The winter solstice had once been about mages, sorcerers, and barefoot priestesses performing rituals in the moonlight. Nowadays it was that and so much more. The entire court celebrated. There was music in the street, magicians and artists established along the main road, and the queen herself attended the festivities, meeting her people. There were games, of course: games of speed, games of agility, games of intelligence, and games of pure, brutal force. It was a beautiful chaos.

Vale held his own revels in Carvenstone, but he had to admit he'd missed the grand festival of the city of night.

“Elar Dorrel. You know I mostly come back home for your pastries,” he told the short lesser fae who had curved antlers coming out of his skull.

The baker had set up a stand outside of his shop, and the smell was so enticing it made Vale feel dizzy, faint. He needed cake, now.

Vale couldn't recall how many times as a child, the old male had given him an extra portion of cake in secret and winked. Food had been rationed back then, during the War of the Realms. The last war the Isle had known.

Elar wasn't known to the new generation; his name was nowhere mentioned in history books. He was just a lesser fae who could take a bit of milk and flour and turn it into a cake suitable for a king, somehow. He was also the civilian who'd rounded up dozens of people and walked right to the front lines to bring fresh food to the armies.

Vale hated the system. Elar was a hero and should be celebrated as such.

“Your Grace.” The male inclined his head cautiously, minding the direction of his long horns.

“None of this nonsense, just feed me. Are those creamers?”

Chuckling, Elar shook his head. “Don't you touch any of those, young prince. Nor you, Captain,” he said, addressing Kallan. “I have some freshly baked goods resting at the back. An assortment, sirs?"

“Always,” Vale vowed solemnly.

That was one oath he was willing to keep until the end of time.

The baker winked and rushed inside his store, coming back with two bags that emanated an impossibly delectable scent. Vale could have fainted.

“Can we kidnap you?” Kallan begged after inhaling the first beignet in two mouthfuls. “By the gods, I swear these get better every time.”

The man snorted. “Me, in the court of sin? I think not. You'll have to come back if you want more Dorrel goods.”

Vale sighed dramatically, all the while wishing he could talk. He’d tell the old man just why he should pack up and move to Carvenstone as soon as possible.

They spent the next two minutes arguing about paying. Defeated, Vale and Kallan had to retreat with the contents of their purses intact.

They reached the mile-long Square of Dawn, the largest open space in the entire city. It was situated right in the middle of Asra, where every main road intersected. The square was seldom quiet, but the week leading up to the solstice, it was a mess. One glance and Vale spotted everyone of importance—his mother, most high fae, the bulk of the guards, soldiers, and protectors on duty, along with a swarm of common and lesser fae.

And, of course, there was also that damn female.

Devi.

What was it with the girl? There were thousands of people in the square, but again his eyes were drawn to her.

It was entirely natural that he should notice the nobility. Lords were surrounded by dozens of subordinates wearing their colors and holding their houses’ sigils. Devi had no such entourage, making her stand out. There was no reason at all why he should have noticed her in the thick crowd.

Like every guard posted in the square, she was still adorned in the plain brown leather he'd seen her in right after sunset the previous night. She stood a few steps away from the activities, surveying from a distance, like a good little protector. She was obviously on guard duty for the night; the job description was to be entirely invisible, blend in, not attract attention. She did her job very well, so Vale had no rational reason why he saw her at all.

The square had been divided in four sections. Northeast, they'd set up a track, and northwest, an archery contest. Southeast, there was a sanded circle around which the bulk of the crowd had assembled to watch contenders spar.

Devi stood in the shadow of the building erected around the last corner, where a more civilized kind of battle was taking place: chess. It was one of Vale's favorite games, which admittedly had grown tiresome now since he rarely lost.

Purposefully avoiding the area the female surveyed, Vale headed over to the sparring ring, where the queen had settled herself.

Someone had carried her portable throne, the one she used in battle.

Unlike the iron statement in the throne room, this one was a handsome throne, with pure white stone engraved with precision and art. If one cared to pay attention, the little figures sculpted on its back told a story, one of war, of monsters, and of the thirteen families who had triumphed over both. The tale of the formation of the four realms.

Their continent, the Isle, was old. It had borne many names, and its borders had changed shapes a thousand times before their realms had been built. The sixteen million square miles had been hundreds of nations once. Now there were but four, and all were at peace. Their one enemy lay behind the walls erected in the ocean surrounding their land.

When he thought of the throne and its bloody history, Vale’s respect for the female to whom it belonged was undeniable. But as soon as he looked into her violet eyes, some of that deference disappeared, replaced by something darker. More dangerous. A doubt had been sown in his mind long ago. The knowledge that while Shea was one of the many reasons why there was peace, she also was the last person who should be trusted to keep it.

She plotted, always ten steps ahead of everyone else. Her goal, no one knew, not even Vale. If she desired order and harmony, all would be well in the end. If she wanted power, war, and chaos, there were few who could stop her. She was perhaps the most dangerous person in the realm, though that was arguable. Some might say it was Vale’s father, or his half-brother.

Others would name him. Time would tell if they were mistaken.

“Greetings, Mother,” he said, as Kallan bowed reverentially.

Shea didn't so much as grant them a glance, simply waving a vague hello. She kept her eyes fixed on the fight, entirely engrossed.

“Who did you bet on?”

“Brooke,” she replied, leaning forward when the lean female stepped back after a hard kick in the stomach.

Count on Shea to put her money on the underdog. Brooke was fighting Lance, a male who looked like he ate metal poles for breakfast. He was built of pure muscle, and what was worse, he knew how to make use of them.

“You know, if you want to give your money away, you could just chuck it out the window.”

“Hush, mini me. Just watch and learn.”

He resolved to remain until the end of the fight, in the hopes of seeing his mother lose for once.

Brooke took a lot of hits, until Lance basically considered the fight won; he got cocky, turning his back on her. One kick to the chin, a rotating one to the head when he was kneeling forward, and she had him at her level. She punched him in the face, hard, breaking his nose. Lance was powerful, but slower than she. Finding his footing and counterattacking was entirely impossible while the female kept coming at him.

Five minutes later, Vale was sighing, reminded of one of the many reasons why his mother was annoying. She was never wrong. After a while, Lance was just protecting his face behind his knuckles. He ended up tapping out.

Dammit.

“Let me guess.” Vale pointed to the victor. “You're training that female.”

Shea laughed. “No, Brooke came to me already lethal. She's Loralei's little sister.”

Ah, that explained a lot. Loralei Night, the queen's first advisor, came from a long line of badass people. The Nights also had another value: they were known to mostly give birth to daughters. That fact was one of the many reasons why Shea had taken Drake Night, Loralei's twin, as her principal consort.

“Remind me to put my money on her next time.”

“This, my son, is why you occasionally lose,” Shea replied, finally turning to him. “Brooke isn't a sure thing. No one is. It simply depends on who she's facing.”

“I don't know. Some would argue that statement, given the fact that you are yet undefeated. Betting on you is the very definition of a sure thing."

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” said the queen, rolling her eyes. Then her good humor disappeared. “My spies, as you call them, tell me the seelie will be here by dawn. They’ll be shown to their quarters, and we’ll welcome them at nine tomorrow night. Can I count on you to stand by my side?”

Vale nodded without hesitation. Despite what happened behind closed doors, showing a united front in front of the strangers made sense.

“Also, is that Dorrel patisserie I smell?”

Vale curved his fist around his bag and glared.

“No. Just no. His shop is right outside of your castle. I have to ride thirty-nine hours nonstop to get here. I’m not sharing.”

Kallan’s will was weaker. He handed the queen a cake, and Shea devoured it in no time.

“This man’s baking skills are an art.” She moaned in delight. “Now, let us talk. You're aware of my having a ward these days.”

“I've heard of it,” he acquiesced.

There was nothing extraordinary about the queen sponsoring an orphan; she did it every other century. It was a clever move meant to increase her popularity, nothing more. Vale hadn't bothered to make further inquiry into the current ward. He didn't doubt that it was someone useful to the queen—the heir to a fortune or to a strategical stretch of land.

“She has a certain history with the Seelie Court. For that reason, she'll join us when we greet them. I'll keep an eye on her when I can. If I have to step out, can you ensure her safety for me?”

Vale pondered upon the point, frowning. Not only because his mother never asked a favor of him. Not only because it seemed so unlikely that the seelie would attempt anything against a ward of Shea Blackthorn. Because at the back of his mind, a little voice was telling him there was more to this query.

“This ward of yours,” he started, tense, eyes narrowed, "who is it?"

The queen’s response came as no surprise. “She goes by Devi. Devira Star Rivers. You may not have met her yet. When you do, you'll understand. She's a power to be reckoned with. And the seelie will either want her in their hands or out of the way.”

Vale laughed. He should have known there had been an angle. “How predictable you are, Mother dearest.”

Every half century or so, the queen attempted to catch his attention with an appealing little thing who could bear him heirs—daughters, specifically. He’d always been a great disappointment, as he was her only son, when the queen’s powers could only be transmitted to daughters. Shea Blackthorn had tried to match him twelve times. In this instance, she’d definitely found a fetching prize mare, he had to give her that.

“How so?” the queen asked innocently.

“You’re thinking of my liking this ward of yours well enough to give you that granddaughter you so wish for.”

Shea chuckled, turning her violet eyes on her son. “I can assure you, in no uncertain terms, that I had not once thought of you possibly pairing up with Devi. She’s not your type.”

Valerius had to snort. Not his type? No female he’d encountered had ever been more his type. Still, Shea had said each word with a purposeful clarity. He frowned, trying to guess her game. There was always a game.

“Had. You’re thinking of it now.”

Shea shrugged. “I can’t deny that I wish you’d direct your attention to a worthy lady. Devi certainly qualifies.”

He sighed. “I’m never going to settle on a female unsuitable for me. Give me leave to find someone who fits me.”

Why was it so hard for her to grasp that concept? She’d certainly taken her time to pick a consort she desired.

“And in the meantime, you fuck every tramp in the realm. Are you attempting to father a bastard with lesser blood? Our court would destroy such a child.”

“Don't be obtuse, Mother. If a tramp is indeed unworthy of my royal seed, I fuck her ass.”

Shea tried very hard, but in the end, she couldn’t help laughing.

As she often did, she turned to Kallan for support. “He listens to you. Tell him seven hundred and thirty-eight is a fine age to settle.”

Kallan winced. “I would, but he might call me a hypocrite, given the fact that I am the same age and quite as single. Besides, you may have noticed that His Grace only listens to me when my opinion exactly matches his own.”

The queen smiled, reaching out to touch Kal’s cheek. “I missed you and your smart tongue.”

She didn’t need to talk on behalf of the court this time, because she truly had missed Kallan—the son she wished she had. Valerius had stopped wishing he and his mother could share this kind of affection a long, long time ago. They were too similar in many respects, all the while being too different where it mattered.

Leaving them to their little chat, he walked away, unnoticed.

Vale’s aimless steps led him toward the chess competition. He told himself it was quite natural, given that it was his game of choice. It had absolutely nothing to do with the dark-haired beauty with hazel eyes who stood quite straight next to the justice building.

But now that he was close, failing to greet her would have been rude.

Valerius realized he was attempting to fool himself, and failing at it. He was quite simply heading toward the chit because he wanted to.

He approached her, relishing in the way she sighed.

“I’ve had a long night,” she warned him, her tone making it clear that trying her patience wouldn’t be without consequences.

Vale had a hard time preventing himself from smiling. She was almost threatening him again. How adorable.

“No doubt. You look a fright. Quite a disgrace, really. Is that dribble on your face?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she believed him enough to pull the sword attached to her belt out of its sheath and checked her reflection on its surface.

Finding it unmarred, she told him, “I hate you.”

It wasn’t often that anyone could boast of driving a stranger to hatred in the space of two nights. It might have been flattering, if it had been true. The words had crossed her lips freely, perhaps because she was convinced of their veracity, but he knew better. He had more experience with emotions. He saw much in her eyes: frustration, anger, resentment, confusion. Vale could see how a youngling might mistake the cocktail of alarming feelings as hatred, but she was so wrong. Hatred was cold. Iron and ice. Devi Star Rivers’s eyes were filled with fire when they set on him.

Admittedly, that was just as dangerous.

“Have you ever fucked anyone you hate, Devi Rivers?” he taunted her.

Pushing her was becoming addictive. She’d snap eventually—hopefully before he left the court of night.

The female shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t make sense of you.”

“I’ll take that as a no. Your loss. There’s nothing quite like passionate sex. And you’re too young to have known love, so hatred would do.”

“Let me guess, you’re volunteering as my test subject for the trial? How generous of you.” She rolled her eyes. “Go away. I’m working.”

“You’re standing uselessly. No one is going to attack at the busiest time of the night, five sunsets before the solstice, when the guard has been doubled.”

“No? When would you attack Asra?” she asked him.

Valerius gave the question some consideration. “You’re trying to get it out of me because the question is likely going to come up on your next test, aren’t you?”

“Damn straight. If you’re going to stalk me, you might as well be useful.”

She was fucking adorable. If his mother truly wasn’t thinking of her as a potential Mrs. Valerius Blackthorn, the queen was stupid. And given the fact that the queen was the very opposite of stupid, he had to conclude that she’d somehow lied to him.

Rolling Shea’s words in his mind until he’d made sense of her meaning, he laughed when he got it. “I had not once thought of you possibly pairing up with Devira,” she’d said. Not once. So she’d thought of it more than once, then.

An idea suddenly came to Vale. What if she hadn’t simply thought of it? What if she’d taken steps to ensure that Vale was quite captivated by the little trap dressed in leather?

Vale had seen spells of obsession cast before they were banished, and the queen wasn’t above making use of trickery.

Interesting.

His silence had lasted long enough for Devi to take notice of it, so he indulged her, giving thought to her question.

“I’d attack right before dusk. Place my troops nearby and get a small group to kill the guards posted around the city first. Once the gates are unmanned, I’d send my armies in and take the city while the court sleeps. The elders may be politicians, or landlords now, but seven hundred years ago, there was war. Most of us can take care of ourselves. I’d ensure I hold most of the territory before they can defend it, giving them little choice but to flee or perish.”

Devi nodded. “Smart. Underhanded, but smart. But Shea would know when her city is at a disadvantage. She’d post additional troops during the day, would she not?”

“Indeed. But the guards are night creatures. Regardless of their number, they would be tired, quite ready to be relieved. You asked of our most vulnerable time. It is the late afternoon.”

She seemed upset to hear it; he could practically see the wheels of her mind turning as she attempted to come up with a solution, a way to reinforce their defenses.

Vale didn’t interrupt her thoughts to let her know that dozens of strategists with far more experience than she were working on the matter. First, because he knew better—many a time, a fresh young mind had found answers no one had thought of. But mostly because he took the occasion to study the female closely.

He liked her mouth. Plump. Kissable. Her skin was tanned, sun-kissed. Unusual for an unseelie.

Her eyes were fascinating. Dark blue at the rim of her irises, then gray, green, gold and yellow. When the light caught them, they seemed entirely green, only to change to a vibrant blue the next instant. Looking deep into them, he found stars. An entire unknown constellation he could spend a lifetime studying. He’d never seen a fae with eyes quite so mystic. The word hazel didn’t cut it at all. Her eyes were life.

It was then, while frustratingly trying to make sense of her, that he realized the very first fundamental thing about Devira Star Rivers. He wasn’t certain what clued him in—perhaps her presence, her aura—but she wasn’t unseelie at all.

“Mother says you’re called Rivers.”

She dropped her eyes. Vale found that he didn’t like that. He put his hand under her chin and tilted it until she was looking at him again.

“Answer me.”

“Was there a question?”

Good point, smartass.

“You’re a Rivers. As in a jewel of the Seelie Court, descended right from one of the thirteen families who shaped this world. One of the last to bear the name, I’d wager. And yet you’re here.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was born north, quite close to Carvenstone, actually. Between the border of the elven realm and your own domain. On unseelie land. At age fifteen, I was called to court and raised here by your mother.” Devi slapped his hand away. “I’m a citizen of the unseelie realm.”

She was right, by the definition people went by these days. Being born and raised on unseelie ground made her an unseelie fae.

And yet she wasn’t. Not where it mattered, not in her heart and mind, from the little he’d seen from her.

High fae were malicious and selfish at the core. Since the old days, they’d wielded magic, but their gifts didn’t come without a price. It took a toll on their body and mind. Some spells could render them unconscious for days. They could even kill them. As their powers often came from natural elements, they also suffered with nature. Earth mages hurt when forests were razed, air mages became sick in polluted areas, and so on.

Their trials had made them cruel. They’d started demanding payments for use of their powers—payments which were always meant to cripple those they “helped” so they might feel some of their plight.

They’d divided into two realms a long time ago. The seelie fae went east and swore an oath to hold themselves to a better ideal. They swore to act for the greater good and deny their nature if they must. They had rules, and used oaths like they were going out of style. Those who failed to follow the ton paid for it in blood, or in curses.

The unseelie fae, in their great wisdom, took one look at the long charter of nonsensical regulations and said “fuck that shit.” They chose to do as they pleased. Their laws were few, and seen as guidelines.

The female before Vale’s eyes was a seelie fae, whatever she may say.

If her eyes could have burned a hole in his, they would have. She hadn’t truly meant it when she’d professed to hate him a few minutes ago. Now she almost did.

Vale was itching to find out why this was such a sensitive subject. Hundreds if not thousands of fae with seelie blood lived in their city, and there were also a few unseelie who’d migrated north.

He wanted to know, and he could find out. He could look in her mind, crack her mental defenses open like an egg. Blast through it.

Instead, he found himself wishing that she’d speak to him. His tone was demanding, but still, he asked, rather than extracting the information he wanted from her pretty head. “Tell me. Tell me why you’re ashamed of this.”

Devi rolled her eyes.

“Go away. I’m working.”

“Tell me and I’ll leave you alone.”

That did get her attention.

“Forever?” she asked, so visibly hopeful he laughed.

She wouldn’t have liked if he’d truly left her. Not now. Not before taking her wildly against every available surface they could find. Their chemistry was volatile, combustible. She might find it confusing and frustrating now, but she’d work it out eventually. Especially if he kept pushing her.

It wasn’t the first time he’d encountered a fae who was compatible with him. In his seven centuries, there had been three males and nine females with whom he’d shared an intense chemistry. Vale recalled his first. He’d been older than Devi—twice her age, at least. And yet he’d felt bothered, annoyed at himself, and at the object of his lust. Out of control. Once or twice, he might have wondered if he’d hated her.

I know what you’re going through, little fae. And I know how this ends.

As the words came to him, he wondered if they were quite true, because for all his years, he’d never felt such an acute attraction. The intensity was entirely new, and he knew better than to trust it. The fact that Shea had the female under her thumb for years couldn’t be forgotten. There was a very good chance that there was magic involved.

“Forever is a long time,” he stated, not about to let her induce him in a vow he didn’t intend to keep. “For the rest of the day.”

“Why do you care?” she grumbled, her frustration evident.

“I can’t say I care,” he carefully lied. “But I told you before. I’m bored. You’re a new development in this court, and therefore, it makes you entertaining. Satisfy my curiosity, and I’ll probably leave you alone in due time.”

This also felt like a lie.

She nodded, guessing she wouldn’t get a better offer from him.

“I’m not ashamed. I’m careful. My mother and I were banned from the Seelie Court.”

“Why?” he pressed.

“Because my mother ran away.”

“Why?”

“Because she received a proposal she wasn’t able to refuse, and she was not inclined to accept.”

“Am I going to have to pry each word out of you? Why?”

“Because,” she said with a defeated sigh, “the proposal came from Kravin Farel. The seelie king.”

Oh. Well, that explained it. No wonder Shea wanted her watched around the seelie. They had a long memory, and too much arrogance for their own good. That a female could have jilted their king wouldn’t have sat well with the seelie, and Devi was a living reminder of their shame.

“Hey, is that a bag from old Dorrel?” she asked, noticing the paper bag he carried in his left fist.

Valerius groaned. “What is it with females wanting my pastries? I don’t share,” he stated, quite resolved.

Devi softened her eyes, staring right at Vale for a long moment. Then she pouted.

He didn’t know how or why, but all of a sudden his arms were rising, holding the bag open right in front of her.

He let her pick two pastries before walking away, grumbling.

Sorcery. It had to be sorcery.