Page 83 of Cursed Shadows 1

His grin is wicked as he offers me the silver platter. He offers the wine chalices and the peach slices. I steal three slices and ram them down my throat, then take a particularly full silver chalice.

It doesn’t help with the nerves as much as I need it to, but it will dull the pain of what I’m going to do. It will help keep me from breaking down.

Rox dips his head and slips away.

I move for the far wall, near the gold chairs. Keeps me away from the festivities, hovering on the fringe.

Alone, I stand here.

Some steps ahead, the Eternal Dance merges with the fae who celebrate the night. No dark ones dance, I notice. They don’t grace the cream and ivory and gold tones of the dance podium, nor do they lurk around the thick curtains that hide away alcoves, or get close to all the lush flowers and vines that drape around the thrones.

Above, candle chandeliers drip wet gold that only ever hits the hungry green vines writhing up there. Those vines are helpful sometimes, might point a seeker to someone they search for in the court; other times, they might snatch them up and fasten them to the arched pillar tops.

Can go either way.

I only think of it because there is a human stuck up there. Coiled in vines, the man—maybe in his fortieth year—sleeps soundly. Maybe he is passed out, I don’t know. Perhaps only asleep. But I envy him a little. I much prefer the prison of the vines in this moment, rather be choked out by them than to stand here and do what I must.

I’m yanked back to my daunting reality when the wink of silver glares at me.

Those blasted glowing orbs that gleam from the arched ceiling catch on the reflection of Prince Affay’s crown just as he steps in front of me. Nearly blinds me, so I squint against the glare of the crown, but I don’t look away from the prince.

His grin is white, dazzling, and always wicked. His dark hair makes the pallor of his porcelain face all the more striking. But it’s the silver crown he wears and the ceremonial warrior uniform that remind me of who he is, not just another halfling I sometimes dance with.

To think that Prince Affay was born in the human lands—but is very much the halfling son of Prince Rain—and was raisedthere for some years, is a strange thought. He is so very fae, so very wicked.

I sense little humanity in him.

Even now as he closes the distance between us, his eyes gleaming at me with dangerous intentions. His slender hand lifts, and the tips of his fingers meet the glittered corseted bodice of my dress.

“It is a pretty gown,” he purrs, and leans to brush his nose over mine.

And so the rumours have spread through the court. Prince Affay seems to know all about what’s to happen tonight, or at least that my father has torn me away from the dark one I love.

So now… I’m fair game. The claim on me is lost, wiped away by the only one with the power to erase it. My father.

“Yes.” I stare at him blankly. “Itisa pretty gown.”

The grin widens, seeming to split his face—and I wonder fleetingly if he’ll take a bite out of me. But the fear doesn’t rise up through the fog of the fruits, the valerian, the wine and the roses.

I’ve spent too much time with a brutal dark one, I fell in love with him, and so it takes a little more than some teasing from a light male to stir fear in me.

Fingers still on the rough grain of my glittery gown, Affay just smiles at me. He knows me well enough that it comes as no surprise I don’t thank him or return the compliment.

I do not like to thank anyone, for anything, and so there is no gratitude found in me just because a prince thinks my dress is pretty.

“The vines are abuzz with rumours,” Affay tells me, and his hand has not left the middle of my bodice.

He tells the truth; those vines do love to gossip.

“To meddle with a dark one,” he pauses to tut, his smile never fading, “is dangerous indeed. I didn’t think you had it in you, Nari.”

I merely look up from beneath my lashes at him. If unimpressed had a face, it would be mine.

Affay, always wanting the most trouble around. It’s not me he wants, it’s not me he’s flirting with.

He flirts with danger. He wants the destruction of my scorned dark one, to see Daxeel’s rage destroy all around him.

Affay, simply put, is a fucking menace.

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