Page 5 of Cursed Shadows 1

It’s an instant hit. The fast-paced concerto claws at my bones; the overpowering sourness of rotten plums and apples that the oblivious humans eat burns the back of my throat; the thick taste of wine on my tongue and in the air; the glass cackles of the wild fae, the unseelies, dancing through the hall.

Instinct has me moving for the dais before I do anything else.

Eamon is hot on my heels, but he moves with such lazy grace, the natural prowl of a predator, that all the nearby humans (whether servants, wanderers, stolen ones, or those stuck in the Eternal Dance) shrink back from him. Their fear of the litalves is strong, but nothing compares to the of a dokkalf.

I reach the thrones, where only one watcher of the High Court sits for the solstice celebration. Rain, the Prince of War.

I bow deeply for him.

Eamon drops to a knee at my side.

Rain’s golden eyes flicker over us for the briefest of moments, then he looks away, disinterested. I don’t need to trace his gaze to know that his attention has homed in on his human wife, Callie, somewhere in the court, probably with one of her two halfling children.

We peel away from the dais and—as we step into the Eternal Dance—Eamon snatches a full bottle of golden wine from a tray, then takes my arm in his. Together, we move through the dancers. Some humans weep, they always do at some point or another, and others scream, while some sleep as their feet kick against the polished stone floor. The ones who sleep are experienced, I estimate some fifty years trapped.

That is what this dance is to a human.

A trap.

Once they start, they can never stop. Not unless a watcher of the court releases them, one of the princes or princesses. The chances of that happening are slim to none. Unless they are purchased as servants or gifted to the unseelies for sacrifice, but that’s a whole other thing.

I feel no pity for the dancers as I slink around them. I feel no joy either at their suffering. I’m indifferent. That makes me verymuch a halfling, and not a fullblood litalf. If I was fullblood, I would laugh and smile and torture them some more.

I find it all rather… dull.

So I take the bottle that Eamon offers me and start chugging my way through it. Manners be damned. I just found out I’m marrying the lordson who tried to rape me. I’ll drink myself stupid tonight.

And I do.

I’m another two bottles in, swaying on the spot, when the court starts to bend and twist around me. Its pearlescent walls seem to glow brighter, the balconies above bloat and shrink in waves, the vines whisper in a constant hiss that itches my eardrums.

And soon, my balance is worse than any trapped human dancing around me.

Eamon winds up hooking his strong arm around my middle to keep me upright before he leads me through the dance to get me out of here.

“Do you have a steed with you?” he asks, his low-toned voice adding bass to the treble of the music swirling around me. It’s a heavy hum I cling to, one that keeps my eyelids open. “Or a carriage?”

A carriage. I almost snort.

My fallen family can only afford to keep one, and father is still here somewhere, and will stay until dawn. He’ll keep it for himself this night.

“I’ll walk,” I sigh, leaning my head into the side of his hard chest. I strain to look up at him. Tall, so tall. Yet smaller somehow than the fullblood dokkalves. Smaller than his cousin, Daxeel.

An intrusive thought, and I wipe it away with a rub of my palm on my scrunched nose. But before we can head out of the dance, and just as I drop my hand from my face, someone appears in front of me.

His bright grin dazzles me more than the lights in the court. His familiar, warm hands snatch up my cheeks so firmly that my lips push out into a pout. Prince Affay swoops in—and steals a kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth before I even catch up to the moment, and he takes the taste of honeywine with him.

Eamon clenches his fist at his side, as if fighting the urge to push him off me. But of course, he doesn’t. One does not push a prince, especially not the son of Prince Rain.

“Delicious,” Affay croons, as if to goad me, as he draws back.

I slit my eyes at him.

Still, I can’t fight the small smile that creeps onto my lips as Affay winks, then leaves without another word. He disappears into the throngs of dancers to carry on with his night.

Eamon firms his grip around my middle and guides me out of the Eternal Dance. “That prince will steal a kiss from the wrong female one day, the kind who will cut the wink out of his eye and slice the smile off his lips.”

My smile splits into a grin as I look up at his hardened face. We head out of the court and take the path to the left, the pearlescent stone blocks that lead into the Royal City. My village isn’t far beyond there, just over the hills.

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