Merisel of Greenslieves is some backwater lady who just happens to have a distant queen in her family lines. She’s not particularly pretty—not like the glamorous fae princesses bound to be in attendance—and her tongue is boring and her wits slow.
I will fade into the background, some mere plaything the Prince of Dreams is growing tired of and he will attract all the attention.
Precisely as planned.
We’re led toward the ballroom, with flustered servants appearing from nowhere. If we’ve timed it perfectly, all the gallant fae will be dancing in celebration of the Blood Moon. It’s the first night of the wedding celebrations, an omniscient start to a weeklong orgy of merriment.
Tonight, they’ll crown the Willow Queen—she who was once offered to the bonfires to ward off the curse of the blood moon.
It might sound like a sacrifice, but the first Willow Queen was a clever little thing. A lowborn nixie, she drank as much water as she could from the pond and filled her veins with it before offering herself as sacrifice. She went to the bonfires and broke the curse, but she did not die. The fires couldn’t touch her.
When they dragged her from the ashes, the Blood Court’s curse was broken, and the king of the court was so enamored with her that he took her as his second wife.
Her family was blessed with skin that would ward off even the sharpest knife, and her weight in rubies.
I don’t know what happened to the first wife. Her name was lost to memory, and the very fact they honor the Willow Queen each and every blood moon tells you something about the first queen’s ending.
The doors before us open, and a self-important kelpie in a pomaded wig draws a deep breath and bellows, “His Royal Highness, Prince Keir of the Court of Dreams, and his betrothed, Lady Merisel of Greenslieves.”
Heads turn.
Gasps echo through the chambers.
The entire dance comes to a stop, as even the members of the string quartet in the corner tilts their heads to look at us, with one last discordant shriek from the cello.
I have never wanted to fade into the shadows so much in my life.
“Come, my love,” Keir says, taking my hand and drawing me forward into the light, as if he can sense my horror.
They’re all looking at me.
Hundreds of whispering fae. I think I’m going to vomit.
Focus on the job. I swallow it all down, and even though I’m no longer feeling sick, I know my skin has paled.
“Prince Keir,” a brunette breathes, her eyes wide with joy as she welcomes him. “An honor.”
“Your Highness.” Another woman swims out of nowhere, dropping into a deep curtsy. “We never dreamed we would have such an illustrious guest.”
On and on and on it goes as the females of the court swarm toward us.
But it’s the impossibly handsome fae prince on the throne who draws my attention. Malechus is the Crown Prince of the Court of Blood, the last in a long line of vicious, dangerous males. His father, King Aswan, may rule the court, but it’s said he keeps Malechus here at Castle Blackrock in virtual exile, far away from the throne and any ambitions his son might foster.
A crushed velvet doublet the color of a black-red rose spans his broad chest, with black edging clinging to his shoulders. Rings glitter on his fingers, winking in the light, and I catch a glimpse of midnight leather shifting over his thighs as he finally sights us through the crush.
Instantly, he stills, like a panther sighting its enemy.
His brown hair hangs in a wavy curtain to his shoulders, and eyes the color of a crystalline lake lock on me, even as he plucks a golden goblet from his attendant’s tray and nurses it negligently. He slowly lifts the wine to his sulky mouth, but he barely sips it. Instead, he watches us over the rim, his blackened claws scraping on the gold.
Or no, not us.
Me.
That look shivers all the way through me. It’s intimate, as if he’s picturing stripping the gown from my body or drawing me into the embrace of a knife.
“You’ve met before?” Keir murmurs in my ear, clasping his hand over mine as he leads me toward the dais.
“No.” Though there’s something about the way the prince looks at me that makes me question the truth of that myself. “Maybe he’s met my sister. Soraya resembles me in some ways. Her hair and eyes are black, but otherwise we could be twins.” My voice roughens. “A little bit of glamor and she fooled even you, after all.”
“Mmm.” Keir strokes my knuckles. “Then I don’t like the way he’s looking at you.”
Me either, but— “If you kill the prince, then we won’t get what we both want.” Though the Prince of Blood is going straight to the top of my suspect list for those involved in Soraya’s disappearance.
“Prince Keir.” Malechus strides down from the dais, a dangerous smile on his mouth as he clasps hands with the prince and draws him into a swift embrace. “If I’d known you thought to attend, I would have sent an invitation.”
“If I’d known you would invite me, I would have made my intentions clear.” Keir’s smile is a knife.
The two of them part.
And though Keir has an inch on him, Malechus feels in no way less dangerous.
“Please allow me to present my lovely bride-to-be, the lady Merisel,” Keir purrs, a hand coming to rest in the small of my back as he gestures me forward. “She wishes to lure me back into the world.”
“Ah yes.” Malechus reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips, his eyes settling once more on me. “I’ve heard many things about the lovely lady. Twenty potential brides accepted your Summons, and yet it was this one pretty little dove that caught your eye.”
“A dove?” Keir laughs under his breath. “I consider my love a peregrine instead.”
“And she’s captured fair prey,” Malechus says, breathing the words
