Some fair folks were lucky. Their minds simply conjured nightmares of imaginary monsters in the darkness, but upon waking, their dreams were all over. They fled in the moonlight.

Devi's subconscious was a bitch. No clawed, furry beast chasing her, no ghost under the bed for her. Oh no; instead, her haunting dreams played on her memory.

Her throat tightened painfully as she fought against one intense desire. One need: to breathe. She just wanted to breathe. But if she succumbed to temptation, water would invade her airway and flood her lungs in no time. The conscious part of her brain acknowledged that, but her body, her instincts, just wanted her to take one breath....

Her feet kicked, never hitting anything. Her vision started to blur, but she still saw the three silhouettes. One of them was holding her head underwater, the other one pushed her shoulders down, and the last remained a few feet back. Their words, the sounds they made, had been undistinguishable when the scene had occurred thirteen years ago, but now, in her dreams, she heard them clearly. They were laughing.

Devi remembered the moment she'd snapped. The moment when she'd realized she had to do something or they'd claim her life. The moment she decided to stop being weak prey, she turned into something else altogether. A rush of power had violently jumped out of her skin.

This was always the moment she woke up.

Her four poster bed, and the rest of her large, elegant room carved white in stone and furnished in dark wood, was a cold mess. She'd broken the glass of her window again. Once, it had been ornate, but after the first time she’d destroyed it, it had been replaced with plain glass. Devi sighed. No wonder that the servants of Wolven Fort hated her. They had to replace something in her apartment every other day.

Knowing there was no point in attempting to get back to sleep now, she dragged her feet to the hole in the wall, carelessly walking on the shards of glass. None broke her skin.

It was before dusk; the streets wouldn’t come to life for another two hours or so. It wasn’t without cause that Asra had been named the city of night.

Devi winced as the sun blinded her sensitive eyes. She'd woken way too early again. Using her hand as a visor, she stayed to watch the sunset, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. She seemed dark compared to the unseelie fae, but in fact, she'd never been paler. Her mother had raised her to live during the day and sleep at night as a child.

In the last few years, she’d missed the sun sometimes. Not of late. She'd woken up early enough to see it for a while now. The nightmares—the memories—had started a year ago, although it had been three years since she’d finished her time in the toxic royal unseelie academy, and over a decade since that fateful day at the riverbank. Her body and mind were restless, bidding her to stay on her guard, reminding her of a darker time.

Her plight was over. It had been a long time since she’d had reason to fear for her safety. There were plenty of decent folk around her now. She’d even managed to make some friends, most of whom didn't have a drop of high fae blood. Common fae were far more understanding.

Devi had a particular friendship with the two fae who’d started their protector internship at the same time as she, Jiya and Rook. They were all suffering the same torture under the tutelage of Drake Night, the formidable and sadistic master in charge of their training. As they were the first batch of apprentices he’d personally trained, no one else could quite understand their misery.

Her days consisted of six hours of agony with Rook, Jiya, and Drake, lunch, two hours of further training wherever she was sent, a free period where she was expected to perfect whatever Drake had endeavored to teach her, dinner, then sometimes, two hours down in the secret rooms carved in the belly of the castle under the dungeons. A restless sleep, rinse, repeat. This was her simple life. In her little cocoon, she'd let herself forget what it was to have to remain cautious, expect the worst, and watch her back. Her dreams served as a daily reminder, showing her what occurred when she wasn’t vigilant.

She’d wondered whether she was simply paranoid, but just when she was convinced that her imagination was driving her mad, a rumor had reached her.

The previous night, Devi had heard that the seelie king was coming to Asra. She sincerely wished that it was nothing more than stupid whispers without cause, but her mind wouldn’t be at rest until she knew for sure.

After the sun went down, Devi moved from her window and hopped in the bath her servants had poured, moaning in delight. She knew better than to take such pleasures for granted.

"Perfect temperature, thank you."

She persisted in speaking to the staff, who persisted in ignoring her. They hadn't talked to her for thirteen years, and she didn't expect them to start now, but it wasn’t going to discourage her.

The lesser fae employed at the palace never uttered a word to any resident or guest, except the queen herself. Devi knew they could talk; she heard them babble amongst themselves quite frequently. It was just one of many oddities of the court of night. Sometimes she wondered if it was the same throughout the rest of the continent. Then she remembered she'd never know. She wasn't welcome in the Seelie Court, wasn’t likely to return to the elven realm, and she would never be invited to Corantius. No one was. The unseelie realm was her home, for better or worse.

By the time she managed to convince herself to get out of her bath, she was running late—again. Devi rushed to get dressed and headed down the castle's main staircase, jumping four steps in each leap.

Punctuality had never been her forte, so she'd done that almost every day since she'd arrived. It was the first time that she missed a step, and it was entirely his fault.

Wincing, Devi got back to her feet and lifted her eyes toward the dick who had caused her fall.

Her jaw fell open. Fuck.

She'd been there the previous evening when he'd arrived at court. Devi had curtsied and kept her eyes on the ground like everyone else, but not before stealing a glance at the elusive prince she'd never met before. Rook had told her that his last visit to the court had been sixteen years ago, and she'd only arrived three years after that.

Her first glance surprised her. The two fae entering the throne hall were both striking, yet they couldn’t have been more different.

The first one had been gorgeous. Long blond hair, bright eyes, flawless skin, a ready smile, perfect bone structure, and his lean stature was elegant. High fae were a handsome bunch in general, but the fair-haired male had been at another level.

The male standing right beside the stunning stranger was… magnetic. Charismatic. His shoulders were a little broader, and he stood a good half head taller than his companion. His eyes were ice, his presence edgy, threatening, commanding. There was something in the way he moved that said hunter. Wild beast. It had been hard to turn her eyes away from him, because frankly her every instinct told her to keep the predator in her sights. His features were distinctive: his jaw too square, his cheekbones angular, his nose so very straight. He might have been quite beautiful had he not seemed so menacing. As things stood, Devi decided he wasn’t handsome at all. Just dangerous.

The blond was everyone's idea of a striking prince, yet Devi instantly knew that Valerius Blackthorn was the beast. He had his mother's violet eyes, her commanding presence, and something more. Something alarming.

After the prince had officially been welcomed by the queen, Devi had hurried the heck out of the hall, returning to her apartments. Her heart had been beating a little too fast, a little too hard. She was glad Valerius never stayed at court for long, and while he was present, there was no reason why they'd interact at all. She was a twenty-eight-year-old nobody—very young and inexperienced by fae standards. She asked questions that made older folks smile condescendingly. “Aren't you cute, asking about this thing I figured out three centuries ago,” they always seemed to say. Younglings rarely mixed with elder fae.

It occurred to her that the prince’s apartments, like hers, were in the residential wing of the queen’s castle. Devi quickly dismissed that concern; it was a fucking big wing, after all. But she was also the queen's ward, an adopted daughter of sorts. Maybe she would have to meet him someday. Shea might wish to introduce them.

Devi was no coward, but she was painfully aware of the fact that she had to avoid stressful situations when she could—not for her own well-being as much as that of the people around her. If she lost control of her powers, who knew how many people she’d hurt this time?

And now here they were face-to-face. Or face to knee, because she was on her ass.

Everyone else, she felt or heard before they were anywhere near her, but Valerius Blackthorn had literally appeared out of thin air, in perfect silence.

Surprised to find him right in front of her, she’d lost her balance and ungracefully tumbled down the stairs, twisting her ankle in the process. She had enough coordination to avoid falling face-first, but it still hurt.

Valerius briefly smiled, like her plunge entertained him. She stared openmouthed. She hadn't expected much contrition, but an apology wouldn't have gone amiss.

“Don't worry,” the prince told her, eyes shining with laughter. “Not the first time a female has thrown herself at my feet.”

Was he seriously flirting with her right now? She had no words for this male. None. She shouldn’t have been that surprised, actually. After all, the prince was known for fucking anything with tits and tormenting those who didn’t fall in the former category.

Still, no one had ever mistaken Devi for a fuck toy before, particularly not when she wore supple, reinforced leather gear from neck to toes.

“You must admit it was pretty entertaining,” he stated, noticing her astonishment.

“I hurt my damn foot, you fucking idiot!" she retorted before recalling who she was speaking to.

Being Shea’s ward didn't change the fact that she was supposed to be deferential toward the prince and heir of the realm. Someday, when Shea wouldn’t be here to protect her, he'd be king. She’d be at his mercy then. What if he recalled that, on their first meeting, she’d called him an idiot—a fucking one, no less?

Valerius didn't seem upset at all; if anything, he seemed a little more amused.

“My, what a dirty mouth you have on you. I wonder what else it can do.”

Fuck deference. She held her hand up, the middle finger extended in a universal gesture: fuck you very much.

Standing, Devi tested her ankle. Not broken. She could apply a little weight on it. Good, she’d be able to hobble away to the infirmary easily enough.

Once his royal pain in the neck was at a distance, she felt some relief, realizing that the prince hadn’t made her feel anxious at all, actually. Today, she could still see the wildness she’d read in his eyes, and the way he moved didn’t conceal his inherent brutality, but somehow she didn’t find any of it threatening up close. He’d seemed a threat to everything around him the previous night, a volatile creature likely to explode at the slightest provocation. Who could blame him? She certainly remained on her guard when the court was assembled around her. She now faced another person altogether.

Devi was smiling to herself, glad she didn’t have to be concerned about him after all. Then his voice resounded in the empty hall.

"Where are you going?"

Valerius had a nice voice, all things considered. Deep. Raspy. Did he smoke a pipe? She tried to picture it but failed.

“Where do you think? The infirmary, dumbass,” she grumbled in response, annoyed at herself for liking anything about him at all.

Devi limped away without gracing him with so much as a glare in his direction.

So she had a temper. She blamed her mother for it. While Loxy Rivers hadn’t gifted Devi her luscious, deep red curls, she’d been so good as to bestow upon Devi every other characteristic usually attributed to redheads.

She realized that trait was definitely not working to her advantage right now. She should at least attempt to play nice with the future king.

Suddenly, without so much as a warning, Devi was swept off her feet. Frozen in confusion, she stared at Valerius as he carried her down the hall like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Just for the record, it really, really wasn't.

She wasn't used to having strangers invade her personal space. Most people stayed away, having heard the rumors about what had occurred that day in the river. The members of the court knew what she was capable of. Besides, she was a master in the art of sending an unambiguous “stay away” vibe.

Devi was shocked into silence for at least a dozen steps before she started kicking her feet and yelling. “What the fuck are you doing? Go away! Let me walk, dammit.”

“Walk?” Valerius questioned mockingly. “You were wobbling, at best.”

“Which is my prerogative.”

“Falling for me and now being swept off your feet…. This is turning into quite an experience for you. No doubt, you’ll speak of it to your grandchildren. ‘Little dears, let me tell you of the night whence I met a charming lord….’”

“Can you fuck off and die?”

“Oh, shush. I'm a goddamn prince. Carrying damsels in distress is literally in the job description.”

“Give me your sword. It looks pointy. I need to poke your eyeballs and see if it makes you shut up.”

“I'll shut up if you let me carry you.”

She considered this dilemma and decided that losing her dignity for ten minutes was totally worth it, as long as he kept his mouth closed.

As promised, Valerius remained silent, and she stayed still the rest of the way. It wasn’t long before she discovered it wasn't the best idea after all. When he wasn't talking, it gave her leave to notice certain things that weren't entirely unpleasant about the cocky, arrogant, infuriating, self-important jackass. His smell, for one. He smelled nice. He also had large, strong hands. And he was pretty warm too. His heartbeat was steady, like he carried full-grown females up and down stairs every day without breaking a sweat. He probably did. All in all, she had to admit that being carried by him was, in fact, rather pleasant. If asked, she’d deny it fervently.

As they passed the threshold of the infirmary, she was still deep in her clinical observations, noticing that, unlike the previous evening, there was now a little bit of scruff around his face.

Realizing they had arrived, Devi wiggled to try to get down, making him sigh.

“And here I thought you were actually capable of remaining reasonable. Beck!”

Thus summoned, Beck Stormhale, the healer-in-chief, appeared, coming out of his office. His eyes widened at finding Devi wincing in discomfort in Valerius’s arms.

“Oh dear. Whatever happened?”

“I was on my way to work when this buffoon decided to cut me off. I fell and hurt my ankle.”

“You mean,” the healer translated, “you were rushing down the stairs because you were late, again, and you finally got what was coming to you.”

Would sticking her tongue out be childish? Probably. She did so anyway.

“Room to the left.”

“I'm just fine. I simply need—”

“No, Devi, you're a patient. I'll tell you what you need. You’re not doing a thing until I come examine you. Go now. I’ll let headquarters know you’ll be late.” There was no arguing with his tone.

Valerius took her to the room Beck had pointed to and gently laid her down on the cot.