I swivel around. “Every fae in this room can now move their necks.”

As soon as the words are spoken, the crowd of fairies focus their attention on us.

I rotate to Typhus once more. He still can’t move, but he’s beginning to sweat, little beads of perspiration giving his skin a sheen.

He knows what’s coming. How delightful! I do savor how they squirm in the end.

I step off of him and face the room, raising my voice so everyone can hear. “You, Typhus Henbane, are going to confess to this entire room every single thing you don’t want them to hear, starting with your true intentions for taking their power,” I order.

His face is turning red, and he’s grinding his teeth together in a hopeless attempt to stop the inevitable.

“I … I …” Typhus tries to stall, until the confession is yanked from his lips. “I spent the last century and a half coming up with ways to manipulate fairies out of their powers, using whatever means I could think of. I—I did this so that I could stay healthy and strong in this place. I trade magic for my protection even though I’m the worst thing fairies have to fear out here.”

He takes a breath. “I’ve killed hundreds, maybe thousands of fairies—some outright, and some indirectly after I drained them of too much magic. I have a hidden room filled with countless fairies who are all but dead.”

An unbidden shiver moves through me.

Sounds like the Thief of Souls.

He continues, “I try to keep them alive for as long as possible—”

“Why?” I interject.

“Once a fairy dies, the bond is broken, and Typhus loses their power,” Des says from where he stands. “Dead men can’t uphold oaths.”

Typhus begins explaining the same thing, forced by my glamour to answer my question. Once he finishes, he pauses, ever hopeful that he can skirt around my other order—the one where he confesses his crimes.

I raise my eyebrows, bemused.

Around me, fairies flash him venomous glares. Poor little Typhus.

With a shudder, he continues on. “I have blackmailed men and women into having sex with me. I’ve lied about how strong I really am—I cannot singlehandedly stop an uprising, should one happen …”

On and on it goes.

It takes twenty minutes—twenty incriminating minutes—for Typhus to get through the impressively long list of shitty things he’s done. By the end of those twenty minutes, you can feel the room baying for his blood.

Hell, after hearing his laundry list of dirty deeds, I want to rip his throat out.

This king knows it too. He’s now openly sweating; it drips into his eyes and down his chin. Gone is his cockiness. I wonder how long it’s been since he’s felt this kind of fear.

“Apologize to all these fairies,” I command Typhus. “Apologize and mean it.”

His eyes move to the crowd. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.” His voice is low and hollow with something like guilt. It’s definitely not regret, but whatever. Some people never do regret their choices, only where their choices landed them.

I walk around the throne, my skin still glowing, high as fuck off my power. I still wear his crown on my head, and I’ll admit, the weight of it gives me a little rush.

When my gaze meets Typhus’s, the devil is in his eyes.

“Alright,” I say, “enough of this.” I use my sweet, cajoling voice, and the king seems to relax at the sound of it.

I can practically hear his thoughts—almost over.

“Oh,” I say, mock surprised, “did you think I was through with you? Oh, Typhus, no, no, no.” I’m shaking my head, my voice pitying.

Through my connection I can feel a whisper of Des. The sensation is so faint that it’s hard to place what emotion of his slipped across our bond, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was awe. And I realize, this is the first time he’s truly seen me use my magic. Stopping the sleeping soldiers was one thing, but playing with a man’s free will? Toying with him and drawing it out as I savor the kill?

This is new territory for him. And judging by his reaction, my twisted king approves.

“No one in this room is leaving without their powers,” I say.

In response, Typhus’s face goes red, and another wave of his power fills the air. He’s still bound by my glamour, however, to only answer my questions.

I watch him for several seconds, letting his mighty magic fight mine. It’s useless. I have absolute control over him right now.

But I will indulge him.

“Go ahead,” I say, “tell me what’s on your mind.”

“What you’re asking for is impossible!” he gasps out. “I would have to break every single oath; some fairies aren’t even conscious enough to agree to that.”

My voice goes ice cold. “Or they could just simply kill you. Dead men, after all, can’t uphold oaths.” I stare down Typhus, every bit the heartless creature our lore has made me out to be. “I’m sure the lot of you will figure something out.”

I back up from him, a nefarious smile spreading across my face. “Typhus Henbane,” I say, my skin lit, my glamour thickening the air, “I command you to return every single bit of magic you’ve stolen within two days’ time.” Much longer than that, and my glamour might wear off.

Typhus gives me a look like I’ve brought the axe down upon his neck.

I’m not even done.

“You will never again exchange power for your betterment.” My eyes flick around us. “May your people have mercy upon you.”

I walk away from him towards Des, my footsteps echoing throughout the throne room. I touch the crown that still perches on my head and pause. I swivel one last time to face Typhus.

“Oh, and I’m keeping this.”

Chapter 13

Water—check, dark room—check, forehead massage—check.

I’ve done everything within my (limited) power to kick this migraine in the nuts. Nothing’s working.

I rub my temples yet again, my head pounding. “Why does everything hurt so much?” I whine. My tongue feels swollen and my lips, parched. Even my teeth seem to ache.

Desmond comes over to where I stand in his chambers. Around us, the soft lamplight has been dimmed to the point of near darkness. It’s still not enough. “It’s one of the unwelcome side effects of visiting the Banished Lands.”

He holds out his closed hand. His fingers unfurl, revealing what looks like a piece of candy, if candy were iridescent. “This might help more than the massage.”

“What is it?” I take the strange lozenge from his palm.

“Believe it or not, fairies have medicine, just like humans do.”

I let out a crazy laugh. “This is fae aspirin?”

“Close enough,” he says.

“What do you want in return?” I ask, placing the pill on my tongue. I mean, this migraine is bad enough that I’d happily sell the Bargainer one of my appendages for it … but I do still want to know what it’ll cost me.

For a moment, the avarice in his expression falls away and he looks a little sad. “Callie, you don’t owe me. Not for something like this. I’m … sorry I gave you that impression.”

My features soften. “Thank you—for the magical aspirin.” I say it with a lisp as the pill sits between my tongue and my teeth.

It’s not bitter like human medicine, nor is it sweet like the hard candy it looks like. Instead it tastes like honeysuckle melting on my tongue.