Holy shit. I mean, ho-ly shit.
“Okay, so that’s super vivid, and I really appreciate where this is all coming from—”
He removes my hand. “Clearly I’ve been too soft and you too lenient if you don’t believe—”
Hand back on his mouth. “—but I’d really just like to get through the week without any other incidents,” I finish.
This time when Des pulls my hand away from his lips, he’s gentler, clasping my hand between his. “I cannot undo what’s been done, but I want to make things right for you.” His voice drops low. “I don’t want you to ever have to go through that experience again.”
He’s legit going to make me choke up.
“I won’t,” I say, my voice hoarse.
It’s an empty promise. Neither of us were able to stop my abduction from happening once before, who’s to say we could stop it from happening again? But sometimes you just need to make those stupid, empty promises for the benefit of everyone. “I can deal with the Day King for a week.”
A blatant lie because I’m pretty sure I can’t. I’m a chicken when it comes to facing down the bad men who’ve victimized me.
But somehow I’m just going to have to deal—both for Des’s sake and for mine.
Chapter 28
That night, I lay in Des’s arms, the stars back in the sky where they belong, my hair spilling around us. A few fairy lights hover in the air above us, giving the room a soft glow.
Des strokes my back, his movements stirring the feathers of his wings. My cheek presses against his warm chest. If ever I had a home, it would be right here.
“Tell me about your father,” I say, my own fingers idly tracing the muscles that run down his torso.
Des lets out a laugh devoid of mirth. “Did I scare you that much earlier?”
I lift my head and give him a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”
His hand on my back pauses. When it resumes, it’s to draw idle pictures with his finger. I wonder, if he were handed a pencil and paper, what, exactly, those idle drawings would be of.
“They say I get my temper from my father,” he admits.
“Who says this?” I ask quietly.
“It’s known that the Night Kingdom’s royal bloodline is quick to anger,” he says, sidestepping the question. “It’s why my mother made me work so hard to control my anger, and it’s what made me particularly ruthless when I was with the Angels of Small Death.”
I find I want to ask about his brotherhood, but I bite back my questions, afraid it will derail what I really want to know tonight.
“Even now,” he continues, “when I’ve had so much time to work on it, it can still take over.”
Like earlier tonight.
I want to tell him that he’s not giving himself the benefit of the doubt. When I think about Des and control, I think about all those months I spent back in high school trying to whittle my mate down to no avail. Or how, when he found me in Karnon’s throne room, bloody and broken, he still kept a leash on his anger up until the very last moment.
But I don’t mention any of this.
Instead, I ask, “Would your father lose control?”
Des’s hand moves to my hair. He runs his fingers through it, letting it slide through them.
“Sometimes—from what I’ve heard,” he says. Des’s eyes grow distant. “Usually when something unpleasant surprised him.”
I lay my head back down on his chest. “You still haven’t exactly answered my question.”
There’s so much I don’t know about Des—centuries worth of memories he hasn’t bothered to share. And I want to know each and every detail about his life, but this particular detail, his father, is one that seems especially important.
“Then perhaps,” his finger taps my nose, “you should be more precise with your questions.”
“Des.”
I hear the sigh of air that leaves his lungs. “Out of all the fun, wicked little truths you could ask me, you had to choose this one …”
He’s squirming, I realize. It’s so very human, and so very unlike my mate.
“I don’t like talking about him,” he admits.
I get that. God, do I get that.
“He was killing off his children,” Des says out of nowhere.
I tense in his arms.
“When I was conceived,” he continues, “he was killing off all his children. The adults, the kids, even the babies”
I don’t breathe for several seconds.
The first ludicrous thought I have is that Des once had siblings.
The second is that they’re now all ghosts. Every one of them. All because of his father.
I can’t wrap my mind around that. It’s too cruel, too evil, too unconscionable.
“Why?” I finally ask. My question seems to echo in the quiet of the room.
I don’t expect an answer, not just because Des isn’t forthcoming with them, but also because I’ve found as a PI, the most twisted cases hardly ever have an explanation. Sometimes people do atrocious things just because they can.
The Bargainer’s hand slides from my hair, down my arm.
“Some prophecy he received forewarned him that his legacy would lead to his downfall.”
It sounds like a Greek drama.
“I don’t know if he ever cared about his children, but if he did, he cared about his power more.”
Now I understand why, as frightening as the casket children are and as soulless as they might be, Des won’t harm them.
No child deserves to be slaughtered because of their bloodline.
“My mother was a favorite concubine of his. When she found out she was pregnant, she fled the palace. Eventually she ended up in Arestys. I didn’t know it until later, but throughout my entire childhood we were living in hiding.”
I’d wondered how Des could’ve come from the royal harem and still have the life he had.
Now I know.
My thuggish king. He wouldn’t have existed if his mother hadn’t done what she did.
Trying to imagine a world without Desmond Flynn is even harder to fathom than a world in which a father kills off all his heirs.
What would life be like if there was no Bargainer to save me from my past, no Des to comfort me in the night, no mate to stake his claim after seven long years of waiting?
Just the thought hurts.
I stroke my fingers down his skin. It didn’t happen. The man beneath me is more than dreams and wishes. He’s flesh and blood, skin and bone, muscle and magic.
And he’s mine.
“Did it come true?” I ask. “The prophecy?”
For several seconds, all I hear is Des’s breathing. Eventually, he lifts his hand, and the fairy lights above us wink out.
“That’s enough sharing for one evening,” he says.
In the darkness, I’m left to my own thoughts. And I can’t help but wonder—
What is Des still keeping from me?
Chapter 29
The sounds of clinking silverware echo in Mara’s private breakfast nook.
“Well, last night was more than a little thrilling,” Mara says, breaking the silence.
The three fae rulers, me, and the Green Man all are seated around a table, enjoying an awkward-as-fuck breakfast.
One of the cornerstones of Solstice are the diplomacy talks that occur during this week, and apparently today’s breakfast meeting is the first of them.
To be honest, I don’t have high hopes about how this year’s talks are going to go. The Fauna King is noticeably absent while his kingdom is scrambling to find a replacement ruler. Des and Janus, meanwhile, have been glaring at each other the entire meal, Des rolling his knife around his hand like I’ve seen him do with daggers. And Mara has glanced at me a few times, but she hasn’t quite been able to make that leap to addressing me properly.
All I’m trying to accomplish is to keep breakfast down and not freak the hell out. I shouldn’t be docilely sitting at a t
able with the man who abducted me from Des’s house. If he were a human man, I’d have already been elbows deep into my revenge, using my glamour to get him to do anything and everything I willed. But, alas, he’s a fae king, one both immune to my powers and staggeringly powerful himself.
The only one who seems to be enjoying himself is the Green Man. He’s been tucking into his eggs like it’s a profession.
This is the weirdest diplomacy meeting ever.
“So remind me again,” Mara says, glancing between the King of Day and the King of Night, “what tiff was it again that almost ruined two millennia of peaceful Solstice gatherings?”
Des leans back in his seat, folding one leg over the other knee. “Janus kidnapped my mate.”
Janus slams his silverware down on the table, making the plates rattle. “For the last goddamn time, I didn’t touch her.” His eyes flick to me. “I’ve never even seen her before.”
Liar.
I don’t know what he’s playing at, but I could never forget the corona of light that shines around him or that face of his, which would make sculptors weep.
He must read my thoughts from my expression because his eyes flick away in annoyance.
Mara’s gaze moves to me. “Did Janus kidnap you?” she asks, folding her hands under her chin.
It takes me a second to respond because, oh my God, she actually addressed me, a mere mortal.
I set down my fork. “Yes.” My voice is steely.
Janus lets out a huff, throwing his hands up in the air. “I did not.”
“So, Janus was working with Karnon?” Mara asks the room.
My eyes are trained on the King of Day.
No one answers.
“Well?” she presses, her attention turning to Janus, “is it true?”
“Of course it’s not. I can provide an alibi—not that I’m inclined to.” He levels Des with another glare.
“Well, there we go,” Mara say, smiling tightly. “He can provide an alibi. Perhaps Callypso here was just confused.”
“I wasn’t,” I say. Only my voice sounds a touch defensive because … what if? What if the King of Day was able to prove that he wasn’t on earth that morning he abducted me?
What then?
“Now, can we all move on?” Mara says, ignoring my response. She gives everyone a hard look—me in particular—and I quickly realize we’ve come to the last of her good graces.
Put up and shut up, that’s what she’s demanding of us.
“Please,” Janus says, exasperated.
Shadows begin to seep into the corners of the room. I haven’t glanced over at Des, but just from those shadows alone I can tell that he’s not going to agree to anything.
Des leans back in his seat. “N—”
Swallowing down my cowardice, I place a hand on his thigh, stopping him.
“Yes,” I say, my voice hoarse.
Des drags his attention off of Janus long enough to give me a stormy look. Whatever he sees on my face has him working his jaw. Ever so slowly, the shadows recede.
Folding his arms over his chest, he gives a hard nod.
“Fabulous.” Mara picks up her flute of champagne. “Now, onto the real news: Desmond, you killed Karnon?”
Next to me, the Bargainer says nothing, looking both savage and insolent.
“Desmond.” Mara presses. She appears almost predatory, waiting on his answer.
Idly, he picks up my hand and plays with it, a small gesture that draws our audience’s attention. “Yes, I killed him. He hurt my mate.”
“Hmmm.” Mara takes a sip of her drink.
Her eyes move to me, calculating, curious. “What was it like, being Karnon’s prisoner?” she asks me.
My heart’s beginning to race. I take a steadying breath. “It was hell. Absolute hell.” I’m proud that my voice doesn’t waver. I might feel like a mess, but I sound sure of myself.
Mara leans forward, a sick light to her eyes. “Did he rape you—?”
“Enough.” Power rides Des’s voice.
The Flora Queen sits back in her seat, taking another sip of her champagne.
My skin crawls at her question, at her disturbing interest.
“I believe Karnon was behind the women’s disappearances,” she says, “but the fact remains, the spell hasn’t lifted. Someone else is still out there pulling strings.”
A chill runs through the room.
“Our investigation has assumed as much,” Des says.
“As has mine,” Janus adds in.
The two rulers’ eyes meet. I’m pretty sure oil and water do a better job of mixing together than these two.
I get the impression that this rivalry predates me. Light and darkness, constantly battling one another.
“What I find interesting,” the Green Man cuts in, “are the casket children.”
All eyes move to him. So far, he hasn’t added much to the conversation.
He tosses his utensils onto his cleaned plate. “Those children drink blood and prophesize—traits closely associated with the Night Kingdom.”
He lets that little revelation linger in the air.
Traits closely associated with the Night Kingdom.
His meaning is clear: whoever fathered those children was a Night fae, and the only Night fairy powerful enough to wield the kind of magic that the Thief of Souls does would be …
Des’s mouth curves into a vicious smile, his whole face turning sinister. “So you believe it was me. That I raped those women and fathered those children.”
The idea isn’t just ridiculous, it’s abhorrent.
“It wouldn’t have to be rape,” Mara says contemplatively. She eyes Des, her gaze disrobing him. My hackles rise at the sight. “I’ve heard tales of your conquests. Who can resist the Night King with all of his charms?”
My fingers curl around the edges of my seat, and I have to fight to keep my anger at bay.
“Surely you guys can’t be serious?” I say. “Any of the women taken can tell you—Karnon and Karnon alone touched them.”
“And yet my mate’s point remains the same,” Mara says. “The casket children have Night fae—not Fauna fae—traits.”
This is the same conundrum I grappled with when I went to see the children in the royal nursery. I hate that it’s now being twisted to incriminate my mate.
Des, meanwhile, is doing nothing to dispel the accusations against him. He just continues to stare at Mara with that malevolent grin on his face, unaffected by her words.
“Why should we not believe it was you?” Janus says. “I heard that it took you nearly a week to rescue your mate from Karnon’s palace. Why so long, Flynn?”
That question … that question hurts. Forget the fact that these rulers are spinning tales out of shadows. Why did Des wait so long?
Des leans back in his chair, looking haughtily at the other rulers. “And what if it is me? What if I, in my infinite power, staged the whole thing so that the mad king would take the fall? What would you do? What could you do?”
Mara and Janus share a look.
Janus leans forward, his eyes intense. “Whatever needed to be done.”
I feel the depth of Des’s power then, sitting in that room. It’s as vast as the universe and as dark as the night.
If he were cruel, if he were evil … there’d be no stopping him.
If he were cruel and he were evil, our bond wouldn’t care one way or another.
Like it or not, I’d still be his.
Chapter 30
The casket children have Night Kingdom traits.
My skin prickles, even though it’s warm outside.
“Why did it take you so long to find me when I was Karnon’s prisoner?” I ask Des as he and I head back for our room. I don’t want to sound hurt or accusing, but a part of me feels both.
Des stops, turning to face me. He tilts his head. “Are you actually considering their words?”
I don’t know what to say, caught between my own uncertainty a
nd Des’s secrets.
“I just need to know,” I say, my voice quiet.
Des’s mouth flattens into a grimace. He glances around us, looking at the fairies that stroll the gardens.
His meaning is clear: this is not a private place.
He nods to the huge cedar we’re rooming in, his wings unfolding behind him. “Follow me.”
Before I can ask him what he’s doing, he leaps into the air, his massive wings looking out of place in the bright light of day. Around us, people stop and watch.
Releasing a sigh, I take a running leap, letting my wings lift me into the air.
Des lands on one of the highest branches of the cedar. Clumsily, I join him, nearly overshooting the branch and falling off. He catches me around the waist, letting out a husky laugh that I feel to my core.
He can’t be bad, he can’t. We might both be fucked up, and sure, Des has killed a few people, but he can’t be evil—more like … Wicked Lite.
I situate myself on the branch so that my legs are hanging off, the backs of my ankles brushing my wings and my shoulder brushing Des’s. From this high up, fairies look like tiny bugs.
I breathe in the crisp forest air, the treetop swaying just slightly in the breeze.
“That morning, the morning you went missing,” Des begins, “you can’t even—” His voice breaks, and I swivel my head to stare at him. He’s a far cry from the cocksure fae king he was back in Mara’s breakfast nook. Now I can feel the heat and pain in his words.
“At first, I thought you walked out on me,” he says. “I thought you took off the way I had so many times back when you were in high school. In the days that followed, I wished you had.
“It was the full cup of coffee that changed everything. It was just sitting there on the patio table, still full. You of all people wouldn’t just leave a cup of coffee untouched.”
I smile a little because it’s true; I’d never let good coffee go to waste.
“That’s about the time I realized that you hadn’t left; you’d been taken.
“The anger I felt, the fear—” His voice cuts off and he shakes his head. “I scoured the earth for you, and then I scoured the Otherworld. Every minute that passed, the dread deepened. And it—” He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a choked laugh, “it was so much worse than those seven years of waiting. So vastly worse.