Thief of Souls (Court of Dreams Book 2) Read online

  Except, it was very clear I wasn’t.

  A month later, I was brought to court, where I was raised among my father’s personal guard, and Rian vanished back into the army. I never saw him again.

  Stolen kisses whilst I was sent into the world were all I had. Sex became a secret pleasure I stole for myself whenever I was on a mission and a stranger caught my eye. It was a moment of pretend. Just for a night I could snuggle into another’s arms and dream that I would wake in the morning in a new life, with a new destiny. I could be a princess in a land where food was never in short supply, I didn’t have to lock my door every night, and nobody would ever beat me again. I wanted that dream so badly that every night when I slipped beneath my sheets, I would conjure a nameless, faceless prince who would steal me away from my wretched life and make me happy.

  And then I was sent to steal Keir’s heart.

  I knew the moment my father’s spymaster set his file into my hands that he was different to my usual marks. The small miniature of his face barely did him justice, but at the time his green-gold eyes had made my breath catch. A ruling fae prince of a mysterious land, handsome and dangerous and wickedly sinful. Every mention of the Court of Dreams promised everything I could ever want. The night before I set out to break into the Court of Dreams was the first night my dream-like lover had a face.

  It was safe.

  Nothing could come of it.

  I would slip into his court, get a better glimpse of the dream, and then steal his relic and never have to see him ever again. There were nineteen other princesses vying for his attention. He would never choose me.

  And to ensure this fact, I made myself absent from the group gatherings where he would be present. I gave him a polite smile, and disengaged from any of his attempts to draw me into a conversation.

  I made a fatal mistake.

  Of course a dangerous fae prince is going to chase the one woman who doesn’t seem to like him. He had nineteen princesses kissing his polished boots. Of course he was going to set his sights on the one who barely gave him a hint of attention. No matter what I did, he found ways to tempt me out of the role. We flirted. We dined. There was a breathless moment where I even began to forget why I was there.

  And the worst thing was… I liked him.

  Truly liked him.

  When I asked him what he wanted, he whispered that he dreamed of a queen to rule at his side. Someone to love. Someone he could trust with his whole heart. It was like he conjured my own dreams to life and then instantly set a sword to them.

  Because the woman he dreamed of wasn’t me.

  I was bound to betray him.

  Nothing has changed.

  But those wretched old feelings resurface just long enough to make my throat thicken, and then Keir’s lashes flutter low over his eyes, and he brushes his thumb against my cheek. “I almost didn’t think you were going to come.”

  My heart skips a beat. “I was the one who asked you to be here.”

  “We both know you tell lies.”

  For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, and panic flares. He’s only ever kissed me once, and that was to bind me to him.

  I don’t even know why I’m thinking of kissing.

  “Your Highness,” I blurt.

  “So formal.” He hasn’t let go of me. “Considering I once overheard you call me His Royal Studliness.”

  “I didn’t say that. That was Calliope.”

  He arches a brow, and I’m reminded of all the ways I shouldn’t mention that name—mostly because she tried to kill both of us.

  “Where did you go? You were in my dreams, and then you were gone.”

  “I woke.”

  Something dangerous lurks in his eyes. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.” I push past him, desperate for some space. “Isn’t that how one escapes a dream?”

  “Not mine.” Keir’s voice is a shiver over my skin as he prowls after me. “Once you’re in my dreams, Zemira, you can’t escape me. So I would like to know how you achieved it.”

  I drowned.

  I still the shiver fighting to break free. I’m not going back there to that time and place, not even in my own memories. I’m alive, in the here and now, basking in the warmth playing over my skin. If life has taught me anything, it’s to never look back. “Perhaps your power isn’t as absolute as you would like to think it is.”

  His eyes narrow, and I’m fairly certain I haven’t convinced him. Those dangerous eyes rove over me. “I like the vest.” His gaze turns hot. “I like the breeches too. Much better than the silk and lace you once pretended to thrive in. This suits you.”

  “It’s easier to move in than the pretty gowns I once wore.” I shoot him a challenging look. “Did you bring what I need?”

  Keir gestures me toward the carriage, his eyes glinting with challenge. “As my lady commands.”

  Don’t call me that. But it’s the plan, after all. And it’s my plan.

  Two servants haul a trunk down from the carriage even as I studiously ignore him.

  A simple flip of the latch, and there it is.

  The perfect weapon.

  I wince as I pick up the corset on top of the pile of gowns. “I’d almost forgotten how uncomfortable all of this is.”

  “If you want to be invited in,” Keir murmurs, “then you have to look the part, my lady Merisel.”

  I hate that name so much.

  “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Her name.” Keir leans his back against the carriage, turning just his head to look at me.

  I shake out the dress on the top of the pile. The silk feels surreal beneath my callused fingers. Little chips of diamond glitter from where they’re sewn into the skirts. “It’s just a name. Just an alias. I’ve spent my entire life slipping them on and off like old clothes.” I can’t help arching a brow. “This is cut to my size perfectly. Is it real?”

  “No. It’s crafted entirely from my dreams,” he purrs. “Careful, or I might simply make it all vanish, right in the middle of the wedding.”

  I nearly drop the gown. “What?”

  “You wanted a distraction, did you not?” He actually rolls his eyes as my jaw drops open. “It’s real, Zemira. It’s all been made just for you.”

  “You have an entire trunk of clothes cut to my size?” Not even a brownie with the best homespun magic can simply magic up an entire wardrobe of clothes like this.

  “I like to be prepared,” he says. “I have a year and a day of your service, and if I need you to do something for me, then I don’t want to have to wait until you have a wardrobe.” His gold eyes lock on me mockingly. “You have an entire suite of rooms awaiting you at my palace. You have a wardrobe of gorgeous gowns. You have books. You have a set of goblin-forged knives, spelled to cut through any ward and keyed to your hand only. Everything you might need and desire.”

  “Goblin-forged knives?”

  The goblin court was named Forbidden during the same wars that branded my people with that title. The goblin king vanished his court from fae eyes and swore that his court would not deal with the fae while the sun was still in the sky. A goblin-forged blade is worth a small earldom. They’re rare. Impossibly rare. And to get his hands on an entire set of them….

  For me.

  I can’t breathe. A horrible, giddy feeling sweeps through me. Soraya has one goblin-forged blade she stole from the collection of a centuries-old fae who captured pretty mortal girls and chained them to his dais. She killed him with his own knife, set the girls free, and then burned his palace.

  It’s her most treasured item.

  “When you say ‘set,’” I manage to sound almost calm, “precisely how many knives are you talking about?”

  Keir laughs under his breath. “I should have known that would be the gift that would get your attention.”

  Gift. Every inch of me stills.

  Soraya used to give me gifts for my birthing day every year.
Small things like honeyed cakes she’d stolen from the kitchens, a flask of mead when we came of age—which is probably the reason I can never taste it again without gagging in remembrance—and a string of dandelion seeds with which to make wish after wish.

  She stopped leaving them on my pillow after she betrayed me in the trials.

  And nobody else has ever given me a gift since.

  I stare at him, reminded once again that he’s a fae prince with all the luxuries that title can buy him. It probably means nothing. As he said, he has plans for me and needs me to be able to infiltrate a court at his beck and whim.

  But still….

  I blow out a breath. Mind on track. I have the wardrobe required to infiltrate the Court of Blood. I have the prince. There’s just one little problem….

  “Speaking of Merisel, is she going to become an issue?” I ask. “I can’t imagine that having two of us appear together would be wise.”

  “My sources tell me she rarely leaves her manor. Something about a digestive disagreement she had the last time she traveled, which caused her to lose her chance at attending a prince’s summons. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “If I’d ingested that much Monksflower, I probably wouldn’t leave the manor for a while either. Or I’d travel with a personal chamber pot.”

  “That doesn’t sound very kindly of you.”

  I cut him a scathing look. “My sister wanted to feed her a heavy dose of hensbane. I thought Monksflower to be the kinder alternative. I didn’t want her dead. Just indisposed.” The look on his face…. “What?”

  His eyelids hood. “Nothing.”

  I start tugging on the buttons of my shirt. “I’m a thief, Keir. A pragmatic thief. Dead bodies bring questions. They also inspire lofty notions such as vengeance or justice in ones enemies. The best thieves are the ones no one ever knows about. I don’t need to be known as the Scarlet Hand or the Black Hood. Or—”

  “The White Wraith.”

  “What?”

  “The White Wraith,” he murmurs, a faint smile toying about his lips. “That’s what King Angmar named you when you stole his trident.”

  That fucking trident. It’s going to be the bane of my existence.

  “He did not.”

  Oh, he’s enjoying this moment. “There’s a reward poster and all. It seems you’re not as unknown as you might wish for.” He cocks his head. “Though the painting on the poster doesn’t quite do you justice. You’re much lovelier in the flesh.”

  I drag my hand down my face. “All my sources say Angmar won’t be attending.”

  It was the first thing I asked my father’s spymaster.

  “He’s not. He made some excuse about mermaids attacking one of his watch towers along the shore. I daresay he feels a little naked without his source of strength, especially when Prince Malechus would love to see him humbled.”

  “The trident wasn’t that powerful.” My father tried to use it to break the curse on one of his guards, and the gold in the trident simply warped as the magic lashed back. “If he can’t face another ruling prince without it, then perhaps he should pass his throne on to one of his siblings.”

  “Oh, I think it won’t be long before one of them takes it.”

  Perfect. Angmar won’t be in attendance. I’m sure he’ll send an emissary, but nobody else saw me the night I stole the trident, and my glamor is strong enough to make my face just different enough to his reward poster.

  “There’s just one more little problem as far as I can see,” Keir says.

  I’ve been through all of my plans. Nothing has been left to chance. Nothing. “What?”

  “You said you had another master.” A certain intensity comes over his face. “I can’t imagine he’d be pleased to let you off his leash. Does he know where you are?”

  This is the dangerous part. I know he wants to know who rules over me.

  “It won’t be an issue.”

  “It won’t?” There’s a dangerous look in his eyes.

  “My sister is missing,” I point out. “If I can find her… then my king won’t question it. He’ll think I merely went to save her.”

  Keir examines my face and then gives a curt nod.

  He believes me.

  I turn away with the dress in hand.

  I have little more than a week before the wedding takes place.

  A week in which to locate the horn, find my sister, betray Keir, and escape an entire court who will most likely want my head for what’s about to take place.

  A week to figure out a solution to the oath that binds me to Keir.

  At least this time, he knows who and what I am. If I steal the horn out from under him, that’s his own cursed fault for trusting me a second time. I don’t have to worry about the entanglement of feelings or whether I’m going to break his heart.

  He’ll hate you for this.

  But it will be done, I argue with myself. He’ll never trust you again. And he doesn’t truly need the horn. He won’t suffer for any of this.

  “Are you alright, my lady?” the maid asks.

  “Just preparing myself for this torture contraption,” I reply, picking up the corset. I throw Keir one last glance over my shoulder. “Do you mind giving me some privacy?”

  The heat in his eyes smolders. “You have five minutes.”

  And then he and the footman vanish around the corner of the carriage.

  Dressing swiftly, I accept some help from the lady’s maid he’s provided for the corset and other undergarments. Soon, I’m drowning in silk. It’s as blue as a field of cornflowers, and I can’t help fingering the little cap sleeve that sits on my shoulders. Dozens of silver mesh flowers are embroidered on the bodice, spilling into the skirts with such abundance it looks as though I rolled in starlight.

  If I was to conjure a dress out of my dreams, it would be this dress.

  You can’t afford this dress.

  Still, it’s so pretty.

  Keir falters as I walk out from behind the carriage, trying to haul my silken skirts out of the dirt. I can barely move my legs or breathe, and I don’t care one whit. There’s a look on his face that momentarily makes me pause. For a second I can’t identify it.

  Hunger.

  The realization makes my breath catch.

  For all my faults, for all that’s come between us, he still wants me.

  “It’s the same color as your eyes,” he whispers. “I wondered whether I’d imagined it the second I saw the silk….”

  For the first time in my life, I can’t get the words out. They’re trapped in my throat, right along with the need to breathe. “You chose the silk?”

  His face shuts down, all of his emotions locked away. “Someone had to. Shall we?” he murmurs, offering me a hand to assist me into the carriage.

  I take his hand.

  The horn awaits.

  But I can’t help feeling as though I’ve just made a dangerous misstep in the game somewhere.

  5

  The Court of Blood is housed within the heart of a mountain. Long-ago fae chiseled halls and rooms from within the slate, and each gaping “window” looks like the mournful eye of a monster. Stars glitter like a shimmering cloak draped over the mountain’s shoulders, but it’s the blood moon in the sky that captures my attention.

  Many years ago, the king of the Court of Blood was married to a daughter of the Court of Frost and Fangs. He despised his new bride and ridiculed her by parading a never-ending cast of hundreds through his bed. In retaliation, she fled to her father’s court and cast a curse on the Court of Blood by the power of the blood moon.

  The waters of the court would run with blood. The stone of his mountain court would crack. And the king’s… ahem… would never flourish again.

  He could look. He could admire. But he could never, ever rouse, even to a lover’s touch.

  The only way to break the curse was for one of his lovers to sacrifice herself—willingly—to the bonfire.

&n
bsp; It’s a little inauspicious to begin a wedding beneath such a powerful astral sign that did so much damage, but the Court of Blood have always been a little strange.

  A maze leads toward the entrance to the court.

  It’s formed of hedges of bloodstar, with their dark red leaves and silver branches. There are whispers they water the trees with blood, which gives the leaves their stunning color, and the entire effect is eerie.

  The Court of Blood isn’t pretending to be anything it’s not.

  It’s a malevolent trap. A warning. An imposing fort with an elaborate welcome mat and a trap door that’s prepared to slam shut behind you.

  Getting in without an invite is impossible.

  Luckily, I have the most delicious-looking invite a girl can find. The Prince of Dreams is the coup of any social event—a reclusive prince with enormous power, a gorgeous face, and, whilst my way in is on his arm as his betrothed, technically, until the ceremony happens, he’s still unmarried.

  The hardest part of the entire affair is convincing the powers-that-be that I belong here.

  Me. A wraith-born bastard forced upon my fae mother. A monster cut from her womb.

  My fingers dig into my palms. I feel sick and shaky all of a sudden, though I could have sworn I banished these moments long ago.

  She loved me. She had to have loved me, because she named me true, and named me thrice before they stole me from her arms. Every fae child receives the gift of three names from its mother. Without them you are truly Unblessed.

  Zemira Ashburn. Gravekissed, the Black Hawk, Winterborn.

  No one knows those names except for me and my father. They’re imprinted on my soul and bind me to my oaths. A fae’s true name is what forces them to uphold their word, once given.

  Armed with my true name and my soul, he can control every inch of me.

  “Merisel,” Keir murmurs, his golden eyes watching me in a way that makes me feel as though he can see right through me. “Are you all right?”

  I breathe through the moment, swallowing it all down like poison I’ve consumed far too many times to fall prey to it. “I’m fine.”

  His face remains chiseled from stone. Impassive. He sits across from me, clad in sophisticated black velvet with golden dragons embroidered down the lapels. Rubies glint on his fingers, so dark a red that they seem almost black.