Page 8 of Thief of Dreams
I am so fucked.
It's as if he senses my sudden nerves.
His head turns, hunting through the crowd of princesses as if he's caught the edge of my errant thought. This must be how it feels to be stalked by a wolf. The other females are merely collateral damage. He's searching for the right prey. The weakest link. The straggler.
And the second he spots me, I know it's me.
The Prince of Dreams's eyes devour every inch of me, as if I'm nothing more than a tasty morsel to consume. "The Lady of Greenslieves, I presume?"
My breath catches in my chest, as if someone's punched me there.
"None other." I have no idea how I force my voice to work. His presence weaves its own magic.
"Tell me? Does your father still hold to the Old Traditions?"
I have no idea. "He does his best, my prince."
Keir searches my eyes, though I'm not sure what he's looking for. I can sense the others watching, little whispers catching the edge of my consciousness, but for a second, I cannot look away.
"Then you are welcome here." It's a soft murmur, and I cannot stop the shivers that tremble down my arms.
The second he looks away from me, I release a breath. That was... intense. For a second, the thought of what I intend overwhelms me.
Stealfrom this prince? Am I insane?
Desperate,I tell myself.
Fine. He's powerful. All the fae are.
I have to remind myself of what's at stake.
I picture that little crystalline soul-trap around my father's throat.
The Wraith King didn't breed Soraya or me out of the kindness of his heart. He has none. No, he's the kind of creature that plays a long game, and for nearly fifty years he's been focused on breeding a half-fae, half-wraith child that can pass among the courts.
Of all those bastards found in the training camps, there were but a handful that displayed more fae qualities than wraithenkind. It didn't grant us any advantage. Indeed, the others knew we were the chosen ones, and they outnumbered us three to one. I'd often wake to a hand over my mouth and a blade to my throat and swiftly learned to sleep lightly.
And to keep a knife under my pillow.
I don't know who my mother was.
Some highborn fae from one of the northern courts, I think. Raesh used to send raiding parties out to capture the purebloods for his breeding purposes. When my birth went poorly, he ordered me cut from my mother's womb, and I don't know her fate.
Only the whisper of my true name in my ears; a name meant for me and me alone.
Sometimes I hear it in my dreams, and I wonder what she was like. Was she frightened of what she'd been sentenced to? Did she despise me for the act of my begetting? Or did she love me and hope to free me one day?
I'll never know.
My loyalty is bound to my father by magic—not love or familial affection. And I would do anything to escape its trap.
Even this.
My resolves firms as I watch the Prince of Dreams greet each princess in kind. He's dangerous and powerful, but he's the key to my freedom.
All I have to do is find his relic and steal it.
And maybe then I'll have a chance to discover more about my mother's people and who she was.
