Galleghar gives me a chilling smile.

“After you,” he says, gesturing forward.

And have him at my back? I don’t think so.

“You lead the way,” I command.

The fallen king gives me a long look, then steps into the castle with me following at his back.

Inside, our footsteps echo. There’s an entryway, and side tables, tapestries, and strange plants growing up the castle’s walls. Basically, the kingdom of the dead’s castle looks like every other fae palace I’ve been to, which makes the whole experience frighteningly real.

I’ve never been more certain of my own mortality than this moment, stepping inside the palace of the King of Death and Deep Earth. It feels like I’ve moved too far from the land of the living.

But then, my heart throbs, my bond with Des giving a soft tug, and I nearly fall to my knees. Letting out a soft gasp, I press my hand to my chest.

I feel him. It’s weak, but I feel him.

My Bargainer. The world stopped turning the moment he disappeared. Now, I can imagine it moving once more.

Desperation like I’ve never known, takes over. Turning inward, I try to use the pull of our bond to track where my mate is.

I’ve done this once before and it didn’t work, but now I move with my instincts, leaving Galleghar’s side and wandering through the castle, unaware of the rooms I’m moving through, focusing on that magical tether that’s reawakened now that I’m in the Land of Death and Deep Earth.

Wonder of wonders, I can feel my connection to Des subtly strengthening.

I’m doing it. I’m actually tracking my mate through our bond. The thought nearly takes my breath away.

My footsteps echo around me. Getting closer. I can feel it.

The next room I enter is covered from floor to ceiling with shelves upon shelves, each one crammed with jars and potions, books with gilded titles and instruments whose use I couldn’t possibly guess. Right in the middle of the room is an intricately carved marble slab, and lying on a slab is—

“Des.” His name, unbidden, spills out from my lips.

Now I run.

He’s so still. Too still.

He can’t be dead. Not here, in the land of the dead. This is where fae get to spend their afterlife.

I stop when I get to that stone slab. My connection pulses once, as if to confirm that this isn’t some illusion.

I reach out, my hand trembling. I’m almost afraid to touch him. Something thick lodges in my throat.

I thought I’d be elated, finding Des. Instead, I feel like I’m losing him all over again.

His long eyelashes kiss the top of his cheeks, and his white hair is fanned around him. He looks like all those bespelled people in the fairy tales, sleeping some eternal sleep. He’s beautiful and heartbreaking to look at.

“Des,” I repeat, my voice pleading. With a shaky hand I touch his cheek; his skin is clammy and cold. “Wake up.”

He doesn’t move.

My fingers trail down his face, over his chin and past his neck, stopping at his heart. I press my palm to it. Beneath my touch, his heart beats sluggishly.

He’s alive—whatever that means at this point.

I feel weak with relief for several seconds, until I remember that the sleeping soldiers were technically alive too, suspended in a state much like this.

A bit of me dies at the thought. My Night King reduced to this.

Behind me, a man clucks his tongue.

“You don’t belong here.”

My skin pricks at the familiar voice.

I turn, and it’s only now that I notice the flickering torch lights and candelabras beating back an unnatural darkness.

The Thief of Souls stands amongst it all, and he’s exactly as he’s appeared in my dreams. Inky hair and upturned, empty eyes. Pale skin and a mouth that’s far too soft for the rest of his face.

Finally the two of us meet in the flesh.

He begins to clap. “Well done, well done, enchantress. You figured out how to find me. And here I thought you were utterly useless at solving problems. I should’ve known you’d simply need the right”—his eyes slide to Des—“incentive.”

My skin is still glowing, but now I unleash the full force of my glamour.

“Wake my mate up,” I demand.

The Thief’s eyes shine with interest. He walks over to Des, staring down at the Night King for a moment. Lifting a hand, the Thief holds it over the Bargainer’s face. I sense dark magic gathering in his palm, but then he closes his hand and withdraws it.

“I don’t think I want to do that,” the Thief says.

How could he defy us?

“Don’t look so surprised,” he says. “You didn’t really think that was going to work on me now, did you?” The Thief’s eyes still spark, but he doesn’t have the look of a glamoured fairy.

He saunters over to me, and I watch him with angry eyes.

The Thief stops right in front of me. “Tell me, how do you plan on slaying me and reclaiming your mate?” With a finger, he lifts one of my holsters. “Surely not with these weapons? Were you hoping to use them against me?” The Thief’s mouth curves up. He pulls the blade out and tosses it aside. “I’m sorry to tell you that you can’t kill me with any of the little toys you brought.”

And … there goes what plans I did have.

Slowly, the Thief circles me, reaching out as he does so to remove various weapons. All the while he looks bored and unimpressed.

This situation is unraveling. I came here to save my mate, and instead the Thief has proven that nothing at my disposal can harm him.

I back away from him, and he lets me, even though he hasn’t finished disarming me. I still have a dagger strapped to my thigh, and another holstered around my calf. To leave me with some weapons … they must truly be useless against him.

My attention returns to Des. The Night King is still as death itself. I could pretend like my heart isn’t lying right here on this slab, but then the Thief already knows what he has.

I rest my hands on my soulmate’s arm; there’s a frightening chill to his skin. “Why did you do this to him?”

The Thief steps up to my side. “If you knew anything about leverage, you’d know the answer to that.”

I turn to the Thief, a retort on my lips. But in an instant, he disappears, vanishing just as Des and Galleghar have.

I feel his dark, cruel magic all around me. It’s wild in a way that not even fae magic is. It swarms in the air, then slips down, towards the Night King, until it’s no longer in the air but in my mate.

Beneath my fingers, Des’s arm twitches. I start at the sensation. Then my grip tightens.

“Des?”

His eyes flutter, and his lips move, like he’s murmuring something. But if anything, our connection seems to grow fainter.

Dear God, what’s happening?

The wild, malevolent magic lifts from Des, and he’s still once more.

I rub my chest as our bond restrengthens.

“Ah, well, it was worth a try.”

I jolt as the Thief crowds in behind me.

“And here I’d hoped I’d have a few more days,” he says. “Then perhaps my form,”—he smooths his shirt down—“would be a bit more … to your liking.”

I rotate to face him. “What are you talking about?” Even as I ask, realization dawns.

The Thief was trying to invade my mate’s body.

A bolt of sheer terror courses through me.

Is that what he intends to do? To wear Des’s form just like he did the Green Man’s? To terrorize me with the face of my mate while he inhabits the Night King’s body?