CHAPTER 9
erana leads me through a maze of interconnecting halls, our footsteps echoing around us. Avalon Tower is even larger than I’d first thought,S and it’s hard to keep track of where we are. Serana’s legs are much longer than mine, and I struggle to keep up as we climb four flights of crooked, winding stairs. On the top floor, rib-vaulted arches stretch high above us. Diamond-pane windows overlook the courtyard, where wildflowers grow among the tall grasses and apple trees.
I turn to look at some of the paintings on the wall. They’re mostly portraits, though some depict ancient battles or mysterious castles. One of the portraits sends a ripple of dread up my neck. A towering Fey man dressed in black is running his sword through the body of a naked woman. The corpses of more women lay strewn over the grass by his feet. I stare at it, catching my breath. The man wears a dark, spiky-looking crown and a cruel smile on his lips. “That’s a bold choice for a decorative image.”
Serana turns to look at me. “Ah, that sadistic bastard is Mordred Kingslayer. He was an evil Fey from thousands of years ago. The one Tarquin was talking about, who killed Arthur. Back then, the Fey had real, primal magic. Even some of the twisted ones like him. He broke in here one night and murdered King Arthur, along with hundreds of innocent people.
He’s dead now, but guess who that fucker’s son is?”
I stare at her. “Auberon?”
“The very one. They’re descended from Queen Morgan. They say the House of Morgan will burn Camelot to ash—that’s Auberon, and his son, the
prince. Let’s hope that particular prophecy is wrong.”
I pull my gaze from the disturbing image. There’s still at least one more set of stairs to climb into a tower.
My lungs rattle when I breathe. “What do you think of Viviane?” I ask through labored breaths. “I’m afraid I’ve made an enemy of her.”
Serana glances back at me. “The silver queen? I think she’s probably fucking terrifying to have as an enemy. A real piece of work, you know?”
“Great.”
“If I were you, I’d try to avoid her as much as possible. Though you’ll meet her again soon enough, no matter what you do. She teaches combat. But there are plenty of other classes. You’ve only missed a few weeks.”
“How long does it go on for?” I wheeze.
“Training for an agent? It used to be for a year, then the Culling. Maybe a
year or two to specialize.”
My heart skips a beat. “A year?”
I can’t leave Mom on her own for a year. Can I?
“I know.” She sighs. “Not nearly enough, is it? And it’s even worse now.
We’ve lost a lot of people in the field, so they want to start active missions in just six months. People are barely ready at six months, but that’s when they’ll test us.”
My head is still reeling. I can’t imagine I could actually pass the Culling, and Mom will lose it if I don’t return. But who needs me more, my adult mother or the fugitives hunted by a maniacal king?
I still have a million more questions. “Serana, Tarquin said his family has prepared him for this since day he was born—”
“Tarquin is an egregious twat.” Her words echo off the stone stairwell.
Right to the point. “Sure, but it’s wild to me that he grew up with all this.
Learning to fight the Fey before the rest of the world even knew they existed.
And this whole place… How long exactly has it been here?”
She stops on the stairs and turns to look at me. “Ages. It started with the Roman invasion. Have you ever heard of the Ninth Legion?”
I frown. “I’m not up to speed on my Roman invasion trivia.”
“Basically, an entire legion disappeared in Britain, up by Scotland. That was the Fey, trapping them in trees and stones. Some soldiers were taken captive and dragged into Avalon to toil for Queen Morgan. But a few survived. They made it their mission to understand the Fey, to get their friends back.”
I touch the wall’s bricks, thinking of those loyal soldiers trying to recover their friends more than two millennia ago.
“That’s how this place started, I guess,” Serana continues. “As a place to figure out the weaknesses of the Fey. They never found their men, though.”
“Oh,” I say heavily.
“I suspect that’s how the first demi-Fey turned up. Children of those early soldiers and the Fey. Anyway, in time, relationships between Fey and humans became peaceful. Avalon Tower even invited some of the Fey here,
like Merlin, obviously.”
“Merlin was Fey?”
“Of course. Humans have no magic, and he was one of the most powerful magicians ever.”
“But…things changed, right? You said that this guy killed King Arthur.”
I point at Mordred’s painting.
“Yeah, exactly. He was sent by Morgan. After that, Fey and humans became mortal enemies. For centuries, demi-Fey like us were not allowed in Avalon Tower. Not until recently. Now, they’re desperate enough to take us in.”
I stare at her, and the words like us roll around in my mind. “I never knew I was demi-Fey. Not until yesterday. I’m still not convinced, to be honest.”
She shrugs. “Like I said, humans have no magic. So, you must be demi- Fey.”
The world feels unsteady beneath my feet as I follow her further up the stairs. Just a week ago, I was ordinary little Nia, quietly shelving books in a shop. And I can’t quite escape the feeling that perhaps all of this is a mistake, that I’m in over my head and don’t belong.
My lungs shriek, and my airways narrow. I reach into my satchel, pull out my inhaler, and take two puffs. This thing is nearly empty.
Serana watches me shove it back into my bag. “Asthma?”
“I thought it might be better by the seaside.”
“Does the sea air really work?”
I consider that for a moment. “Not really.”
“Right. Anyway, let’s get you dressed.” The stairwell opens up to a landing, and she stops before a large oak door.
“Where are we?”
Instead of replying, she knocks. When there’s no answer, she knocks again.
“This is the wardrobe?” I ask.
“Who is it?” A deep voice pierces the oak.
“It’s Serana and the recruit. She has no proper clothes.”
For some reason, I wasn’t expecting a man to oversee the wardrobe, but maybe I needed to reexamine my assumptions.
“Give us a minute.” A woman’s voice this time.
I feel as if I’m interrupting something, and Serana turns to me, raising an eyebrow.
At last, the door opens, and a woman crosses out, the door slamming shut behind her. She’s tall, with platinum hair, sun-kissed skin, and a golden torc.
She’s exquisitely dressed in a sheer, silvery gown and diamond jewelry. As her gaze sweeps up and down my body, her lip curls, and her nose wrinkles.
“Oh, dear.” Then she walks past us, her hips swaying.
“Ignore her,” whispers Serana. “Her name is Ginevra, and she’s a Pendragon agent from MI-13. Direct descendant of Arthur and Guinevere.
Awful snob.”
The door creaks open, and Raphael is standing there, looking stunningly, frustratingly hot. I’m utterly unsurprised that he was spending his time with someone described as an awful snob.
But I’m also unable to stop staring at him. Towering windows let in morning light behind him, gilding his body, illuminating the dark waves of his hair. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and my gaze lingers over his carved V-line, his thickly corded muscles, the whispers of shadow against tanned skin… gods, what would it feel like to be pinned against the wall by this warrior’s body? Ginevra probably knows.
My fingers curl into fists, and I pierce my palms with my nails.
Remember, Nia. He’s an absolute dick.
But also, I shouldn’t think of the word dick while I’m staring at his absolutely godlike bare chest. I raise my eyes instead to his golden torc.
“Mr. Launcelot,” says Serana. “Your new cadet needs clothing for her training.” Her tone is suddenly a lot more clipped, respectful.
His gaze cuts from Serana down to me. “Ah. Didn’t see the little pixie
princess down there.”
So much for respect.
Still, I can’t stop staring. Sinuous vines are tattooed on his golden skin, following the lines of his carved muscles. On one of his large, athletic shoulders, he has a tattoo of grapevines that sweep over his collarbone and
chest. They wrap around a nautical star, a ship, and a swallow.
I can’t tear my gaze away. Apparently, all it takes for me to forget about how much I hate him is for him to take his shirt off.
And he’s watching me looking at him, and I cannot even begin to interpret his expression. The man is a cipher.
Why did he answer the door half-dressed? Was it to show off?
“Come in.” He turns and pulls on a crisp white shirt.
I realize my jaw is hanging slack and snap it shut. Mortified, I force my gaze away from his body.
His room is nearly as stunning as he is. The space is ringed with towering mullioned windows twenty feet high. A desk stands against them, set with plants, candles, and books. Mahogany bookshelves are stacked with gold- lettered spines. Of course he lives in a place like this—a place fit for a king.
“I thought we were going to the wardrobe person,” I whisper.
Raphael’s muscles look tense, his expression glacial. “I’m one of the few people here who has lived in the Fey realm. I know how they dress.”
Serana looks at me strangely. “Yes. It’s a very important job. Mr.
Launcelot will get you set up.” She leaves me alone with Raphael, and I survey the room again. His chamber windows overlook the entire city of Camelot to the north. From here, I can see a bridge beneath the tower connecting two buildings, as well as the monumental walls that enclose three sides of the city.
“Nice place you have here.” I turn back to him. “It’s not the sort of room trash would live in, is it?”
One black eyebrow raises. “Listen, pixie. I understand you think very highly of yourself, but we’re not in the vineyards anymore, you know. You’re at Avalon Tower, and I’m a knight of the Round Table.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Is that really a thing?”
“Yes, that’s a thing. Don’t get too comfortable here. We’re going down one floor so you can try things on. I don’t know if we have anything for someone so ridiculously short, but I’ll see what I can find.”
He reaches behind me to open the door, and I inhale a rich, earthy scent like wood-smoked barrels, a heady musk swirled with the whisper of fertile soil. Immediately, my mind flicks back to the sun-drenched vineyards in Bordeaux, the way the grapes looked in the morning sun. The things he’d told me about them, thirsty and aching for life. I feel nostalgic for something that was never real.
Those holidays always have a dark undertone when I think about them now.
I must have a strange look on my face because Raphael pauses with his
hand on the doorknob. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t disguise your emotions well. Obviously, something is wrong.”
There’s something intoxicating about him, and I scramble to think straight. “Am I going to be alone with you? Undressing?”
He stares at me, and his expression betrays little emotion. “What, exactly, are you worried that I’ll do?”
Nothing. I hate him, but he isn’t creepy. It’s more that the idea of being alone with him seems dangerous, and it makes my chest flush. And that’s particularly confusing when I know that he thinks I’m trash. “I don’t think you’ll do anything. Mostly, I just think you’re an emotionless robot.”
A line forms between his brows. “What the fuck is a robot?”
I grow flustered. They no longer exist, and he never saw one in the Fey realm. “It’s like…a person made from metal. They used to make them before the Fey invasion fried modern technology. I guess most of them didn’t look like people. Some were like…vacuum cleaners? I think we had one at home.
A Roomba.”
Silence stretches out between us.
“Never mind.” I take a long breath to steady myself and smooth my hair.
“You said we wouldn’t be around each other, and here we are.” My voice comes out sounding tinged with hysteria, and I wish I could rewind several minutes.
“Perhaps I’m starting to regret bringing you on, pixie,” he says softly.
He pulls open the door, and I follow behind him.
“Ah, but you need a Sentinel,” I remind him. “You need me.”
And maybe—just maybe—I needed to get away from home as much as they needed me here.
BEHIND A CURTAIN, I slip into a dress made of filmy scraps of silk. I feel like I need a PhD to figure out how to put it on, but eventually, I reach a situation
where my breasts are covered with crisscrossing swaths of fabric, my belly is exposed, and a skirt with a thigh-high slit sweeps down to the floor. It’s a gorgeous lavender color, and the material is semi-transparent but thick enough around my breasts and hips to cover my nipples and underwear. It’s pretty hot, to tell the truth.
And if Serana and Tana were on the other side of that curtain, I’d have no problem at all strutting out, head held high.
It’s just that around Raphael, I feel acutely aware of every inch of my skin.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. Closing my eyes, I imagine that I’m fully clothed and the cotton sleeves and long hems are my armor from his piercing gaze.
I step out from behind the curtain, the cool castle air whispering over my bare skin. I might as well be naked.
Raphael is sitting, watching me, his body completely still. Honeyed light spills in from the tall windows, casting half of him in gold. In the large wooden chair, he almost looks like a king.
He doesn’t say a thing. He must be concentrating hard on the clothes because there is something intense in his gaze that I can’t read. It’s not the coldness he seems to reserve for me. On any other man, I’d assume it was desire. But on Raphael? Probably quiet loathing.
“It fits well.” His voice sounds husky. “I got your size correct, but you look uncomfortable. The Fey don’t walk around with their arms folded in front of their chests, grimacing.”
I run my fingers over the delicate fabric. “I don’t usually wear anything like this.”
“Well, that’s why you’re here, to get used to it. Do you mind if I adjust the back a bit?”
“Do whatever.” My voice comes out sharp and angry, but I lift my black hair to give him access.
He stands behind me, tightening one of the straps.
“You breathe with a slight wheeze.” His voice thrums over my bare shoulders.
“Asthma,” I say. “My inhaler is running low.”
“We’ll get you a new one.” A little brush of his fingertips sends tingles over my skin, and my muscles tense at the sensation. Oddly, the wheeze in my lungs goes away, and my airways open up.
“You’re going to need to relax,” he says quietly. He steps in front of me again. “It fits perfectly, but your body looks as supple and relaxed as the stone walls behind you.” He cocks his head. “This will need a lot of work.
The Fey will immediately identify you as a spy. So, your job is to relax.”
I clamp my hands on my hips. I am fucking terrible at relaxing, especially when someone tells me to relax. And especially when that person is Raphael, the gorgeous man who once broke my heart.
“You look like you hate everyone around you,” he adds.
“Oh, that’s because I do.”
He drops into the chair, appraising me with those piercing eyes. “Okay, pixie. Close your eyes for a moment. Breathe in deeply and focus on your breath. Think of the place where you feel most comfortable, where you feel completely yourself. Somewhere in your home, maybe. A place you would be right now if you could.”
For a moment, my mind is blank. I’ve never felt comfortable at home.
Home is a place of chaos. Home is a place where my mother screams at
night.
The bookstore, maybe.
But then my mind blooms with maroon grapes, plump with sunlight.
There was a time there, before it all turned sour, when that Bordeaux vineyard felt like a perfect, golden idyll.
With my eyes closed, I hear Raphael moving behind me again. “May I touch your shoulders? They’re hunched up.”
I nod.
I feel his fingertips at the base of my throat, then the brush of his skin on my shoulders. Heat follows in the wake of his touch. He keeps his hands on my shoulders. “Your shoulders need to be down here, not up by your ears.”
He touches the base of my spine. “Shift your hips forward. There. Fey women lead with their hips when they walk, chins held high.”
Warmth is radiating off his body, and it’s infinitely distracting. Maybe if I pretend he doesn’t hate me, I can relax. I pretend he’s Jules, the reasonably handsome waiter.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Take deeper breaths, fill your lungs. Then I want you to walk across the room. Fey movements are fluid, relaxed. Imagine that rivulets of water are flowing down your skin, dripping down the curves of your body.”
My pulse is racing for reasons I really don’t want to explore.
“Walk across the room,” he commands me quietly. “Toward the window.”
As long as I’m not looking at him, I can relax a little more. I ease the muscles in my shoulders and picture water running down my body. Except as I walk, I’m picturing myself completely naked and Raphael’s hand stroking up my spine… At the window, I turn back to him. My lips part, and my cheeks flush, but I feel a magnetic pull toward him. I hate this man, but he’s godsdamned seductive, and I might as well not lie to myself.
When I’m only a few inches from him, I stop and look up at his face. This close, his silver eyes are hypnotic, so striking against the black eyelashes.
Something about his expression is searing. Is that still loathing?
“Good.” He licks his lips.
Then, abruptly, he turns from me. “You’ve used up enough of my time.
Pick out a few more things if you want, but I’ll send the rest to your quarters.
I have more pressing concerns.”
My brow furrows. “I don’t need to try everything on?”
He’s already at the door. “Go find Amon. He’ll get you a room.”
Raphael, as usual, cannot wait to get the hell away from me.
The sound of the closing door echoes in the hallway.
