Page 31 of The Deep End of Death (Twilight Lake #4)

I stared up at the Night King, my arms outstretched as I placed my body in front of Shay Mac Eoin—ready to take on the ruler of the Night Court if it meant protecting one of my mates.

It seemed that the other Princelings had the same idea as me. We had all moved the second the King had drawn his blade, placing ourselves around Shay in a formation that spoke of years of practice, though it had been entirely instinctual.

The Night King met my eyes, first with amusement, but as he held my gaze, something shifted inside him. The sword fell from his hands. The weapon bounced off the steps and skidded to a stop at the bottom. The Night King didn’t seem to care, his eyes still fixed on mine.

I felt his magic press against mine. I didn’t need to ask what kind of Sídhe he was. The Dark King was a Créacht Sídhe. I felt as he reached out and tried to grip every drop that ran through my veins but couldn’t.

His expression changed from jovial triumph to confusion and then fear.

It was easy to underestimate how much of a body was made up of water—besides blood. I was certain I could reach out, if I desired, and take the Dark King’s blood, pulling it from his body with a thought.

“What, pray tell, are you?” The Night King’s thick brow furrowed as he sat forward, inhaling sharply. “I recognize your scent. Though one such as you has not been seen for an age.”

My eyes narrowed. “Shay Mac Eoin is not a demon.” My chin juttered as I stepped forward. My hands shook, but not with fear—with need. The stone in my pocket was a roar in my skull, demanding and shrill. It wanted the Night King’s blood. Though I wasn’t entirely sure why.

My mouth filled with saliva as if expecting a sumptuous bite of food.

“Let him go,” I said firmly.

One of the attendants approached to retrieve the dropped sword, though the Night King waved them away. The weapon lay between us, close enough to grab if I wanted to. Even if it was much too large for me to handle.

“There is a name that seldom few remember.” The Night King lowered himself back into the throne. “The Queen of Air and Darkness. Do you know this name?”

My body jolted against my own volition. I had heard that name. King Irvine had used it when addressing the Siren Queen—Nuada, of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

“You know that name.” The King nodded, satisfied.

“I do.” I licked my lips, nervous.

“You see why I must eradicate the scourge.” The Night King squinted. “Demons cannot be allowed to live. Not after what they did to my wife.”

“The Queen of Air and Darkness.” I echoed the name. “One thing has nothing to do with the other. Shay Mac Eoin is mine. We are Shíorghrá. His life is mine, and I do not give you permission to end it.”

“Permission.” The King bit back a smile.

“Um, Maeve?” Rainn whispered. His defensive position had left him closest to me. “Maybe use some flowery language the Undine Court seems to love?” He suggested. “Try asking instead of telling? Huh?”

“Feck that.” Cormac snapped, his voice a low hiss.

I rolled my eyes, and though the Night King was a dozen feet away, separated by steps, he seemed to hear the Princelings as well—his lips ticking with amusement.

“A barter? Perhaps? Youngblood of the Tuatha Dé Danann?” The King affected disinterest, studying the gauntlet on his hand. “Would you consider such a bargain in exchange for your mate's life?”

“What did you have in mind?” My nostrils flared as the stone in my pocket flashed hot with outrage. I wasn’t sure if I could trust my emotions, and it took every ounce of strength I had not to pull the blood from every Fae in the ballroom and form an ocean of my own.

“The Kelpie in your band of misfits did not escape my notice.” The King did not look at us as he spoke. “Would you lend him to me? For a race?”

“A race?” I echoed.

I felt the tension rise from the Princelings. Untrusting and on edge.

“No.” I ground out. “You’ll let Shay Mac Eoin go with his life because he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“He’s demon spawn,” The Night King pointed out plainly; the gallery responded with whispers of agreement. “He is owed nothing and deserves nothing.”

“He is mine .” The foundations of the valley seemed to shake at my words. Up in the gallery, the wine in the spectator’s glasses began to rise, forming perfect spheres as they lifted into the air.

The Night King shrunk back one inch, and though he quickly corrected himself, it did not go unnoticed.

“The Queen of Air and Darkness was my bride. The mother to my children.” The Night King knitted his fingers together.

The action looked uncomfortable with the black metal gauntlets on his hands.

“On the Night of a Thousand Fires, when demons split the sky in two and came in droves. It was my wife and eldest son who fought back the demons. It was my wife and eldest son, Darragh, that lost their lives to those pale-eyed aberrations !”

The Dark King’s voice echoed from every corner of the room; no soul dared to breathe.

Tor put a hand on my shoulder. “Maeve,” He said my name softly, as a caress. “If a single race ensures Shay Mac Eoin goes free...”

“ Tor ,” I said his name firmly. The word was full of warning. He might be willing to race, but the Night King did not have a reputation for being kind to Kelpies. He had told me that.

“If you lend me your Kelpie for a race. A simple entertainment, if you will. I will let your demon go free.” The Night King stood, glancing once at the Fae in the gallery scornfully.

“To the lake!” He turned on his heels and marched away from his throne.

I didn’t loosen the breath I was holding until the Dark King slammed the door behind him without looking back.

The wine, which had risen to the ceiling in reaction to my anger, fell like crimson rain.

The silence, so suffocating, was punctuated by the screams of the Sídhe in the gallery.

The other guests ran from the ballroom, covered in flecks of Fion Fola. The blood wine dried in black-colored specks, coating skin, dresses, and the floor.

The armored guards, unfazed, lined the ballroom, their eyes forward as if we didn't exist.

We were the only guests in the expansive ballroom. An empty throne stood on the platform. The tense atmosphere remained, though the Night King and his attendants were long gone.

I turned to Tor, waggling a finger in his direction. “No,” I said simply.

Tor’s expression remained unchanged. “It’s my choice to make.”

“I agree with Maeve.” Shay interrupted. “We can find another way.”

“The Dark King is frightened,” Tor stated plainly. “He is trying to save face. It’s a rather innocent request. One that requires a mutual trust.”

“No,” I repeated.

Cormac rubbed his chin with his knuckle. “The Queen of Air and Darkness.” He mused.

“I noticed that as well.” Shay glanced at the Mer. “He was married to the Siren Queen. Nuada.”

“And he thinks she’s dead.” Cormac crossed his arms over his chest.

“If she’s running from the Dark King, for whatever reason, I have no intention of giving her up.” I lifted a hand like a youngling with a question. “We don’t know what happened,” I added unnecessarily.

Rainn’s blue eyes widened. “The male we’re searching for, Darragh Eoin. Was he the first-born son of the Dark King and Nuada?”

“Caught that, did you?” Cormac quirked a brow. “The Siren Queen may have misled us.”

“How so?” Tor’s gaze grew sharp.

“The Siren Queen told me that the Night King had her son’s wings displayed behind his throne,” Cormac stated.

“He doesn’t.” Rainn cut in.

“Gods can lie.” Cormac’s lip twitched. “But why would she?”

“Back to the matter at hand,” Shay stepped forward, reaching for Tor’s hand. I felt a throb of emotion through our bond. Guilt—so powerful that it robbed me of my breath. I knew Tor could feel it, too. He had to.

Shay continued, seemingly unaware of Tor’s distress. “You don’t have to race for me. We’ll find another way.”

“The Night King believes that demons killed his wife.” Rainn pointed out. “If we prove they didn’t—”

“ No .” Cormac shook his head violently. “Just no .”

“Making an enemy of a god is not wise. Nuada will collect her debt.” Tor conceded. “It's a race. I don’t even have to win.”

I rubbed my hand over my face. The fabric of my ballgown, which had begun as a novelty, weighed heavy.

“Let’s get this over with.” Tor declared, brushing his hands down the front of his tunic.

In Cruinn, King Irvine kept a stable filled with enchanted horses, from Reed-Steeds to Bubble-mares.

It was in the stables at Cruinn Castle that I encountered a Kelpie for the first time. A mare I would later find out to be Tormalugh’s youngest sister, Elsbeth.

Elsbeth had been fitted with a silver bridle woven with King Irvine’s magic, trapping her in her equine form.

As we stood in the Night King’s stables, I was pleased to see an absence of bridles, though I could not shake my unease.

Over a dozen Kelpies lined up in stalls, their coats slick as if coated in dripping tar.

I had never seen a Kelpie this far from water, and the steeds looked uncomfortable.

The stables were filled with dry grass and feed trays—marking the racers as animals instead of the sentient fae they were. Kelpies were Wild Fae, to be sure, but they were as clever as any Sídhe.

Tor’s nostrils flared, and his entirely dark eyes widened enough to show a sliver of white at the rim. His horror filled the air like a bitter medicine, and Tor’s entire body was rigid, unable to take another step.

I reached out, putting my hand on his bicep. “We’ll leave,” I stated. “We can run.”

Rainn nodded in agreement. “I vote for running.”

“What about the Siren Queen’s eldest?” Cormac frowned. “She gave us this task.”

“Feck this task.” Rainn snapped. “First Shay, and now Tor? I’m not cutting us off limb by limb for the whims of a god.”

Cormac growled. “She saved Maeve’s life.”

Rainn crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.