He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “You might have noticed the resemblance.”
The silver eyes. It’s not all shadow fae who have those silver eyes. Only the royal family.
“I don’t reside in my own court, because good old Uncle Mord wants me dead. Heartwarming, isn’t it?”
“What did you do?”
He grunts, as if my ignorance is amusing. “I was born, and that was enough to threaten his claim to the power he’s craved since his own father bestowed the crown upon my father. As for why I’m in the Seelie Court . . . I’m here temporarily, and”—he smirks—“covertly. I prefer the Wild Fae Lands to the golden queen’s territory, but there are matters here that require my attention.”
My mind reels with a hundred questions, but only one repeatedly shuffles to the top. “Why are you telling me this? What do you want from me?”
“I know Mordeus has your sister, and I know what he’s demanding from you in exchange for her.” He sips his wine. “I want to teach you how to use your gifts to protect yourself in this land. I want to help you.”
That’s what he’d said in my dream. I’ll help you get her back. Come find me.
“You keep saying that, but why should I believe you?” I back toward the door. “Your people abducted me and brought me here against my will, and you want me to trust you?”
His silver eyes flash and his mouth draws into a thin, tight line. “You chose to trust Mordeus by taking his deal.”
“I don’t have a choice. At least I understand what Mordeus wants from me and why. Am I supposed to believe that you want to help a human girl out of the goodness of your heart?”
He takes a menacing step forward, anger clear in every line of that beautiful face. “I want to help you because it helps my court. Every member of my court is weaker as long as our magical artifacts are missing. As long as the golden queen . . .” His nostrils flare, and he takes several shallow breaths, as if suffering some sudden, invisible pain. “They are vulnerable as long as the power of the courts is out of balance.”
“You expect me to believe that? You stand there in fine clothes, drinking fancy wine in a tavern in the Seelie Court. Poor, exiled prince. It seems like you’re fighting really hard to get Mordeus off the throne.”
The wineglass shatters to dust in his hand, and my body locks up in fear at the evidence of how dangerous he is. Calmly, he brushes his hands together, letting the drops of wine and glass dust fall away. “Take my help, mortal.”
“I don’t need you.”
His gaze flicks over me, and I flinch when I see darkness leaking off my hands like ink into a pool of water. “Have you shared the bond with anyone?” he asks.
As if I’d submit myself to faerie bonding. As if I’d give anyone that kind of control over my free will and my life. Never.
“Maybe someone back home,” he says. “A friend or lover, anyone?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to spit that humans don’t perform such absurd rituals. I don’t even know how or if it would work between humans, but I bite back the denial. I know just enough about faerie bonds to know that there’s some level of protection involved. If Finn believes that someone might be bonded to me, maybe he won’t try to keep me here.
He stares at me for a long beat. “It’s a simple question.”
I shrug. “And I simply choose not to answer.”
He mutters something under his breath. I can see the anger in his eyes, his efforts to keep his temper under control. “You need to understand that bonds have consequences and aren’t as easily undone as you might think.”
Is this self-righteous ass seriously going to lecture me about this? I fold my arms. “If I leave, will your friends come after me?”
“Are you planning to return to the queen’s son?”
The words are a balled fist to the gut. Queen Arya’s son. Prince Ronan.
Sebastian.
I have to close my eyes against the pain of it. The betrayal. I can’t let myself think about him right now.
When I open them, I stare at the inky blackness around my hands. This reminder is just what I need. I have power. I am not trapped here.
Finn steps close, studying me as if I’m a rather interesting insect, his lips curved in a smirk.
I step toward the shadows between the wall sconces, desperate to disappear into them as the office door opens.
“Word came from the castle,” Pretha says, letting the door swing shut behind her. “Prince Ronan has delayed his selection until tomorrow. We need to put a plan in place quickly and get her back there.”