His eyes alight. “I’m eager to see what you’ll do with it.”

We’re interrupted by the clomping of hooves. A soldier holds the reins of two sleek black steeds.

“Your mounts,” he announces.

“We’re riding horses?” I say.

The horse closest to me bumps its head into my shoulder, snuffling my hair.

“Do you have an objection?” Des asks.

I look at the beast again, feeling the siren beginning to fade away. Apparently no sex and no violence means no service.

It’s an unusual task, trying to keep her out; I’m so used to repressing her whenever I can. I wrestle with my strange power, finally managing to wrangle control of her.

“It’s fine,” I say.

With that, Des grabs my waist and helps me mount my steed. I wait for it to nervously nicker, but it never happens. Either these are exceptionally well-trained horses, or Otherworld steeds are made of sturdier stuff.

Next to me, Des smoothly swings himself onto his own mount, and the rest of Desmond’s closest men do so as well.

Our horses trot back into line, moving into some sort of formation. I glance behind me, catching sight of Temper astride another horse, the dress she wears a deep burgundy color.

Looks like she found something to wear.

Malaki moves over to her on his own steed, and the look he gives her … good God, she’s officially sunk her talons into him.

Someone whistles, and the musicians in our procession begin playing their instruments, the sound soft and ethereal.

I turn back around as we begin moving, the line of soldiers and mounted steeds heading around the castle and towards the palace’s front gates. I find I don’t need to steer my horse; it moves as one with the group.

Ahead of us, the gates open, and then there’s all of Somnia’s residents, cheering for us as we pass them by.

Des leans over his horse to speak to me. “Fairies have begun exposing their wings,” he says, nodding to the crowd.

I follow his gaze. He’s right. Many of them do have their wings out, their thin membranes glittering under lamplight.

“Why are they all out?” I ask. Fairies usually only bare them when their emotions run high.

“Because ours are,” he says.

Indeed, Des, who once studiously hid his wings from me, now proudly bears them. And I have no choice but to show off mine.

“Why would they imitate us?” I ask.

“Because we’re royalty.”

“You’re royalty,” I correct. “I’m not.”

Des gives me an unreadable look, then nods distractedly.

The procession winds through the city streets, and just when I think our pretty line of horses and soldiers intends to walk right off the edge of the island, we double back to the palace.

Already I’d love to dismount, but something tells me that’s just not going to happen any time soon.

My glowing hands tighten on the reins as I glance at the Bargainer, who watches the crowd like a wolf among men. He’s going to have to pay me steeply in sex before I consider this a fair trade—

The arrow comes out of nowhere, whistling as it bears down on me.

Des’s hand shoots out, snatching it just inches away from my breast.

Holy shit.

We both stare at the flimsy bit of wood and stone that might’ve very well killed me.

My breath catches.

Someone tried to kill me.

My mate saved me.

Des’s eyes flick up, tracing the trajectory of the arrow back to its source. His gaze hones on the figure hopping down from a nearby building.

“Guard her,” the Bargainer commands to the soldiers nearest me, and then he disappears.

A split second later I see him on a rooftop, his wings spread wide. He grabs a fae man and pulls him in close, pressing a blade to his throat. It only takes a moment for me to notice the plumage of feathers growing in place of his captive’s hair and the bow and quiver still strapped across his body.

A Fauna fae tried to kill me.

My wings are unfurling as adrenaline belatedly surges through me.

Des spins the man so he faces the crowd. And then, in front of hundreds of his subjects, my mate drags his blade across the fairy’s throat. A waterfall of blood cascades from the wound.

Fucking Methuselah, that is one way to handle your enemies.

With a booted foot, Des kicks the fairy off the building.

The crowd below parts as the dying man pinwheels through the air, landing on the ground with a sickening splat.

For several seconds, the Bargainer remains on the rooftop, his chest heaving. He sheaths his weapon, then jumps into the sky, his wings fanning out around him. The crowd gasps as they watch those talon-tipped wings—dragon’s wings, demon’s wings—soar above them.

He glides over the stopped procession, landing smoothly into his saddle, his wings folding behind him.

The crowd’s earlier cheers have been replaced with an ominous silence. The only one who doesn’t seem affected by it is Des. He reaches for me, pulling me into a savage kiss.

Des tastes like blood and love and death. He kisses me like he’s pillaging my mouth, and I don’t mind one fucking bit. I kiss him back greedily, drinking in my Night King’s essence.

He might be death on wings, but he saved me.

Right in the middle of our kiss, a cheer goes up through the crowd. It’s a little more feral, a little less forgiving, than our audience’s previous roars.

Des pulls away from my lips, his hand on my neck still holding me close. In his eyes I can see a spark of fear, a dash of adoration—but most of all, I see a deep and endless well of fury. Here’s the monster behind the war cuffs and pretty fabric, the monster I don’t want to tame, the one I want to unleash.

I am the darkness, his eyes seem to say, and you are my lovely nightmare. And no one will take this away from us.

He blinks, and the swirling chaos in his eyes dies down. “Are you okay?”

I nod.

“Good.”

He releases me, and already my body aches from the absence of his violent touch and his malevolent eyes.

Soldiers are coming up to us, asking questions, while others are pushing the crowd back. Where the Fauna fairy fell, there’s now a thick cluster of fairies fighting amongst themselves. Things are turning ugly, and the crowd is getting heated.

Waving away the men and women that come to talk to him, Des lets out a whistle, signaling for the procession to resume. Rapidly, men and women fall back into line, some mounting their steeds, others resuming their position as foot soldiers.

This time when the convoy moves, it doesn’t meander. My steed begins to gallop, its shoes sparking against the stone road as it races up the streets, following the line of horses and soldiers back towards the palace.

Next to me, Des’s face is set into uncompromising lines. It’s not until we’re through the gates that his expression relaxes—though his hands still manage to grip his reins like he’s choking the life out of them.

Eventually, our group heads towards a building I’ve never seen before. The circular annex is massive, its large double doors thrown open in invitation. Our procession doesn’t slow as it barrels towards it.

Excitement and a thread of fear move through me. I can’t see anything beyond the marble structure’s shadowy entrance, but I can tell that there are too many horses and too many fairies to possibly fit into the building.

No one else seems to share this concern. Not even Des, who’s still brooding from where he sits next to me.