Chapter 8 A Beautiful Lie

Rae

The guards lead me up a staircase carved from black stone and through halls that look like somebody let a forest and a palace have a baby. Everything is too beautiful. The walls curve like branches grown into arches, pale blooms spilling from thorned vines trained along the stone. Silver lanterns hang low in the corridors, casting soft light over smooth floors so dark I can see my own reflection in them if I look too long. The air smells like flowers and cold rain and something sweet underneath.

The prison below felt like a nightmare dragged underground. This place up here? It feels like a beautiful lie. The double doors open before me, and I step through with my basket clutched against my stomach and immediately understand that this must be him—the King.

He stands beside a long black table set beneath tall arched windows, one hand resting lightly against the polished surface, as if he has all the time in the world and none of this is remotely unusual. His hair is pale gold, his eyes are green, he’s lean and beautiful, but it all feels… wrong. 

He turns fully when I enter, and all of that pretty calm settles directly on me. “Come here, little thing.”

Nope. No, thank you—hard pass. Full body rejection. I stay exactly where I am. His mouth curves just slightly, like this all entertains him. Good. Be entertained, way over there. “What is your name?” he asks. I clutch my basket tighter, avoiding his stupidly clean hands. “Sunny,” I say.

“Sunny,” he repeats softly. “How fitting.” I hate how pretty his voice is. “You are safe here, Sunny.” Right. Sure. Because men who keep bleeding fae princes chained to walls are obviously very invested in my well-being.

I let my shoulders stay drawn in, and my fingers tighten around the basket handle. He watches all of it, taking me in the way a man might take in weather or a chessboard. Then he gestures toward the chair opposite him at the table. “Sit.”

I hesitate just long enough to be believable, then step forward and lower myself into the chair. The basket stays in my lap. I am not putting it down. Not for him. Not here. These are my berries. He takes the seat opposite me with slow, deliberate grace. “Are you hungry?” he asks. I blink at him, then I thump the basket onto the table between us and gesture to it. “I’ve got snacks.”

For one second, there is silence. Then his smile deepens. “Do you?” he says.

I fold my hands over the basket. “Yep.”

His gaze drops to it, and when he looks back up, the amusement is still there on his stupidly pretty face. “You brought your own provisions into a fae court.”

“I didn’t exactly plan the trip.”

“No,” he says. “I imagine not.” He leans back slightly in his chair, looking every inch the polished king while I sit there trying not to imagine how long it would take me to get from this table to the door if I had to make a run for it. Not long. Long enough to die, probably. “Tell me how you came here,” he says.

“I was walking in the woods near my home. I found a ring of mushrooms and…” I give a shaky little laugh. “Apparently, my grandmother was a lot less insane than I thought she was.” His head tips slightly. “A fairy ring.”

“I didn’t know what it was,” I say quickly. “I mean, I knew what it was meant to be, but I thought that was all just…” I wave one hand vaguely. “Stories. Weird old stories.”

“And yet here you are.”

“And yet here I am.”

His fingers tap once against the arm of his chair. “What did you see when you arrived?” I let my face pale a little at the memory. That part, at least, does not need acting.

“A man in chains,” I say quietly, lowering my head for a moment. “There… there was a lot of blood.”

“Cian of Hollow Hill frightened you.”

Yes, and no.

“I was dropped into what looked like a dungeon,” I say. “There was a giant bloody fae hanging from a wall. I think I’m allowed to be a little rattled.”

Something shifts in his eyes as though he likes that I answered him plainly instead of curling up completely. That is dangerous. “Rattled,” he repeats, voice softly to himself. “And the others?” he asks. “Did they threaten you?”

A dangerous question. Because “no” sounds too easy. And “yes” may give him too much.

“They talked,” I say carefully. “That was enough at the time.” One corner of his mouth lifts again, and I really do not like that he finds me amusing. He folds his hands loosely in front of him. “You are sharper than the guards described.”

Shit. What did the guards describe? A frightened little thing? “I’m trying very hard not to die,” I tell him, letting out a nervous laugh as I pull the basket back to my lap.

“A sensible goal,” he says. I swallow and force my shoulders to stay drawn in, my fingers tightening around the basket in my lap. Then I try to pull the frightened girl look back over myself like a blanket.

“So, um…” I glance toward the doors, then back at him. “Is there any chance I can go home now?”

He laughs softly, like I have said something almost sweet. “No,” he says at last. “Unfortunately, not. “You see, my people do not control the old roads and pathways.” He folds his hands neatly in front of him. “It is the whole reason those fae are in my dungeon. They have refused to cooperate with the other courts. They are monsters with too much power, and for a very long time, they have tried to rule over the rest of us through it.”

I stare at him. That is not what Eiran and Saoirse said, you liar. It is said so smoothly, I can hear how easy it would be to believe him if I had not already been downstairs. “Well…” I shift in my chair, letting my voice shake just enough. “Then how am I supposed to get home? I can’t stay here. I have a life. People. A whole world to get back to.” 

His green eyes settle on me, making me feel naked and dirty. Then he leans forward. “Perhaps,” he says softly, “we can help each other.”