Page 6 of Thief of Dreams
"Who are you?" she demands.
"Lady Merisel of Greenslieves." The lie rolls off my tongue as smoothly as honey. One of the gifts of the Forsaken's curse. We're no longer bound by the rules that govern the fae.
One could be mistaken for thinking the flock of princesses watching me harmless in their silks and braids, but their eyes hold the hungry look of a starving tiger. This is a Summons, which means none of us are friends. The challenge is to survive the court—and bring down the prize.
Who just happens to be a powerful, ancient fae male.
"And yourself?" I ask.
"You don't know who she is?" demands an incredulous blonde at her side.
"I don't know who any of you are," I reply.
The pair of them exchanges a look, and the redhead smiles nastily. "Greenslieves is a demesne far from its nearest court—and civilization. Lady Merisel's lack of knowledge is not surprising, Narcissa."
Princess Narcissa of the Court of Blood. Her uncle, King Aswan, rules the court, and it's said she's hungry to overthrow him.
Of all the Blessed fae, the Court of Blood ranks as one of the worst. It wouldn't surprise me if sweet Narcissa spends her time pulling the wings off demi-fae.
Not to be outdone, the redhead sneers at my plain green skirts. "I am Princess Ismena of the Storm Court."
Ah, just my luck.
Prince Angmar's vicious sister, Ismena, wearing a net of seaweed and pearls in her red hair.
If she recognizes me, I'm dead.
Ismena circles me, looking me up and down. There's no denying her gown is far finer than the one I stole from Lady Merisel, but I hold my chin high. "A worm from the forests," she says with a smirk. "The prince must have been desperate."
"You should return home," Narcissa adds. "You're outclassed and outbred here, worm."
I sense Soraya joining me, though she's more than adept at remaining in the shadows and avoiding notice.
Pity I cannot entirely say the same.
A raw impotent hate burns deep in my belly. The job is simple: get into the Court of Dreams, get the Dragon's Heart, and get out. A smart thief knows better than to draw attention. But I've spent twenty-eight years bowing my head to Blessed fae who think they're better than me. Every time, it chafes, but this time there's a rawness to the wound that will not be denied.
Fuck it. They all think I'm a fae lady, anyway. Why not show my claws?
"Outbred?" I mutter. "And here I thought it was inbred?"
Several of the other young princesses gasp. One smiles, though she pretends to hide it. I like her already.
Narcissa's face pales with fury. "You wretched little—"
A horn suddenly sounds, cutting off the words, though from the way she bites down on her lip, I know her sudden silence won't last.
Horses pour over the hill. A dozen guards in gleaming gold armor guard the party, and there are servants in the blue livery of the Court of Dreams. Saved by the arrival of the prince's greeting party, though there's no sign of the prince himself.
Every princess sweeps to their station, fixing errant curls of hair and adding crowns of flowers or gold. This is a competition, after all.
Soraya slinks past me, "I thought your plan was to draw no attention?"
"I changed my mind," I murmur as she hauls the trunk we "borrowed" from Merisel. "It seems the Lady of Greenslieves has an arrogant streak. And they're all here to win the prince's heart, no matter whom they have to trample. I think a glimpse of my claws might keep them off my back."
"If I were you, I'd be more worried about the knife they'll embed in it."
I shoot her a cool glance. "That's why I have you, sister dear. You don't think you're here just to sweep my chambers and empty the chamber pot?"
