Cyrene barely had time to scream before she popped back into existence.

Wherever the tunnel had taken her to, it was as if she hadn’t been…and now she was again. As if wherever she had landed wasn’t part of this world. It was a realm all unto itself. And she wasn’t sure that was exactly reassuring.

After one step, she felt nauseated for a full minute. She had to reach out and grasp on to the wall to steady herself as it passed. She had no idea what that had been. But it wasn’t good.

She studied the wall she was touching. Black and flat. But not made of the earth. That meant whatever she was facing next in this dark hell was sentient.

Despite wanting to stay right where her feet were planted, she took a step forward. The world was steady once more. Though it had a distinct feeling that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She wondered if she’d have been able to figure it all out if she had her magic to assist her. But she couldn’t wish for what wasn’t there. She’d said she had to earn it. Perhaps this was her chance to earn her magic, as Dean had earned his.

The hallway she walked down was empty and dimly lit, so she could see no more than a few paces before her. But she could hear revelry from beyond. It made her uneasy, but there was nowhere else to go but on.

The corridor ended in an enormous glass-domed ballroom. Ambient purple light filtered in from overhead, casting everything into an eerie glow. The room was full of Fae unlike she had ever seen. Normal Fae were beautiful, exquisite, ethereal. Even as they aged, they held their grace and a sense of youth about them. But these Fae weren’t just beautiful; they were so stunning they were almost hard to even look at, as if their beauty was as sharp as a weapon and just as deadly.

They strode around the room in ornate black attire, the deepest purples, greens so dark that they resembled the darkest facets of an emerald, red that practically dripped blood, and blues near to midnight. Jewels decorated necks and collars and rings and bodices. They oozed greedily from every subject. An ambiance of malice and death pervaded the room.

This place was wrong.

Wholly wrong.

“Welcome, Cyrene. We’ve been waiting for you,” a woman said at her side.

Cyrene jumped. She hadn’t even noticed the woman, who had a black diamond–studded tiara on her head. With a surprise, Cyrene realized that she was no longer in her leathers. She was in a blood-red dress, much like the one she had worn to Kivrin’s last party.

“You have?” she asked in confusion.

“It’s not a party without you.” She snapped her fingers at a servant in a black suit, carrying a dozen glasses filled with a fizzy liquid.

“Drink?” the servant asked.

“Um…no, thank you.”

She didn’t remember how she’d gotten here or what she was even doing here. Why was she in this dress? Who was this woman?

The woman didn’t seem to have any of those qualms. She passed Cyrene a flute of the liquid and tugged her forward by her elbow into the party. “Come along. I have someone who’s just dying to meet you tonight.”

Cyrene followed dutifully behind the woman. As she was crossing the ballroom, she cut her eyes to the left and nearly stumbled. Somehow, she’d missed it before, but there were humans here. Humans like herself. Drinking and dancing and seemingly unable to restrain themselves. Their feet were bleeding. Their bodies emaciated. Their smiles practically painted onto their faces, but their wild eyes told it all.

“Creator!” she gasped.

“What is it, dear?” the woman asked.

“Those people!” But, when she looked back…no one was there. Not a soul. Just the festive Fae in their party clothes.

“Did you recognize someone?”

Cyrene paused, confused. “No, I guess not.”

They continued walking until they came upon a man facing away from them. The sight of him sent a chill down her spine. There was something about him. Even from the back…she knew that she should fear him.

“We’re here, darling,” the woman said.

Then, he turned around. Cyrene thought she might throw up or fall down screaming or burn her eyes out. Maybe weep at the sight of him. There was nothing and no one else alive…or of this world that could compare to the sight of him. To the black hair and electrifying violet eyes. To the hollow of his cheeks that revealed razor-sharp cheekbones. Perfect, pert lips that spoke of atrocities and seduction. She had no words for the magnitude of what she was seeing. To his unspeakable beauty.

“You made it,” he said, his voice a song. “And here I thought, you’d never join us.”

“Am I late?” Cyrene asked softly.

“Just on time.” He held his hand out. “Shall we?”

Cyrene stared down at his outstretched hand. Then, she turned her head away to try to clear the buzzing in her ears. That was when she saw a series of cages against the walls. They were lined with humans in various states of dress. Some crying, some begging for more food or drink, and others doing unspeakable sex acts. She inhaled sharply and turned away.

The man before her narrowed his beautiful eyes. “Is something the matter?”

“I just…” She looked once more and saw nothing. But…it had been there. “I don’t know your name.”

“Cyrene, of course you do.” He smiled. “Prince Fordham, heir apparent to the House of Shadows.”

“Fordham,” she whispered as if trying to place the name. Though she was sure she had never heard it before. Nor did she know of a House of Shadows. “I don’t…I don’t know you.”

“I think you do. I feel like you’ve always known me.”

“Have I?” she asked, trying to clear the cobwebs away. He was stunning and there was a dark magnetism to him that she couldn’t erase. He reminded her of someone.

Fordham frowned. “Have another drink. Everything will be all right.”

Drink. Have another drink.

Something rang in her ears at that. Her drink was in her hand. It was right there. Right. There.

But no. No, she couldn’t drink it.

Fae punch.

She knew what it had done to Fallon that night. Fallon, who was in this competition. A competition. Creator, she was in the dragon tournament. How long had she been here? She needed to get out. She needed to find the mountain.

Her head cleared, and she stared up into the beautiful face of Prince Fordham. “I don’t think I will drink this.”

She stepped forward and set the drink down. He followed her steps with an intensity that was unrivaled.

“Come to me, Cyrene,” he said, holding his hand out again.

“Why am I here?”

“To be with me.” He stepped forward, circling her body. He did a slow sweep, as if containing her in his presence. “Surely, you want to stay here with me, Cyrene.”

She shook her head to try to clear the cobwebs. “What I want is to win the dragon tournament.”

He laughed. “That’s long over. You decided to stay here with me.”

“Over?” she asked in confusion. “How could it be over?”

“That was years ago.”

“No,” she told him. “No, that’s not right.”

“Cyrene, is everything all right?” His concern swept over her body. And then his finger trailed down her shoulder. “Stay. Stay with me.”

She closed her eyes and tried to remember what was happening. The dragon tournament couldn’t have been years ago. That just…that wasn’t even possible. She reached for her magic and remembered it wasn’t there. She felt blank. As if the mere touch from Fordham had swept her up into his grasp. As if her mind were a palette, and he was brushing over it with broad strokes. Like, if she gave in to him, to this, then she would be no more.

“Stay,” he purred into her ear. So close.

When had he gotten so close?

“I can’t…”

His hand touched her waist, and she could feel his fingers digging into skin. No. No, this wasn’t right. These were the wrong hands. The wrong fingers. This wasn’t what she wanted.

Her gaze swept upward, and she saw the world clearly once more. Cages, humans, death, madness, Dean…

“Dean,” she gasped.

His head snapped up, and she saw his eyes come into focus. This was right. This was what she wanted. Not this strange place and cold hands and a foreign prince.

With a swiftness that she’d forgotten while under Prince Fordham’s spell, she reached behind her and unsheathed her Tendrille blade. She whipped around and thrust the point up toward Fordham’s neck. He grinned even wider.

“Well, well, she has a mind of her own. I’m impressed.”

“You will release me from this spell and show me how to get out of this place.”

“You already know the way out. You just didn’t choose to take it,” he said smoothly.

She glared at him. She didn’t want any more deceptions or illusions or whatever the hell this was. She wanted to get out of here before everything wrapped her up again.

With a sigh, she reached down into the honeycomb of the ruby in her blade. She wasn’t sure if it was even possible for her to use magic when she didn’t have access to her own. But she was hoping that none of the officiators had expected anyone to bring magic into the competition with them.

But the magic came to her with ease. Just a small dose but enough to shatter the entire vision of this dark court. To show her the sadistic revelry and cruel ways of the Fae who lived down in the tunnels. In a world that was not her world.

Then, she pushed the rest of the magic through the blade and toward the prince’s body.

His eyes widened in shock. “How?”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve, too, Princeling.”

He snarled at the name. “The House of Shadows will remember this slight.”

“Good,” she snapped. “Now, tell me the way out.”

He nodded his head toward a door on the other side of the chamber. Now that her vision was clear, she could tell that it had always been there. Just waiting for her to open it and leave.

“Stay away from me,” she hissed.

“With pleasure.”

She took a few steps back and then vaulted toward Dean, still standing, enraptured by a female Fae. She destroyed his illusion with her magic. He blinked twice and then came to himself.

“We have to go. Run!” she shouted at him.

He didn’t wait for her to tell him twice. He knocked over the Fae who he’d been talking to and darted toward the door. Cyrene was hot on his heels. And, with one last glance at the array of cages, she slammed her blade down on the locks, shattering them to pieces.

That got the remaining Faes’ attention.

“Go,” she shrieked at the humans within the cages.

Those who were still coherent enough to comprehend her fled after Dean, who was holding the door open. Cyrene sent a shock of magic toward the remaining humans. A few of them hobbled out of the cages, starving and gaunt. Not all of them followed. Not all of them seemed to want to leave these dark and twisted Fae behind. But she’d gotten some of them out, and that was good enough for her. Some was better than none.

She followed the last human to the door, holding off a menacing crowd of Fae, who apparently didn’t like that their playthings were leaving. She looked once more at Fordham. He was staring blankly back at her. Then, his lips tilted upward, and he clapped twice, as if to congratulate her. She just shook her head, not understanding him in the least. Not understanding any of them.

Then, she was through the door.

And leaving the House of Shadows behind.

Only to find another horror in her path.