Page 11 of Fallen Court

He hadn’t taken the ring.

I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a pale glow over the silk-covered couches and expensive woven rugs, bouncing off the oil paintings that lined the walls. But the space remained cold, an eerie silence permeating each room I happened upon. The grandeur was a facade, as perfectly constructed as the paintings hanging in gilded frames, but underneath it was a void that I felt like a pit in my stomach.

I didn’t belong to this court that was as lovely and deadly as the oleander that grew in its gardens. I’d already made my first mistake. Oberon had agreed to the terms of my bargain too quickly.

The ring was a small price to pay for the safety of my family and friends, but Lach’s warning to never remove it rattled around in my brain, refusing to let me sleep. Now, each second I wore it, the ring felt heavier. The only piece of my mother that I had, and I had agreed to give it away.

All my life, I had wondered about my parents. The most I really knew were their names and the day they died. I had nothing from them, not even a death certificate. Nothing but this ring.

I paused by a window overlooking the gardens, but there was no sign of the hellscape Oberon had revealed to me yesterday.

I’d shown my ring to Lach the night we met. He had taken one look at its gold filigree and glassy green stone and declared it worthless. A lie. I didn’t know how to feel about that. He hadn’t had a chance to explain in those final, breathless moments as MacAlister lay dying and he took the final kill shot—marking himself for the Wild Hunt in my place. There hadn’t been time for him to explain how he was breaking the bargain, and now, the memory gnawed at me. Had he ever wanted me at all? The thought had chased me out of my room, looking for answers to anything but that question.

Because he had taken that final shot for me. He cared as much as I did, so why hadn’t he told me the truth? What terrible secret did this ring hold that two fae princes wanted it so badly?

The ring was the linchpin of my bargain with Lach, and now it was the linchpin of my bargain with Oberon—it had value. I just didn’t understand why.

Tears clogged up my throat, but I swallowed them down, fleeing from my emotions as I continued into an adjoining hall.

I’d worn the ring compulsively since that day at Gran’s when she had seen it and told me to never take it off. Even at work, where I’d been allowed one piece of jewelry, and I’d worn it while others had worn their wedding rings. But this…

It had never needed cleaning. It had never tarnished. It always fit. But the idea that I was walking around with a ring from some fallen fae court was ridiculous. My parents had died in a car accident—an end made all the more tragic by its mundanity. Maybe I would give Oberon the ring and he would find it was exactly what Lach had said that first night: worthless. But he would be bound by that bargain all the same.

Still…what if I was wrong?

I shoved the thought aside and entered a sitting room. How many did they need for the two of them? There were guards. I’d encountered a few in the various empty rooms, but they all stared straight ahead. It was more like encountering ghosts than people.

No one, save for Oberon and Titania, had uttered a word to me since my arrival, and those two hadn’t exactly been chatty. I didn’t trust a word that came out of Oberon’s mouth, and Titania seemed to be avoiding my company. Fine by me.

I hadn’t liked the princess when we met, and the fact that she was now lobbying to kill me didn’t help her case.

But that raised a new problem. I’d been so concerned with protecting the people I’d left behind, I hadn’t considered my own situation. I’d struck a bargain using the only leverage I possessed without stipulating that they let me go. And if I had to live the rest of my mortal years in this mausoleum, I would lose my fucking mind.

I turned the corner, finding a spiral staircase. Torches blazed a path, their flames casting shadows across the steps. They curled like fingers, beckoning me to descend. And maybe I’d grown accustomed to the shadows of the Nether Court, but I started down them. It was a terrible idea, but lately I didn’t have much else to work with, and I couldn’t go back to that pristine white bedroom and just wait around for my fate.

I took the steps quickly, fingers sliding down the polished rail to keep me steady as I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting one of those silent guards to come after me.

The stairs emptied into a dimly lit corridor, a stark contrast to the stately open-air luxury of the main floor. The walls seemed to close in around me, the air thick and oppressive. Cold sweat beaded on my brow as I stared into the corridor that stretched before me, its end lost in shadows. In the absence of any windows, the only light came from the flickering torches. They illuminated the rough-hewn stone walls and the uneven floor beneath my feet. Deafening silence greeted me, broken only by my pounding heart and ragged breathing. I shouldn’t be here.

The metal of my ring burned against my skin, and I clenched my fist, trying to ignore the sensation. It only grew stronger, though, a searing pain that shot up my arm and into my chest.

I should turn back and leave the secrets down here. The thought planted itself in my mind.

That would be the reasonable thing to do, but nothing about this situation fell under that heading. I forged forward, going slowly as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

Each step ratcheted my pulse. One day I would listen to my survival instinct—or die ignoring it. It was difficult to guess which would come first. I was about to give up my search when I came across a door, slightly ajar, with a cramped room beyond. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and a cluttered desk sat in the middle of the space. Books and journals were crammed onto every available surface, their leather covers cracked and faded with age.

There was a reason these were down here, tucked away from prying eyes and curious guests. So I didn’t try to stop myself from snooping.

I plucked one of the books from the shelf, my fingers trembling slightly as I opened it. The pages were yellow and brittle, the ink faded to a dull brown. I squinted in the poor lighting and realized they were written in Theban, the ancient fae tongue. The same language that made up the tattoos that covered Lach’s body. If I ever got out of here, I was going to learn what the hell I was looking at.

Frustration welled up inside me as I flipped through the pages, desperately searching for something, anything that I could understand. I wished I had my phone with me so I could take a picture and try to translate it later. A futile plan. I doubted Google could help me with this.

But whatever had compelled me down those stairs still whispered in my mind. I didn’t need proof that Oberon was up to no good—he’d proven that when he’d planted the seeds of discord between the shadow courts. Violence was inevitable, and he didn’t have to get his own hands dirty.

My eyes darted around the room, searching for some clue, some hint of what Oberon was planning. Preferably something that was not written in a thousand-year-old magical language. I moved to the desk, which was covered in letters and leather-bound journals, and riffled through them. All written in Theban. Not even a freaking diagram.