The Never King (Vicious Lost Boys #1)(22)

Hurrying through the underground fae palace, the Brownie’s leather shoes are silent on the rough stone floor. The walls are webbed in vines. The vines are dotted with primroses and honeycaps and bright pink hibiscus flowers. The air smells of sweet fae wine and chimes with court gossip.

When he enters the throne room, the Brownie finds Queen Tilly at a large round table sharing tea with several other noble fae. A golden circlet has been woven into her dark hair. One single ruby glitters in the centermost tine. Tilly looks like an eighteen-year-old girl, but she is older too.

Everyone on Neverland is older than they look.

The fae don’t age like mortals do, but even the mortals have escaped the toll of time, what with the Death Shadow gone.

“What is it?” she asks when she sees him.

When the Brownie is seen, there is always an “it.”

“Peter Pan has the Darling,” he answers.

“Leave us,” she says quickly and the others scatter.

The Brownie waits for the queen to command him, his hands clasped behind his back.

Once the room is empty save for himself and Tilly, she turns to him. “This Darling… She’s Merry’s daughter, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Tilly paces the length of the throne room. It takes her three minutes total. It’s a very large room. “Tell me your thoughts.”

The Brownie crosses the room to come to stand beside her in the bright glow of a pixie bug lantern. “He’s losing the island. I can feel it.”

Tilly nods. “And?”

“And I don’t think he’ll get his chance at another Darling.”

She nods again and worries at the inside of her cheek. “He’ll summon me soon and I’ll do what I’ve always done. No more, no less.”

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my queen, but if you wanted the island, now would be the time to take it.”

She regards him down the sharp slant of her nose. She got her mother’s cat-like features, but her father’s warrior’s eyes. She is the fiercest queen that’s ever ruled the fae on Neverland. The Brownie is glad to serve her.

But she could do so much more.

“What would your mother want?” the Brownie asks.

“Tink loved Pan once,” she says.

“Yes, and he killed her. Don’t make her death be in vain.”

“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, Brownie.”

“Of course, my queen. But…” Compared to the Brownie, the queen is but a baby. Sometimes it’s exhausting trying to coax her into action. “Perhaps we could use your brothers to—”

“Absolutely not.”

The Brownie clamps his mouth shut. The twins have always been a sore spot. But they are an asset they could use if they wanted to unseat the king.

“I don’t have to do anything,” the queen says. “I just have to bide my time like I have been. Peter Pan will fail because I will make him fail. He will crumble and then I will claim his shadow and the throne will rightfully be mine.”

“And the twins?” the Brownie asks.

The queen wants to pretend that she has no love left for her older brothers, but the Brownie knows better.

Every time someone mentions them, she is gutted all over again, just like their father.

It’s why she’s forbidden anyone from speaking their names.

“I don’t care what my brothers do,” she says and walks away. “In the meantime, find out where Hook stands. I don’t want to fight him too.”

Then the queen is gone and the Brownie takes action.





15





WINNIE


An hour after Cherry leaves me, Kas comes to my room and unchains me. He’s wearing a shirt today, much to my disappointment.

Several tines of his black ink stick out from the collar of his shirt. “If you promise to stay nearby,” he says, “I’ll leave you unchained.”

I give him an innocent look. “Peter Pan already warned me there’s nowhere to go.”

He nods.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” I say.

“I’ll wait. I wanted to talk to you.”

When the bathroom door is shut behind me, I go to the vanity and look at myself in the mirror.

I look the same—pale skin, big green eyes, dark hair. I look the same, but I don’t feel the same.

Reaching out with my hand, I touch the patinaed glass. It’s cool beneath my touch and a little flash of relief warms in my gut.

I use the bathroom, then splash cold water on my face. When I come back out, Kas is in the wingback, his elbow on the arm, his hand curled around his strong jaw.

Something is troubling him. I can feel it.

I’m familiar with anxiety. That building feeling that your insides want to crawl to the outside and burst into flames.

Or at least that’s how it is for me.

I sit on the end of the bed. “What’s up?”

I may have only been held captive for two days, but Kas feels safe and comfortable already. I think it’s because he had a very clear opportunity to fuck me last night and didn’t.

He really is the nice one.

“My brother told me about last night,” he says.