Throne of the Fallen

No. She was sprawled on a metal floor. The Crescent Court’s floor wasn’t metal.

She blinked, trying to force herself into the here and now.

A clang rang out, drawing her attention up.

“No.” Her voice shook. He’d caged her. And hung her far above the throne room, where her cage swayed dangerously with each of her movements.

It was a fine prison. A mockery of a cell.

“Let me out.”

Lennox didn’t bother to look at her; he strode down to where she’d left the bound key, plucking it up and turning it over.

“Do you have any idea what this is now capable of?” he asked.

Nothing good, clearly.

Camilla’s hands wrapped around the metal bars, burning from the iron. She wrenched them back, then tried again, shaking the door. For doing as he’d commanded, her father had imprisoned her in iron. It was unfathomable.

“You cannot cage me.”

Lennox gave her a pitying look. “I just did.”

“Why?” she asked, uncaring that she wasn’t meant to question the king. “I did as you asked!”

His hair turned black and his eyes gleamed white.

“Is that what I did… ask you? Like a nice mortal friend. A loving, human father. Or did your king give you an order? One you would have refused had I not given you a reason not to?”

He advanced on her, his gaze steely and void of any pretense of civility.

“You mistake your place in my court, daughter. You were invited to come home. Twice. First with a friend I sent for you, in case you needed one of our kind. Next, I sent Wolf. In case you required a mate. You chose to stay in that mortal cesspool, lowering yourself. Pretending you were a human.”

Anger unleashed her tongue. “I didn’t choose to leave in the first place. Or have you forgotten your little game with Mother? You made me a changeling. Then you condemn me for choosing to stay where I’d been just another game piece. I never would have left the Wild Court.”

“The queen stole you,” Lennox snapped. “You should have proven your loyalty to our court when I summoned you the first time.”

“My loyalty? It seems like I am simply your little pawn, moving around your game board based on your whims.”

His smile was crafted of nightmares. He held the key up. “This is the Silverthorne Key, little pawn. Do you know what it does?”

Camilla felt as if she’d taken a hit. She slowly shook her head, an awful realization emerging. Puzzle pieces clicked into place. Pierre’s obsession with the portal key, with keeping it in Waverly Green. The locket her mother told her never to let go.

Silverthorne Lane. The dark market in Waverly Green. The place where Unseelie solitary and exiled Fae bargained with mortals.

Somehow, some way, the key and the dark market were connected. And if Camilla’s growing fear was correct, she had likely created a direct link from the mortal world to this court.

“No.”

Lennox’s gaze turned ebony again, his hair shifting back to its godlike silver-white curtain.

“I see you understand perfectly well. Silverthorne Lane is a realm line. This key? It unlocks that doorway and leads it straight to…”

He walked to a silver mirror leaning against the wall, oversized, wide. Large enough for even the tallest human to pass through.

“Here.”

Lennox stuck the key directly in the center of the mirror, the glass rippling like liquid as he twisted the hexed object. Camilla stared, trapped in her cage, as the mirror flickered. Shadow and light, light and shadow. Images played across it, too fast to see clearly; then came sounds. Birds, people, carriages… the sounds of Waverly Green’s bustling streets.

“No,” Camilla said, again, rattling her cage. The iron burned, the pain a wild ache in her bones. “Please. Leave them.”

Lennox glanced over his shoulder, his expression one of egregious delight.

“One by one, little pawn, I’ll lure everyone from that city here. We’re in need of fresh fun in the Wild Court. And once Waverly Green falls, we’ll move on to the next. Now be silent.”

He cocked his head, then ran a hand over his clothing, magicking a new suit before her eyes. If Camilla hadn’t known how dark and twisted he was, Lennox would have looked like a fairy-tale prince. Except this prince was a diabolical king and this cruel king wasn’t interested in stealing hearts at all—he wanted to break souls. Beaming with false kindness, he turned back to the mirror as the first few mortals stumbled through, bright-eyed and dreamy.

Widow Janelle, the Lords Harrington and Walters, and several other regulars from Vexley’s circle stepped into the throne room.

Camilla pressed her hand to her mouth, biting back a scream. She knew these humans. Had attended parties and gatherings with them.

And they did not deserve the fate that awaited them here.

Their gazes swept around the chamber, then paused on her, on her Fae ears.

Camilla looked at them and screamed, “Run!”

SIXTY-FOUR

THINGS HAD CHANGED inside the Wild Court since the last time Envy had attended a soirée there, more than a century before.

And not for the better.