Seduced by Darkness (Dark Court Rising) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Bec McMaster

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Damonza.com

  Editing by Lisa K.

  To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at www.becmcmaster.com

  Created with Vellum

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  The Company Of Rogues

  Seduced By Darkness

  Bec McMaster

  Contents

  1. Thiago

  2. Iskvien

  3. Thiago

  4. Iskvien

  5. Thiago

  6. Iskvien

  7. Iskvien

  8. Iskvien

  9. Thiago

  10. Iskvien

  11. Thiago

  12. Iskvien

  13. Thiago

  Epilogue

  Also by Bec McMaster

  About the Author

  1

  Thiago

  In the beginning there was Darkness.

  It curls inside me, hungry and devouring. It takes little nibbles of my soul, day by day, even as I fight against it. I’ve chained it deep within me, binding it with magic and wards, tattooing them into my very skin to keep it locked away, but I can feel it straining against the edges of those wards.

  It’s all I’ve ever known.

  I stare into the mirror in my tent, trying to see if there’s a little bit more of it showing in my eyes. They’re black right now as I strip the glamor from my skin, revealing the creature inside. Black wings spread wide, glossy with feathers. Dark claws are sharpened to points on my fingertips. My eyes are black. Pure black. And even though the shadow daemons I’ve consumed writhe across my skin, my wards flare gold like a net draped over me.

  Safely locked away.

  But that doesn’t mean I can’t feel them gnawing at me. It doesn’t mean I can’t feel my own roaring hunger threatening to consume me.

  The Darkness feeds on anything. Anger. Pain. Torment. Fury.

  And right now, I am all of those things.

  “No, you’re not,” I whisper to my reflection as I dry my hands and wrists with the towel and toss it on the vanity. “You’re more than a monster.”

  I am Thiago of Evernight, ruling prince of a kingdom that hates me, spawn of a creature so vile I can’t even name it, and a bastard usurper who hides behind his illusions.

  Keeping the Darkness contained within me is a daily battle, and I’d like to say the pressure of the current situation—a friend currently held hostage by my enemy—is the reason I can’t quite look myself in the eyes right now, but there’s another truth beckoning.

  My father is thinking of me.

  I can feel him somewhere far to the north of me, in Unseelie, where the wild fae live.

  For the first time the hunger relents. It wants to be whole. It wants to consume him.

  But destroying my father means confronting him, and for the first time the creature within me knows fear.

  “Thiago?”

  Not alone.

  I vanish the wings, the claws, the blackness in my eyes. It’s as simple as taking a step sideways, into the ever-present glamor I first conjured when I was a boy. Sometimes it feels like this is the real me, the one who smiles at the world with his handsome face. The one who can meld into any Seelie court without having his parentage questioned. The eyes that meet mine in the mirror are green now.

  The handsome prince is back, the monster contained.

  A pity I can feel him still, laughing under his breath as I turn to face the intruder.

  Him, he whispers mockingly in my head. Are we still trying to pretend I’m not you?

  The only way to deal with it is to ignore it.

  “Eris?”

  There are few people who are allowed into my inner sanctum like this, and Eris of Silvernaught is one of them. Tall, broad of shoulder and hip, her dark skin lit with the gilded light of the candle, she knows a thing or two about the monster within.

  There’s a look in her eyes that tells me she saw my eyes. “Thiago—”

  “I’m fine.” There’s no point dwelling on it. I’ve spent years controlling myself. I will chain it down deep inside me again. I reach for a shirt and haul it over my head. “Are the others ready for me?”

  “As ready as they’re going to be.” She growls under her breath as she reaches out to yank my shirt into place. “You’re losing weight. You need to eat more.” A sharp nail digs into my ribs in order to make her point. “And you need to tell me when your wards are on the verge of breaking.”

  “I will. I’m not that close.”

  “Close enough,” she replies. “I need to know, Thiago.”

  Because she’s my failsafe.

  If my wards break and the daemon inside me is unleashed, then Eris is the one who will kill me. I made her promise such a thing years ago, when I first rescued her from an unforgiving alliance of queens.

  A shudder runs through me. That promise is the only thing that gives me any peace at night, but sometimes I’m not even sure if she can kill me.

  It’s so fucking hungry right now.

  I force myself to imagine a set of dark eyes, framed by thick lashes. Maybe brown. Maybe blue—as dark as the color of midnight. The rest of the face is slower to form—it’s been over five centuries since Maia granted me an image of this face, and while I’ve been carrying it for this long, hoarding it within my heart like a dragon guarding its treasure, the edges are starting to blur.

  She’s beautiful.

  Large, serious eyes that absolutely light up the second she sees me and smiles. It’s the smile that does the damage. It reaches down deep and clenches its fist around my heart. Her face is heart-shaped, with a faint cleft in the middle of her chin, and hair like dark silk cascades over her bare shoulders.

  The goddess Maia doesn’t often grant favors for those who pray to her, but this one night, when I was at my lowest, kneeling in her temples with my knees wet with my blood, she gave me a shred of hope.

  She showed me the face of the woman I’ll marry.

  The woman I will love.

  It’s enough to force the jagged remnants of my father’s shadow from my heart.

  He can’t defeat me here, with the image of my future wife reaching out a hand to me as if to lead me into some future adventure. Not even the Darkness can overwhelm me right now.

  She’s my hope. My shield. The only fucking thing that keeps my chains of control in place.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat again.

  “You’re such a stubborn bastard.” Eris tosses my cloak at me. “The others are waiting. Thalia’s little birds have come in.”

  “There’s news of Finn?”

  “There’s news.” She stalks toward the flap of canvas that partitions this room off from the main tent. “Whether it’s good or not is a question only Thalia can answer.”

  It has to be good. I won’t accept any other outcome.

  Pushing through the canvas flaps, I find the main room of the tent filled
with my people.

  They’re all here.

  My generals, my spymistress, my friends.

  There’s just one empty chair and it belongs to Finn.

  The twins, Baylor and Lysander, look like matching monoliths carved out of stone, but despite that, it’s easy to tell them apart.

  Half of Baylor’s silvery-blond hair is drawn into a leather thong, and hangs down his back in messy tangles. His armor is scarred green leather, braids of it overlapping the enormous breadth of his chest. But it’s the scowl that identifies him. Baylor’s never met a smile he wouldn’t drag into a back alley and stab to death.

  Lysander, on the other hand, is all wickedness and flashy grace. Clad in a black velvet doublet that sets off his hair, his cheeks are smooth-shaven as well as one side of his head. The rest of his hair hangs in a silken fall over the right side of his face. It makes his cheekbones look sharper and sensual, and rings glitter on his fingers. It’s a little fancier than his usual attire, but Lysander likes to party and the queensmoot—a centuries-old meeting between the heads of the Seelie Alliance—is renowned for three days of drinking, dancing and fucking.

  Secret assignations between members of opposing royal courts are common. It doesn’t matter who you serve when the bonfires that bring in Lammastide are lit.

  It’s the only time of the year when ancient enmities are set aside and the fae can give in to our hedonistic natures.

  There’s no sign of pleasure on any of their faces. This Lammastide is different.

  Because, while old arguments must be set aside for the duration of the queensmoot, it doesn’t mean that blackmail and murder don’t occur—just as long as they can’t be tied back to your camp.

  And right now, the Queen of Asturia has a knife to my throat.

  It’s Thalia I turn to, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You have news?”

  We share a grandmother and while there’s a hint of me in her sable brown hair and devious eyes, her managing ways are all her own. This is where the threat comes from, despite the pretty purple velvet gown and the innocent curls that tumble down her back. Nobody would ever suspect she’s my spymistress and while she can’t kick a man’s head off his shoulders the way the others can, she’s a knife in your back when you least expect it.

  She tilts her head back. “I have news.”

  Thalia’s never this serious, so whatever it is, it’s trouble.

  “Tell me,” I murmur, circling the table.

  “Adaia has arrived in all her golden glory,” Lysander replies. “I managed to get a good look at the layout of the Asturian tents. She’s set up in her usual spot and while there are numerous tents for her guards and servants, there’s nothing that looks like it’s built to hide Finn.”

  “He’s there,” Thalia counters. “Rue caught a glimpse of him.”

  She’s spent years cultivating the tiny winged demi-fey that flutter through the castle at Ceres, which is home. They’re addicted to milk and honey, and will do practically anything in exchange for it, but to get them to focus on one task long enough to complete it is near impossible.

  My cousin has a stubborn streak though. And immortality has its uses. According to her, she’s trained an entire legion of the little winged sprites, and considering the depths of the information she always manages to uncover it’s hard to doubt her.

  “Rue has the brains of a thimbleful of mead,” Lysander replies. “I can’t see any sign of Finn, and I’m good. I can’t smell him. And I’ve heard no mention of him among the Asturian troops.”

  Thalia sniffs. “It’s not my fault you’re incompetent.”

  “Incompetent?”

  This needs to be broken up before they’re shouting at each other. I shift, but Baylor beats me to it, one enormous fist slamming into his brother’s chest and pinning him there.

  “Finn,” Baylor says pointedly, “is all that matters.”

  Lysander curses under his breath, shooting Thalia a dirty look from beneath his thick lashes. “I’m going to have an apology from you later, brat.”

  “I didn’t see the army you rode in at the head of.”

  “Thalia.” I settle a stare upon her that makes her sigh and draw her knees up to her chest. Her feet are bare, but the girlish look she shoots me slides off me like water.

  I know her too well to fall for this innocent bullshit.

  I also know the strain that exists within the room is real.

  We’re all on edge.

  Finn’s usually the one to break the tension, and Lysander—always by his side—is feeling it.

  There are always risks in the game of kings, but I hate this moment, when the risk doesn’t pay off. Asturian soldiers were seen sniffing around the ruins of Mistmere. The kingdom was destroyed during the war with the Unseelie five hundred years ago, and it’s been a point of contention between me and Adaia for centuries.

  I don’t even want the fucking kingdom, but I can’t let that bitch get her hands on it. With Mistmere under her domain, Adaia will own the entire western flank of Evernight, cutting us off from the rest of the Seelie alliance. Trapped in the north by the indomitable mountains that lead to Unseelie, the only access we’d have to the south is by the seas.

  And it wouldn’t surprise me if Adaia has conjured a means to see any ships we send south don’t arrive at their destination.

  I can’t let her have Mistmere.

  And there’s no reason her guards should even be seen in its forests. She’s up to something and I need to know what it is.

  Finn was supposed to track them and keep watch.

  Except he vanished and Adaia sent me a message promising she’ll exchange his head for the keys to the kingdom. Whether it’s still attached to the rest of him is up to me, apparently.

  We’ll discuss it at the queensmoot, her message had practically purred.

  “She has Finn with her.” It’s not a question. “She wants to use him to break me, and she’ll want him close enough that she can get to him if she needs to.”

  “Maybe she’s keeping him in her tent,” Baylor growls.

  Lysander shudders. “Brother, please. My imagination.”

  Baylor arches a brow at him. “Adaia won’t fuck him. She considers his kind to be beneath her.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be fucking someone else—and I did catch a glimpse of the queen’s pet on my prowl.” Lysander’s lip curls. “I don’t know what would be worse. Watching the Queen of Asturia in bed, or being in it.”

  “Definitely being in it.” Eris looks disgusted.

  “What did Rue say about him?” I ask Thalia.

  “The demi-fey don’t talk, so it’s kind of like…. Big, growly warrior. Cage. Something about a wolf prowling around in there. Poison. Stink—”

  “Poison?”

  Thalia smooths her skirts. “Iron, I suspect. They consider it to be poison.”

  A fair assumption, considering what iron can do to fae magic. It’s difficult enough to touch it myself. The sudden grip of nausea makes even the strongest glamor slip and fade. It’s like trying to hold moonlight in your cupped hands.

  Finn’s in a cage. An iron cage. Nauseous and sick with it. Shaking violently. Trapped in the iron sickness that makes your head throb and your thoughts dangerous.

  Sudden rage makes the daemon slip its leash.

  We could kill Adaia, it whispers. The iron won’t stop me. Nor will her magic.

  Or anything else for that matter.

  I shudder the thought away. This is how it tempts me. It sounds so reasonable. But I’ve been there when I blink my way back into control of my body and find the blood covering my hands. I’ve seen the bodies, heard the sobs. I’ve tasted the sick slick of that desire on my tongue.

  Let’s burn it all to ashes. Let’s kill them all.

  Control is the chain I bind myself with.

  It’s what I used to lock my heart away when I held my dying mother in my arms, her blood slicking my shirt to my chest. It’s the whip
I flogged myself with during the bloody war against my half-brothers, when they sought to name me her murderer and pledged to turn my kingdom against me.

  It’s imprinted on my soul, tattooed into my skin. A cage I worship when the daemon threatens to chew me up and spit me out.

  And it’s what I fall back on now as I separate my thoughts from the hot flush of emotion. I can’t afford to give in to anger. Not right now. Finn needs me at my best. Not distracted. I owe him nothing less.

  “We can’t get to him through violence.” Cutting our way through the Asturian delegation will only bring the fury of the entire Seelie alliance down upon my head. The queensmoot is sacred. The ruins of Hammerdale are neutral ground. To go against that ancient pledge means spitting on everything I’ve spent years cultivating. “And Adaia won’t give him back to me, unless I beg. She wants me on my knees. She wants Mistmere. And I don’t dare give it to her.”

  “There is… some leverage we might be able to wield against her. Adaia has both her daughters with her this year,” Thalia murmurs.

  I met the eldest daughter last year. Andraste is the spitting image of her mother, and from the haughty arrogance she greeted me with, I daresay she’s inherited her mother’s mean streak and air of privilege.

  “What’s the name of the youngest?”

  “Iskvien,” Thalia replies. “I don’t know a lot about her. My resources say she’s not as favored as the eldest. Adaia hasn’t announced an heir yet, but Andraste is the frontrunner. There’s rumor that the youngest daughter’s magic is weak.”

  Adaia will hate that.

  Strength is power in this world, and she’s spent centuries building a stronghold out of her alliances and magic. To have birthed a daughter with barely any magic will be an embarrassment for her. No wonder I’ve never seen this Iskvien before.