But it never comes. His hand grabs mine, and he leads me out of the room and down the hallway.

If I thought this was the end of the palace tour, I thought wrong.

“Do you know how the Kings of the Dead have made their way?” he asks causally as we walk.

I have no idea what else he hopes to show me in this castle. The dungeons maybe? Even an asshole like him only has so many terrible surprises to share.

“They—we—have to kidnap our brides,” he says. “This is nothing unusual for a fairy. In case you hadn’t noticed, we rather enjoy snatching away young men and maidens. It’s all part of the thrill.

“But Death Kings—well, they’ve always done things a little different. When choosing brides and grooms, they would wear the skin of the dead and go topside. Invariably, there’s always one fae festival or another moving through the Otherworld. Those have always been a favorite hunting ground for the rulers of the dead.”

My skin prickles as I think of Solstice. How the Green Man sought me out again and again.

“Surprising, really, how many fairies love the mysterious stranger. Give them enough spirits and let them dance until they are drunk on magic and wine … It is so easy to whisper a few promises and lure a fairy away.”

Understanding is dawning on me.

“So the Death Kings would draw down their unwilling spouses to the Land of Death and Deep Earth. They would then baptize them in the Pool of Resurrection and bind their spouses to their side—forever.”

The Thief’s hand drifts to my shoulder, his fingers digging in. “And then those brides and grooms lived here, just as you will.”

Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.

“Of course, skinwalking is useful for more than just snatching spouses. One can lure just about any fairy away by wearing the face of the beloved dead.”

The sleeping soldiers, that’s what he’s referring to.

“So I took fairy after fairy and I fucked them and breathed my magic into their bodies until, one by one, they fell prey.”

I already know the lurid truth about the sleeping soldiers, but hearing the Thief of Souls recount it all makes my stomach roil.

“The men I hid away. But the women … I took their babies and their bodies and had them delivered back where they came from.

“They were my army, and I brought my darkness into the world above and watched it grow.” He rubs his lower lip with his thumb, then barks out a laugh. “To tell you the truth, it all became quite boring … until, of course, it was time to handle the Night King. That is how I discovered his oh-so-charming mate.

“The shadows couldn’t stop talking about you. The prettiest human they’d ever seen. The cherished soulmate of the Night King. They’re real conversationalists, if you can get them to sing.”

I stumble to a stop, the Thief’s hand slipping from my shoulder. “You can talk to the shadows?”

Dear God.

The Thief smiles slyly. “You thought your mate was the only one? He isn’t. The shadows whisper to me too.”

That’s … really, really not good. It also happens to explain how the Thief knows so much. The shadows spy for him.

He grips my shoulder once more and forces me to begin walking again.

Suits of armor, displayed swords, soaring architecture; all of it barely registers as I pass it by.

“They told me everything I need to know about you,” the Thief says. “I’ve heard all about your fucked up life, my pretty bird. I know your stepfather raped you, over and over. I know you killed him, and that our gallant Desmond Flynn swooped in and saved you. Did you know he had Daddy Dearest resurrected?”

He did?

Immediately, I doubt the Thief’s words. Des would’ve told me something like that.

“Of course,” the Thief continues, “that was only so he could torture and kill the man all over again. I do appreciate a good killing. Too bad Desmond had to then go and try his hand at honor, all so that he’d keep himself from fucking you prematurely.”

I distractedly notice that we’ve entered another room, our footsteps echoing against the stone walls.

“I know that the Night King’s magic kept you two apart for seven years,” the Thief continues. “I know you made each other such ardent promises—the Night Kingdom really does know its way around romance. ‘Until darkness dies’ … Truly, that’s a sweet sentiment.”

“You know, there’s only one problem with that phrase—

He stops and turns to face me.

“Me.”

Chapter 43

My brows furrow. “What are you talking about?” I glance around us as I ask.

I’ve been here before, I realize.

There’s those bonelike columns, the ceiling that gives way to the dark night beyond. There’s that unsettling pool, which hums with magic, and then there’s the Thief’s throne. This last one glints and flickers in the candlelight, its peaked spires looking especially sharp and deadly.

The Death King’s throne room.

Nothing good ever happens in these rooms.

“I’m talking about who I am,” the Thief responds.

He begins to circle me, and my skin burns brighter than ever.

“You saw all those fallen soldiers at my doorway. We both know I was not born in this kingdom, that I invaded this place. That I have lived for centuries—that Galleghar used me to save his own life.”

He finishes circling me, coming back to my front.

“So who am I?” he says. “The question everyone wants to know.”

The place is ominously still, and the only sound comes from the pool that stretches out on the other side of the room.

“Not a conqueror,” he shakes his head, “not a king. I came from a time before such things.

“You see, I am not a man. I’m a god.”

A … god?

“Don’t look so shocked, enchantress,” the Thief says. “A woman talks to the darkness—is she really so surprised when the darkness talks back?”

I don’t have time to feel disbelief or to question the Thief’s claim. His body begins expanding before my eyes, his form darkening until he is nothing more than the shape of a man. Pinpricks of light—stars they seem to me—glitter from deep within that darkness. I can barely make out his features amongst it all.

I take a step back as that still air begins to move and churn.

Around us, candles flicker, and the hum from the pool seems to grow louder.

“All this time, you’ve wanted to know who I am. Enchantress, I’m Euribios.” He breathes the name with a shiver of magic. It skitters across my skin. “I am what came before.”

I feel that part of his magic then—not the wickedness of it, but the wildness.

I stare up at him as he gets larger and larger. The room begins to darken, his form sucking away the light.

Amongst all that darkness, I sense his smile, and it chills me to the core.

“Once, Death and Night were the very same thing. Once, there was nothing else.”

The room is giving way to shadow, and the Thief is losing his form.

“Back then, when the world was young, before everything came into existence, I reigned supreme.”

It comes to me then, where I heard the name Euribios. Janus had mentioned it in reference to some artwork.

He’d been the primordial god of darkness.

Fucking Methuselah. The Thief isn’t just a god; he’s one of the big ones.