Page 45 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

It was the facefrom my dreams, gazing back at me at long last.

Every thought and feeling that once took shelter within my being abandoned me. Too stupefied to react with any trace of recognition or emotion, all I could do was stare blankly at his face. His beautiful, coveted face.

I knew his body from my dreams almost as well as I knew my own. The sensual lines, curves, and ridges of muscle were visible even beneath his simple clothing. He wore a black tunic and pants with only a dagger in his belt, its golden hilt bejewelled with gleaming red stones. He was as tall and strong as I remembered from all of the nights he’d spent withstanding the impact of iron weapons in my mental prison, though I found nothing when my eyes scanned him for signs of harm.

Confusion flickered across my face for a heartbeat before my eyes locked with his again. They were wise eyes of deepestchestnut, and widening by the second. I would have thought him to be far too young to be the High King based on his appearance if it wasn’t for the centuries of time weighing down those eyes.

His skin was a lovely shade of brown, with olive-gold undertones that I had only ever viewed eclipsed by silver moonlight and shadows before. Hair as black as a midnight ocean, it was shaved into a sharp crew cut with long, loose curls left to fall across his forehead. Soft, rounded features distinguished his face, and two elongated ears rose up into sharp points on either side of his head. A fraction smaller than Wren’s ears, I noticed, as though he was tucking them in like wings.

He absolutely radiated warmth, to the point where the air began to feel a little bit stifled like the sun had burned its very essence into his being, and he carried light with him in every breath.

Lucais.

Lucais was the High King of Faerie.

Unharmed and free—and standing right in front of me.

I caught the exact moment that some form of recognition crossed his chestnut eyes like he’d been dreaming of me screaming for him in that cell, too.

He knew who I was.

Judging by the fleeting look the two High Fae men exchanged, Wren knew something about that as well. My opinion of him had been shifting and switching for days, but every ounce of affection I’d ever felt for him was snuffed out like a candle when I remembered that he’d heard me calling for his High King in my sleep. I had told him that the Banshee wanted me to divulge the High King’s location before I was attacked.

And he hadn’t saidanything.

Wren, the scoundrel, rose to his feet with as little grace as he’d displayed whilst bowing. I tried not to ogle, but I found itodd, considering how much time he must spend licking Lucais’s boots clean.

What had he told me? Something about the High King being the most handsome and clever man that I would ever meet?

Glancing at Lucais again, I had to admit that he might not be wrong.

The High King returned my gaze with a gentle scrutiny of his own, a curiosity that one might bestow upon a leopard prowling across the beach. I sensed fear, confusion, and wonderment in his eyes, and I considered running for my life before he decided to cage me and send me back to the swamp.

Lucais’s lips curved into a tentative smile. “I’ve been worried for you,” he purred, the true panther revealed. His eyes darted to Wren, who cleared his throat uncomfortably, but I was clinging on to the sound of Lucais’s voice—smooth as honey and deep as the ocean. It was everything I’d imagined it to be when he wasn’t grunting quietly in pain. “You look exhausted, Auralie.”

The way he said myname…

“I’m sorry,” I breathed.

Lucais’s brow twitched, but he said nothing. He simply extended his arm to me, a regal and gentlemanly gesture that put Wren and his playful, wandering hands to shame. I accepted, linking my elbow with his, and he began leading me down the corridor.

My head swam with fatigue and racing thoughts, the walls of my mind feeling almost non-existent—as if my consciousness might float away into oblivion if it wasn’t for my arm being linked with Lucais’s.

“On behalf of your escort, I apologise. He really should have allowed you to rest before bombarding you with a historylesson—and an inaccurate account of it, at that,” he added, calling Wren out over his shoulder with a meaningful look.

“I was getting to it,” Wren muttered, dragging his feet on the floor runner as he trailed after us.

The exchange slipped over me like throwing sand against a wall. Wren probably could have made the whole thing up, and it would have ceased to matter because I’d forgotten it a few minutes later.

Lucais was theHigh Kingof Faerie.

I’d found him, the man from my dreams, so quickly and easily and in the exact opposite position to what I was expecting.

I had been dreaming of the High King of Faerie as a prisoner.

“You need to rest,” Lucais went on, his voice a melodious purr in my ear. I was vaguely aware of our pace quickening as we turned a corner at the end of the hall. “The House is enchanted to ease the workload of its staff, so it will take care of you. There is some urgent business I must attend to right now, but I will send someone to check on you later tonight and escort you to dinner. I’ll advise them not to disturb you if you’re sleeping…”

I was not in my own body, not in my own mind.

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