Chapter Twelve

Luna paced outside King Jakob’s chambers, wringing her hands.

Did I overstep?

He hadn’t spoken to her in days. Adrianna assured her that he had a lot of work piling up, but it still felt like he might be avoiding her. She saw him briefly at the odd meal or two, but nothing more.

She paused in front of the door.

Knock, Luna, she told herself, glancing around the empty, guardless corridor. Just knock. He might not even be inside.

From afar came the sound of stomping, a hollow clomp-click of heeled boots.

“—foul bastard. I hope one day he chokes on the shit he spews out of his mouth. I hope—”

As the stomper approached, the stream of curses never faltering for even a breath, Luna’s eyes widened. She darted to the other end of the corridor and ducked around the corner. Killian?

The hireling stormed around the corner and skidded to a halt before the king’s chambers. She lifted her leg like a hound relieving itself and kicked the door thrice, the deafening bangs nearly startling Luna senseless. When the door didn’t open immediately, Killian snorted and spun on her heel, heading back the way she came.

The doors swung inward, and King Jakob’s deep voice boomed out. “Heel.”

The girl spat yet another swear at the floor but obeyed. On her way, her eyes flicked beyond the king—to Luna’s hiding spot.

Crap, Luna thought, jerking back, but Killian’s step didn’t waver, and the doors slammed shut a second later.

Despite every rational voice in her head urging her to leave, Luna’s feet shuffled closer to the door. She swallowed. With painstaking caution, she braced her palms on the frigid stone and pressed her ear to its surface.

She had only been in her father’s chambers once before. She remembered having to crane her neck just to drink in the high ceilings, submerged in gloom both from torchlight and the lack of windows. From her memory, she imagined Killian and her father in the barren sitting parlor, adorned with a chaise and a low table by the unlit fireplace.

Thwack.

Luna recoiled, her mind racing. Had her father struck the girl? Her eyes darted around the hallway, searching for another way in, one hand gingerly testing the door handle. The king had left it unlocked. She reached into her pocket for her illusionstone.

Thwack. Thwack.

“Are you quite done?” Jakob thundered.

Luna took a deep breath and cloaked herself into invisibility. Then she conjured a replica of the door to overlap with the real door, so that when she inched the actual door open, her illusion allowed it to appear as though it remained shut. After toeing off her slippers, she wedged one into the doorway to keep it propped ajar. Her stockinged feet were silent on the stone floor, but she strayed no farther than a foot from the entrance in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

King Jakob stood like an unmovable pillar in the center of the parlor with his back to Luna. Before him, Killian stood on the chaise, twirling one of her strange knives. Three more knives were embedded in the table between them.

The king exhaled through his nostrils. “Eirene—”

Killian hurled the blade. It buried hilt-deep into the table. THWACK. “Call me that again,” she hissed with such venom that Luna took an involuntary step back, “and I’ll aim my next dagger somewhere new. Somewhere softer, if you get my drift.”

Luna clenched her fists. And to think that she had been worried about the hireling’s well-being—

Her father didn’t flinch. “Very well, anygné.”

Shock rippled through Luna. She gaped first at Killian, and then her father. Her pulse raced as she stumbled backward, a thousand questions bombarding her mind.

The king went on. “How did your meeting with the princess—”

The hireling sniffed the air. “Did you lock the door?”

Jakob frowned. “No. Why?” He turned around to face Luna, his eyes searching the room.

Though he never quite found her invisible stare, it was enough. Luna backed away as quickly as she could, but in her haste to flee, she nearly tripped over the slipper she had left in the door. It skidded into the hallway with a soft fwish. Her father’s brow furrowed. Just before the real door fully closed, she saw him striding toward her. She bent over to grab the slippers and ran for her life.

Jakob poked his head outside. “Who goes there?” the king called, but she had already reached the end of the corridor and flung herself around the corner, out of sight.

Her heart threatened to explode out of her chest as she threw her back against the stone wall, fingers scrabbling against the rough-hewn edges. She panted, open-mouthed and silent, still certain that Killian or her father were coming for her.

She thanked all of her stars when the door slammed shut once more.

When her breathing slowed, she chanced a peek around the corner. To her relief, the corridor lay empty.

She sighed and bent to put her slippers back on only to realize that she only clutched one. With dawning horror, she stole a glance around the corner, scanning the hallway outside the king’s chambers for the missing slipper. The completely empty hallway which had brought her relief only moments before now filled her with dread.

The other slipper—the one she must have accidentally dropped in her haste to escape—had vanished.

Killian had wrested her knives out of the table and laid them in a neat little row by the time Jakob returned, a lone silk slipper hanging from his fingertips.

That brought a smile to her face.

Jakob glowered at her. “Why the sudden cheer?”

Killian shrugged. “Nothing. She’s growing into her fate, that’s all.”

The air grew thick. One step at a time, he drew closer, looming overhead as if he meant to intimidate her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Oh, she was enjoying this. “Nothing, I said!” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Yet.”

Jakob’s menacing expression made her want to laugh aloud. “What do you want, demon?”

She stroked her chin and hummed. “To start, a new room would be lovely.”

“What’s wrong with your current one?”

She thought of the cramped, windowless room he’d given her and resisted the urge to stab him. At least the God of Shadow had given her a mansion to call her own. “Nothing,” she mocked with a sarcastic little smile.

He got the point. “It is done.”

She wondered what else she could barter for, but her only other desire was a freedom that he could not grant, so she relented. “Your bastard daughter is shadow-kissed.”

Oh, how she savored the way he froze.

“What do you mean, shadow-kissed ?” To her growing delight, he paled. “Like . . . like you? ”

At that, her lips stretched into a rabid grin. She snapped her teeth at him just to see his face pinch. “Yes, like me.”

The King of Ibreseos fell silent. She watched in curiosity as he lumbered over to his single, pathetic chaise and sat down heavily, bracing his elbows on his knees. “How . . .” he began hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “How do you know?”

Killian examined her nails. “Shadow magic leaves a signature. Whether a person has wielded it herself or has been subjected to it, you can always find some remnant. Or rather, anygnés can. In our case, King Eoin’s shadow sigil burns above their head.” She pointed to the air above herself. “Sometimes it fades after a few years. Sometimes it doesn’t fade at all.”

Jakob rubbed his temple. “So what exactly does this mean?”

“It means that the wretched woman you fornicated with to produce Luna bargained for shadow magic in exchange for your poor daughter’s eternal service.” Killian could hardly contain her glee when she glimpsed the fury in the king’s eyes. His next words, however, surprised her.

“I knew that already.” His fists clenched and unclenched in his lap. “I meant . . . what does this mean for her?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you actually care?”

“Of course. She’s my daughter.”

She snorted. “Oh, yes, the one you didn’t know existed until a few weeks ago. Silly me—”

“Silence, demon,” the king commanded, and she felt her lips lock, the words in her throat evaporating. She tried to snarl, her tongue numb and useless in her mouth, but he had rendered her utterly mute. “I paid a price for your obedience. Far more than it was worth, it seems. Even so, no matter what way you wish to look at it, you are in my debt. I freed you from King Eoin.”

And bound me in chains of your own, Killian thought bitterly. Sold—no, loaned—by one monster to another.

As if reading her thoughts, he sighed. “You may speak.”

“Eoin will come for her on the day the darkness shrouds all light,” she told him. “He will steal her away to a place you can never follow.” She began resheathing her daggers one at a time, smiling to herself. “You’d better have your little tea parties with her while you still can. She won’t be around for much longer. I’d guess a few weeks, at the most, but I’m not very good at telling time anymore.”

Jakob swallowed. “How can I stop this?”

Her smile stretched until her face hurt. She stared down at him and whispered, “You can’t,” letting her magic carry her voice to ghost along his ears.

“Stop that,” he ordered, and her magic dissolved in a heartbeat, snatched from her so quickly that it left her gasping. “Respect me, Eirene, and I will grant you more freedom than you could ever wish for.”

Her final knife flew out of her hand and lodged in the chaise between Jakob’s legs. His eyes widened at the wickedly serrated edge buried a mere inch from his crotch.

“Whoops,” she said sweetly. “My hand slipped.”

Slowly, the king met her eyes, his expression glacial. “You cannot harm me.”

“No,” Killian murmured. “I suppose not.” She snapped her fingers and the dagger whizzed back into her palm, leaving only a deep gouge in the cushion. Just an inch farther, she lamented. At her command, the chaise coughed out dust and stuffing all over the king’s lap.

His brow scrunched in disgust.

She sauntered toward the doors to his chambers to let herself out. At the last moment, she couldn’t restrain herself and poked her head back in. She tilted her chin to the side, memorizing every detail—from the defeated slouch of his spine to the displeased curve of his mouth—and grinned. “But someone else always could.”

With that, she slammed the door behind her and ambled away.