Page 9 of A Cage of Magic and Darkness

I close my eyes again, utterly spent. The deep suck of sleep pulls me under, and I struggle to fight against it. I need to speak to her, don’t I? To ask her where we take things from here? But I can’t. I can’t move, never mind anything else.

I give in to oblivion.

6

RUAROK

The swellof noise hits me as I approach the Great Hall.

People are laughing, talking, and dancing. Musicians are in the corner playing stringed instruments. The crash and clatter of dishes as servants fill the long table with roasted meats and baked sweets fill the air.

When I woke for a second time, there had been no sign of my mystery visitor. The only thing that hinted at my experience was the amount of dried semen splattered across my skin and bed. I’d taken the time to clean myself up again before dressing for the feast.

I’d also checked my bedroom door. It had been locked. There was no way for someone to have entered my room while I’d been sleeping. Even if she had, how had she gotten back out again, locking the door behind her? The queen is new to the castle—it isn’t as though she’ll have access to a key. In fact, no one else has access to my room—at least not that I know of.

Now I think back to it, the moment feels strange and unreal in my head. I’d been asleep, hadn’t I?

Is it possible the whole thing had been nothing but a dream? Had my subconscious conjured it up because of the way I’d fallen asleep—fantasizing about fucking the queen, while jerking myself off?

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

As I enter the Great Hall, a few Fae lift into the air and fly a short distance across the room before dropping to the ground.

I scowl at the sight, acutely aware of the wings missing from my back. My black hair might single me out as being different, but I could drain the color from the strands if I really wanted.

No, there is one thing in particular, orlackof one thing in particular, that marks me out as not being Fae, and that’s my missing wings. Not that the wings my father and his new wife possess are much good for anything. Thousands of years of living on the ground, in cities and castles, instead of in the treetops where Fae originated, has made it so their bodies are too heavy and their wings too small for any real flight. They might still be able to lift a few feet from the ground, and perhaps cross the length of a room, but that is all.

The skies of Askos no longer glimmer with the ethereal silver of fairy wings.

Those days have long gone.

That doesn’t mean the Fae aren’t still the most powerful of beings, however. They still have magic, and, for the most part, they’re respected. Being half Fae, well, that’s clearly a different matter. Maybe if I’d been halfhuman, or even half demon, instead of Incubi, I’d be respected a little more, but because I need sex to survive, I’m seen as everyone’s enemy.

Heads swivel in my direction. The usual whispers and comments are made behind the backs of hands.

I’ve deliberately arrived late as an extra insult to my father.

He’s already seated in his throne, the new queen at his side.

I can’t take my eyes off her. She shows no sign of having paid me a visit. She doesn’t seem to be looking for me, or to be worried about anything in particular. If she had any idea how much my father and I hate each other, surely she would have realized how I would happily use this against him.

Unless, of course, the whole thing never happened.

The king eats heartily, tearing into a hock of ham with his teeth. He has food all over his face, hanging from his beard. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. Queen Lorith must want to vomit when he leans in for a kiss like that.

Where is the daughter? Of course, feasts like this one are no place for a child, but I did wonder if my father might have taken the moment to parade his new potential heir to the throne in front of his subjects. Or maybe he’s hoping for a miracle and to conceive with his new wife, though such a thing is unlikely.

I think back to my plan to rid myself of this new problem.

Children are vulnerable. They die all the time. They make stupid choices, like hanging from balconies, or tripping down stairs, and they get sick too. Why should the queen’s child be any different?

Keeping my chin up and shoulders back, I wind my way between all the guests and approach the thrones.

“Ruarok, you came,” my father says.

I offer a tight smile. “You sound disappointed.”

“You’re as welcome here as anyone.”

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