Normally, Bree got some leftover scraps that tasted of a horse’s ass around dinnertime. Things were different today. Ethne, one of the council members, came bustling in, telling Bree to get ready. Apparently, she was being allowed to join the feasting for once, though she couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy about the whole thing.

It had only been a couple of days since she got shot with an arrow at the last feast. Why in the name of the forest would she go right back there so she could get shot again?

“You will be wearing this,” Ethne said, holding up a silvery dress that was far more revealing than Bree was used to wearing. “This is my dress. A slave would never wear it.”

“Thank you,” Bree said, fingering the silky material. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate it, and I want nothing more than to get out of this room and eat a meal like a normal person, but...well, everyone knows I’m Taveon’s slave now. I’m still me, whether I wear this dress or not.”

“Ah.” Ethne smiled. “Many of the Dark Fae have gifts. Mine just happens to be casting glamor. Unfortunately, I can only make someone look like myself, so you will be going as me tonight.”

“What?” Bree gaped at the fae.

Ethne dropped her voice to a low whisper, casting a furtive glance at the door. “Lord Dagen told me what you are doing for him. I am happy to help you in your mission. Plus, it will give you a chance to have some real food.”

“But...” Bree continued to clutch at the material. “What if someone tries to talk to me? Won’t they realize I’m not you?”

Ethne gave her a tight smile. “Most likely not. These feasts are courtly affairs which means that females are not given a place of prominence. We keep quiet. The males do most of the talking.”

“How...” Bree wrinkled her nose. “Archaic.”

“Yes, well.” Ethne loosed a breath and lifted her shoulders. “Welcome to the courtly ways of the Dark Fae. I know things are different from where you hail. I am quite envious.”

“Don’t be,” Bree said. “We’re your food, remember?”

“It is difficult to forget. Remember, not all of us agree with the Tithe.” Ethne frowned and searched Bree’s eyes. “You just have to understand. It has always been this way. Or rather, it has been this way as long as any of us can remember. It is just how our world works. It is impossible to imagine it being any different.”

“Just because things have always been a certain way...well, it doesn’t make it right,” replied Bree.

“You are right. It does not. And King Midas’s family has ruled for generation after generation. Some say it is time they no longer do.”

“And you’re one of them.” Bree raised an eyebrow. “Why? I thought Lord Dagen supported the King. I thought the reason he didn’t want the Prince to rule is because he’s too different from Midas. He doesn’t ‘have what it takes’ or whatever.”

“That is a conversation you will have to have with Lord Dagen. His opinions are not mine to give.” She gave Bree a tight smile. “Now, go get changed so I can cast this glamor. You have a feast to attend.”

* * *

Bree felt strange walking into the Great Hall like she belonged there. It had been only a few nights ago that she’d been forced to stand up in front of this crowd and humiliate herself. No, scratch that. She’d been forced to be humiliated. By the Prince. The very one who was now staring at her from across the room. He sat at the head of the very long table that sat higher off the ground than the rest. A silver crown sat atop his head, one Bree noted he had not been wearing before now. The light color was accentuated against his dark hair and moonlit skin.

Her feet slowed as her eyes locked on his. Heart thumping hard, she pressed trembling fingers against the thin silky dress. Why was he staring at her? Could he tell something was different about her? Had he already noticed that she was not who she claimed to be? Or was it something else?

Did he...was he involved with Ethne?

Her cheeks flamed at the thought. Surely not...right? Of course, Ethne was incredibly beautiful. She had the kind of beauty that her friend Norah had. Those bright eyes, clear skin, and long flowing blonde hair. She was the kind of female to stand out from a crowd, drawing every male eye onto her.

Something strange within her stirred. She hated the idea that the Prince would be attracted to the female she was pretending to be. But it made sense. He looked at Bree as if she were the scum of the earth. He was not drawn to females that looked like her, with dark hair and small pointy features. Bree looked like a mouse instead of a gazelle.

The Prince half-stood from his chair and motioned for Bree to join him at his table. Shit. That wasn’t ideal. She just wanted to join the feast for some food, and Ethne hadn’t mentioned that she’d have to sit with the very male she most wanted to avoid this night.

But it made sense. In the end, Ethne wanted her to spy, just like Dagen did. She’d probably known Bree would have to sit at that table, listening in to conversations that could gain her insight into the Prince’s plans...

Still, that didn’t make much sense. If Ethne could overhear information herself, then why didn’t she just come to the feast? Why had she sent Bree in her place?

Bree couldn’t wrap her head around it, and she didn’t have too much time to dwell on her confusion because the Prince was frowning at where she stood frozen in the middle of the room.

With a quick shake of her head, she pasted on a false smile and joined the Prince at his table. He motioned to the seat beside him and gave her a slight nod before turning to the male fae on his other side. She recognized each of them from their walks together. Conlan and Branok were their names. Dagen was nowhere in sight. There were a few others she remembered from the last feast she’d attended, but Rafe was not at the table either.

Bree scanned the room. He’d been placed at a table further in the back, almost hidden beneath the shadows of the tapestries that hung from the wall. They were red and gold and black with a pair of red wings etched across the entire surface, flapping against an invisible wind. Rafe seemed to be surrounded by others that looked like him. They wore darker clothes, some frayed at the edges. Bree frowned. Why did the Prince have Rafe sit over there instead of with him?

“Do you not think so, Ethne?” Taveon asked, glancing Bree’s way. He’d been deep in a conversation with Conlan and Branok, but Bree hadn’t heard a damn word. She’d been far too focused on Rafe to notice.

“Hmm,” Bree said, noncommittally and nodding her head. She just needed to remember she didn’t need to say much. A nod here, a smile there.

But that didn’t appear to be enough for the Prince because he frowned in Bree’s direction. “Is there something wrong? You are not acting like yourself. Why do you keep looking at Rafferty?”

Bree thought for a moment. Prince Taveon obviously expected some sort of answer from her, but what would Ethne normally say in this situation? Something courtly or political no doubt. She was a member of the council. They probably discussed their “subordinates” like lesser beings.

“He has been spending a lot of time with the slave,” Bree said, wincing at the word she hated so much.

“He is training her,” Taveon said. “I told you not to worry about Rafe. He is like a brother to me. There is no one else he would rather see sit on the throne.”

“Of course,” Bree said. “My bad.”

Taveon’s deep dark eyes flickered as he stared at her. “Have you been speaking with the slave? That is a very human thing to say.”

Shit. Bree internally rolled her eyes at herself. She was so used to saying whatever popped into her head that she wasn’t watching her words as carefully as she should. She was going to have to be more careful, or Taveon was quickly going to realize the truth.

“Yes.” She gave a nod and spoke slowly, weighing every single word that came out of her mouth. “The human slave is quite...fascinating. She has such a strange way of speaking, does she not?”

Taveon seemed satisfied with her answer and the stiff way Bree spoke the words. He turned back to his male council members but his next words were cut short by an explosion of wood as the large double doors flew open and crashed into the walls.

Taveon was on his feet within an instant, but Bree stayed rooted to the spot, clutching the oak table tight in her fists.

Five figures rushed into the Great Hall, their faces obscured by white marble masks in the shape of contorted screams. They looked like something out of a horror film, and they carried so many weapons that it made Bree’s head spin. Swords and daggers and maces that looked as though they could cut down a fae with a single stroke. Through the open doors, Bree could spot the bodies of the guards that stood watch outside of the feast every night. They were on their backs, and blood spread across the stone in pools of bright sickly red.

“Prince Taveon,” Bree whispered, reaching out to clutch his arm, forgetting herself.

The masked figures raised swords and began slashing through the fae who sat nearest to the door. Screams erupted through the hall, echoing against the domed ceiling. Fear shook through Bree’s core and her heart beat so hard that it felt as though it might explode out of her chest.

She had no weapon, and neither did most of the fae in this Court.

“Conlan. Branok. With me.” The Prince shot Bree a grim look and pulled out his sword. “Get all the royals to safety, Ethne.”

Bree didn’t even know her own voice when she spoke. “I should help fight.”

He gave her a strange look. “Not today.”

And then he was gone, raising his sword high in the air as he charged toward the attackers. Bree’s heart lurched in her chest, which surprised her. She actually felt afraid for the Prince, worried that these attackers might mow him down. And he looked so strong, so powerful. He was rushing into the fight, putting himself in danger for the sake of the Court.

But that was ridiculous. She hated him. And he couldn’t even die. She’d sooner see him tortured at the hands of these attackers than see him ascend to his pitiful throne.

Still, she couldn’t help but appreciate his tightly-coiled muscles, and the way he soared through the air with the speed and grace of a dancer. Taveon was a horrible monster, but she could not deny that there was a breathtaking intensity about the way he moved.

“Ethne,” someone said into her ear before grabbing her arm. “You need to get the females out of here before the attack reaches the royals.”

Swallowing hard, she ripped her gaze away from the Prince. Perhaps there was some good in him, but it wasn’t enough to erase everything else he’d done before.