Page 86 of Vicious Kings
I turn the key over between my fingers, studying the simple iron. No engravings or magical shimmer. The metal hasprobably been around as long as this university. A key to a secret garden where I'll meet with the prince whoshouldbecome king.
Who hates his brother as much as I do and supposedly knows how my mother died.
A man who might be using me just as much as I'm planning to use him.
Twenty-Five
BILLIE
Islip out of the dorm while Olivia's still unconscious, her pink sleep mask pulled down over her eyes. The hallways are empty, silent except for the soft padding of my boots against the absurdly plush carpet. Even the ever-present magical lighting seems dimmer, like the university itself is still half-asleep.
Good. The fewer witnesses to this, the better.
The key sits heavy in my pocket, iron against my thigh through the thin fabric of my skirt. I changed into the darkest clothes I could find—a deep burgundy skirt that's almost black, paired with a charcoal blouse. The collar around my neck catches what little light there is, a constant reminder that I'm a sheep making deals with wolves.
The gardens are different in the pre-dawn gloom. All those impossible flowers that bloom in colors that shouldn't exist look subdued, almost normal. The fountains still sing their crystal harmonies, but quieter, like they're trying not to wake anyone.
I find the wall of vines easily enough. They look different in this light. Less decorative, more… defensive.
The flowers that bloom between them aren't the cheerful pastels covering the rest of campus. These are deep purplesand blacks, petals that look velvet-soft but probably secrete something that would make your skin fall off if you touched them.
I pull out the key, the iron cold against my palm despite the warmth of my pocket. It's heavier than it looks, solid and real in a way nothing else at this university seems to be.
The lock materializes the moment the key gets close. One second there's nothing but vines, the next there's an iron gate that looks like it was ripped straight out of some gothic nightmare. Wrought metal twisted into patterns, designs that writhe on their own.
I insert the key into the gate, and the lock clicks open with a sound that's far too loud in the morning quiet.
The vines part like a curtain being drawn back, and I step through.
The world changes.
It's subtle at first. The air tastes different. The light seems wrong somehow, like it's coming from a sun that's not quite the right color. And the garden beyond...
This isn't Valemyre anymore.
The plants here don't belong in any botanical textbook I've ever seen. They're too dark, too twisted, growing in patterns that defy the careful cultivation I've seen everywhere else on campus. Trees with bark that looks like obsidian, their branches reaching toward the sky like obscene gestures. Flowers that bloom in shades of deep purple and midnight blue, their petals edged with frost. Or poison.
And the thorns.Holy shit,the thorns.
Everything here has them. They cover the trees, wind up the stems of flowers, even sprout out of the grass lining the path before me.
This is a garden designed to keep people out. Or maybe to keep something in.
"Charming, isn't it?"
I spin, my hand going automatically to my hip where a knife should be but isn't, and find Caelyx leaning against one of those obsidian trees like he owns it. Given the key in my pocket, I'm assuming he does.
He's dressed differently. No uniform, just black pants and a shirt that's open at the collar, revealing skin that's paler than it should be and covered in even paler scars.
"You're early," he observes, pushing off from the tree. "I like that. Punctuality is a virtue so few people appreciate."
"You said dawn." I cross my arms, trying to look less rattled than I feel. "I'm here at dawn."
"So you are." He moves closer, and I catch his scent. More concentrated. Like being in this garden amplifies whatever makes himhim. "Corvinus is never an early riser, so if you enjoy even a modicum of privacy, I recommend being one. So, what do you think of my little sanctuary?"
"It's..." I search for the right word. Terrifying? Fascinating? Like something that crawled out of an obscenely beautiful nightmare and decided to put down roots? "Different."
He laughs, the sound rich and dark. "Diplomatic. I appreciate that." He gestures around us, pride evident in his voice. "This is a piece of the Unseelie realm. A garden my mother tended before she died. I liberated it when I was younger."
