Page 112 of Dark Harmony

“Ah.” He pulls the answer from my face—or maybe he knew it already. “You may have your wiles, enchantress, but you are not one for puzzles. A shame, really,” his eyes turn sly, “when your mate so clearly is.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The Thief looks so self-satisfied when he lounges in his seat. “He’s figured out quite a bit more than you have.”

It’s just one more lie to add to the rest.

“What have you been doing now that you don’t have women to rape and soldiers to kidnap?” I ask.

The smile he gives me is downright spooky.

“Don’t you know, enchantress? I’ve been preparing for you.”

A short while ago, a confession like that would’ve undone me. But I’ve been changing in some subtle yet fundamental way.

“That makes two of us.”

His eyes flicker with dark excitement. “How very intriguing. I do await our true reunion.”

He leans forward, steepling his fingers. “Tell me, does knowing I’m cobound to Galleghar in any way diminish my mystery?”

I almost take a step back.How does he know that?

The Thief’s eyes sharpen on me. “Truly, I’m disappointed at how magnificently you’ve underestimated me. I have spies more thorough than the Night King’s pixies. I thought you would’ve been aware of that by now.

“I know what you ate for breakfast, how many times you spread your pretty thighs for your mate in the last day. I know that fool Galleghar attacked you on your way to capturing him. I know he wants to do it again. I know that you are not nearly so worthy of destruction as the fallen king seems to think you are. In fact, I just might keep you.”

This is …alarming. He’s been watching me like a hawk tracking prey.

I glance down at the thin shift I wear and finger the thin material. The dress is white and gauzy and leaves precious little to the imagination.

“It seems unfair,” I say, looking up at the Thief.

He rests his chin on his fist. “What seems so?”

I walk towards him, the action causing the fairy to arch an eyebrow. Not many fae who know of his true nature would willingly approach him.

“If we’re playing a game, how am I ever supposed to truly engage with you if you know so much of me, and I know so very little of you?”

His fingers idly tap against his gold armrest. “Impatient human. I thought you made a career for yourself in deduction?” His fingers still. “But Idohave an unfair advantage—and well, we can’t have that now, can we?” The Thief settles back in his seat and lifts a hand. “By all means, voice your questions.”

This is just another game within a game, but it doesn’t stop me from asking anyway.

I glance around. “Is this a real place?”

“It’s real enough.”

I have a feeling that sideways answers like this one are the best I’m going to get out of him.

“Where are we?”

“Three guesses,” he says.

I step closer to him. I don’t really want to. I’m not an idiot; thisthingthat’s after me is about as evil as they come, but my siren is oddly intrigued. He makes me want to sharpen my claws and finger-paint with his blood.

“You’re sitting on a throne …”

“I am.”

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