Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 127026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
It steeled her resolve.
Kerrigan reached for her crux and felt the ball of golden light warm in her hands. Then, she dived deep into her memories of Prince Fordham Ollivier. The first time they had met when he was an imperious prince who detested half-Fae. The time she stumbled upon his sad-boy poetry. When he had her back during the tournament despite their differences. Their first kiss in the gazebo before he told her of his curse. The look in his eyes when she followed his commands on the dance floor inside his broken kingdom. The feel of his fingers inside her in the greenhouse with his lips hot on hers. The wrath on his face as March slipped an engagement ring on her finger. The hot springs as he claimed what had always belonged to him. And the despair as his people had gone to war and he knew there was nothing he could do to save them. The agony he must have been in as he saw his world crumble all around him.
The crux grew warmer and warmer until it nearly burned her skin, and then she smelled the signature scent that meant Fordham Ollivier—summer rain and charcoal. It was a strange mixture, but it was him.
She could have wept with joy at the scent that enveloped her. He wasn’t beyond her grasp. He was right there. All she had to do was reach out and see him.
A part of her knew that she wasn’t experienced enough for this, that she should do this under Cleora’s supervision, and that her magic was low. But she couldn’t come this close and walk away. She needed to see him, if only for a moment. As if a moment would ever be enough.
Kerrigan breathed the summer rain and charcoal deep into her lungs, and then she pushed inward and fell into Fordham’s dreams.
She was in the throne room inside the House of Shadows. The giant black marble pillars and white-and-black tiled floors made the room feel endless. King Samael sat on a black marble throne, as cold and hard as he was. Queen Viviana sat next to him in a much smaller white stone throne, looking down her nose at a female on the floor with her hands chained in iron.
Kerrigan shivered with disgust. Iron wasn’t exactly toxic to Fae, but it was far from pleasant. Many believed it inhumane to use it for anything. Let alone to shackle a prisoner when magic dampening shackles existed.
She drew her gaze away from the prisoner to where Fordham sat to the side of the throne. His face was hard as the marble he sat on. His features were drawn coolly into the mask he used to survive this place. He radiated sinister energy, even in these dark halls. He appeared to be looking down at the woman on the floor, but Kerrigan realized he was looking just past her, as if his storm-cloud-gray eyes couldn’t quite land on the woman.
She should run away from this scene. It was intruding on Fordham’s private moments to remain any longer than this second. She needed to pull herself out of it, but curiosity got the better of her. Who was this female? What was she doing on the floor? Why couldn’t Fordham look at her?
And worse. Just seeing him … oh, seeing him made her heart ache with longing.
“You are a traitor to your people,” Samael growled down at the woman. “How do you plead?”
The female looked up from where she was on her knees in a filthy white shift. Her eyes were furious, and she looked as if she was half-ready to rip the king to shreds. “If wanting to help those who are less fortunate than me makes me a traitor,” the female snarled, bent forward at the waist, “then so be it.”
“Releasing humans and half-Fae from our realm is punishable by death,” Samael said. “What say you, son? Does Dacia deserve this punishment?”
Kerrigan gasped. Dacia had been Fordham’s lover before he was exiled from the House of Shadows. He never spoke of what happened between them except on one occasion. That … that couldn’t possibly be this moment. But it was. It had to be. This was the moment Fordham had watched the female he loved die. He’d sat back and watched her head be cleaved from her shoulders.
This was no dream.
This was a nightmare.
Fordham’s head jerked up at the noise, and his mask shattered. Those gray eyes turned stormy upon her intrusion. Before Kerrigan could yank herself free, the room dissolved around her.
She screamed as she fell through darkness. She tried and failed three times to remove herself from the dream. When Cleora had said being dragged into someone else’s dream was more dangerous, Kerrigan hadn’t truly understood what she meant. But now, she couldn’t extract herself, and she had no idea where she was about to land. She was trapped in Fordham’s nightmare.