap trick, and not my magic, to win over his bride.”

Percy sticks out his tongue, retching like he swallowed a handful of hair. “I can’t stomach the scent.”

“Me neither.” Shame pools low in my gut. This isn’t me. Love potions are superficial and short-lived. They don’t bind souls or form real attachments—just drug the mark long enough to make them pliant. I’m trading another woman’s right to choose for my own survival, and that sits foul on my tongue.

I used to abhor these tricks. Seduction by witchcraft always felt like a coward’s route, a step too far.

But here I am, brewing a cliché. If I ever get my magic back, I’ll teach Alaric a lesson he won’t forget, but for now, he’s the one in power.

And saving Percy, Seth, and myself has to come first.

“I’ve got only one shot at making our host happy, so wish me luck.”

I add enough water to the potion to destroy what’s left of it. With spells of the sort, you can never be too careful.

Percy flies up to the window. “It’s almost sundown. I better hide before that ghastly sprite comes in. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He kisses my cheek and disappears under the bed.

Brel comes into the room minutes after sundown to get me ready, just like she’d promised. Two of her subordinates fly in holding a hanger.

A strange, unusual dress dangles from their grasp, but before I can take a closer look, Brel hands me a black, see-through thong and a matching strapless bralette.

“Put this on, please,” she says, and I nod, quickly putting on the mesh lingerie.

Underwear is progress.

“And remove your necklace,” she adds.

I clutch the Aurelian talisman. “I need it for the task Alaric assigned me.”

“So be it, then kneel and hold your arms over your head. This dress is a little tricky to manage.”

I raise a brow but obey. In Spring, we weave our dresses directly around the body, a feat that permits risqué cuts and patterns, but the gown Alaric wants me to wear pushes the limits.

The dress is made out of a series of diamond-shaped pieces of lyranthium. The plates are strung together by delicate silver chains, the design fragile in appearance, yet heavy. It offers no coverage, no warmth, just the illusion of luxury.

“Don’t move.” Brel, with the help of her two assistants, pulls the dress over my head carefully. “The outer edges of the fragments are sharp enough to cut skin.”

The straps are minimal, with no sleeves, no back, and a hem that barely covers my butt. The small pieces of metal hug my curves, their inner surface polished to a smooth, cold gleam, and it feels like I’m wearing man-made scales.

It’s not the most outrageous dress I’ve worn, and it suits me far better than the soft, feminine gown Alaric had me wear last night.

This one is made for a goddess. The dark lyranthium looks either pitch black or deep purple, depending on my movements, and a tangible magnetic field hums against my skin.

“Well done,” Brel says.

Her two helpers leave as soon as the gown is out of their hands, and Brel places a pair of black flats on the ground. Their style is similar to the thong and bralette, but with thick leather soles.

Alaric must have noticed that the heels made us the same height last night.

Brel studies me, her ears held back. “His Highness wants you to wear your hair up.”

I toss my head forward and gather my braids together, quickly tying them in a high bun on top of my head. “If his Highness wants a messy bun, a messy bun he shall have,” I say, full of snark.

Brel clicks her tongue. “Couldn’t you braid it in a more appropriate fashion?”

“Not before dinner, no.”

She grunts. “Then come.”

I follow the sprite through the various hallways of the citadel until I spot a mismatched stare in the dark.

“Thank you for your service, Brel,” the Raven says to my guide. “I’ll escort our guest, now.”

The sprite bows before flying off.

Nathaniel Rayne’s mismatched eyes—one light gray, one cerulean blue—aren’t natural. I’ve never met a Fae with eyes like that, not even in the underbelly of the Spring Court where beauty turns monstrous. It feels like they shouldn’t exist in the same face.

He’s perfectly shaven today, with no imperfection. His youthful skin is balanced by a strong jaw and a muscled physique, but something about him sets my teeth on edge. He’s too pretty, too clean, too symmetrical.

There’s always something wrong beneath that much perfection.

And I should know.

He circles me, his voice smooth as glass. “Let me see you, little duck.”

The nickname hits harder now that he knows my true name and fame.

The nerve.

I spread my arms out, bored and unamused. “There. You’ve seen me.”

“Yes, a dress fit for a black rose. Thorns and all.” He extends his fingers toward the dress but thinks better of it, his hand retreating back to his side.

The cold weight of the metal protects me, the sharpness of my see-through armor preventing him—or anyone else—from touching me without getting cut.

“Brel will leave your door unlocked tonight, after the ball,” he says. “Ric will use it as a test, to see if you try to find Seth, try to escape, but you should come to me instead.”

My gaze snaps to his. “What?”

“Come to my bed tonight, and Alaric’s interest in you will wither.”

My jaw hangs open. “You’re offering to fuck me so your brother doesn’t?”

He nods, calm as a cucumber on ice. “Yes.”

“That's obtuse.”

“You don’t want him to like you any more than he already does. Believe me.”

My fingers curl at my sides. “Oh?”

“He’s the Lorn,” he says, the word flat and obvious, like I should already know what it means.

“And you’re the pimp, right?”

His smile thins as he traces my necklace with his fingers, the chain dipping low between my breasts. “Indeed I am.”

I take a step back, not because I’m afraid, but because Alaric has just rounded the corner, and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.

“Nathan,” he says, his voice firm but quiet. “Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs, greeting our guests?”

Nathaniel doesn’t blink. “I’m on my way.” He pauses as he brushes past me, his hand settling on my elbow for a split second. “I will leave my door open, just in case.”

Watching Nathaniel’s retreating back, I straighten my spine and wait for Alaric to catch up.

His evening jacket showcases the same diamond pattern as my dress, and he offers me his arm. “What did my brother want?”

“He tried to seduce me,” I answer honestly.

I’m used to men fighting over me, but this time, they’re not arguing about which one of them could fuck me better. It’s about power, and Alaric is king.

He licks his lips. “Did he succeed?”

“It takes more than a pretty face to sway me, Your Majesty,” I say, stroking his ego.

He grins. The expression looks awkward on his face, like the only smile he knows how to manage is joyless.

“Is Tatiana going to accept my proposal?” he asks.

I answer with a solemn nod. “Yes. But check with me before you ask.”