Page 18 of A Bargain with the Fae King

I stare back at the riot of colors before me, trying to muster every speck of strength in my spirit. These fae wear outfits as grand and colorful as a garden in summer. Some have layers of billowing fabric, others, little at all, yet they all make it appear fashionable and high class, like a red-carpet awards party. Hell, someone could tell me I’d just stepped into a fairyland-themed Met Gala, and I’d believe it.

Galen walks me a few feet into the room because I can’t make my body obey anything. His firm hand at my back and another on my arm guide the way. My fingers clutch at the armor he wears, as if I could squeeze hard enough to make him stop.

He does, but then, worse, he steps back, leaving me an odd and unusual statue among strangers.

My heel slides back and forth across the stone as I tug at my shirt. I’m the ugly duckling in a sea of swans, and they know it. A tingling sensation starts in my cheeks, and I know I’m moments away from losing my dinner in front of all these fae.

Expressions of confusion turn to wonder.

Yes, let’s stare at the poorly dressed human. A hysterical laugh shakes my shoulders as I choke it down. Conversation rises in a wave of whispers and exclamations rolling back through the room—no doubt spreading word of my arrival.

“I leave you now,” Galen says behind me.

Those words snap something in me. I can move again, and I do, twisting around toward him in a move so quick I almost fall. “No.”

His eyes widen, and for the briefest moment, his expression freezes before he says, “You’ll be fine.”

He offers a small smile through the crack in the doors. They’re closing. Shit. How’d he get so far away? I step toward them, but it’s too late. His form vanishes behind the carved wood that seals me in with a weighty thump.

Chills skitter down my spine, and it takes everything I have to turn, inch by precious inch, toward the fae at my back.

They beckon me forward, waving like I’m some celebrity.

Rising up from their midst are tall tree trunks, spaced evenly in rows like pillars in a cathedral. They soar into the air, reaching toward a ceiling that isn’t stone or plaster but rather the branches of those trees, fanning over the room in a canopy of dark green. Balls of light the size of my fist float through the air of their own accord, illuminating the space in brilliant light that shimmers off the silks, sparkling lace, and gemstones adorning many of the assembled fae.

Movement above and beyond the fae draws my attention like a magnet. An escape from this terrible awkwardness.

Breath catches in my throat. Relief and panic war for ownership over the flush that rushes across my chest and up my neck.

Perched upon a throne of green stone,hesits. One strong leg is thrown over one side, an arm lays casually across its back, and another holds a glass, which he slowly raises to his lips to take a sip.

Riven.

On a throne.

I blink, but he’s still there.

And is that a golden crown woven through his hair?

His gaze locks with mine, and I swear his eyes widen. But he’s too far away to know for sure.

A tall fae blocks my view. I try to step around him, to move past, but a woman takes my hand and tugs me with her. I jerk my arm, but she holds tight, her grip almost painful. Music joins the din of conversation, and I’m pulled into a dance. My sneakers skid and knock into one another as I move like an awkward marionette.

She releases me, and another fae, wearing a ballgown shaped like a rose blossom, takes her place and twirls me around. It takes everything I have to stay upright, to keep my wits as the world spins. A yelp rips from my lips as I stumble over something or someone. A man wearing barely anything at all catches me in his arms. There’s no time to be embarrassed by his lack of clothing or the way I’m pressed against him. I can hardly tell I’m right side up before he dips me back over one arm and the end of my ponytail brushes the ground.

“Plea—” I begin, but then I’m upright once more.

Another fae grabs me about the waist and lifts me to the beat of the song. The throne peeks above the dancers perched on a raised dais, and breath catches in my throat.

Riven has vanished.

No.The man sets me lightly on my feet. Another woman advances.

“No!” I push past her grasping arms. Laughter and music—an orchestral song unlike any I’ve heard—swarm my senses as I dodge advances and slip between fae toward the throne.

A fae man in flowing robes of gold snatches me from between two others. I’m in his arms, twirling again, stumbling across the glimmering stone floor.

“Let me go. Let me go!”

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