These Twisted Bonds (These Hollow Vows, #2)(15)

Slowly and too conscious of the movement, I pick up my fork again and scoop a small bite.

“Where are all your people?” I ask before popping the food into my mouth.

Misha glances around the quiet terrace. “Assuming that’s not a literal question, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“The courtiers,” I say, waving my fork. It seemed Sebastian was never alone. If one of his potential brides wasn’t with him, Riaan was at his side, usually along with several other sentries and members of his council. “Advisors, friends, the residents of your palace?” I pause. “Your wife? ”

He folds his arms on the table and leans forward. “Amira, the queen, is looking forward to meeting you, but she’s unavailable right now. As for the others . . .” He shrugs. “I wanted you to myself tonight. We have a lot to discuss, and most of it is far too important for me to invite other voices and ears into the conversation.”

I grunt. “What could you possibly need to discuss with me? I’m no one but a foolish girl who was tricked into bonding with a manipulative prince.” Again, more than I wanted to share. It seems I can’t help myself.

His eyes blaze, and he tilts his head to the side. “Your anger is intense. I like it.”

“You don’t know the half of my anger, but if this is a trick somehow—if you’re trying to force me to work with Finn or reunite with Sebastian—you’ll soon find out.”

He smirks. “Prince Ronan knows he cannot come to this palace, cannot come after you uninvited without risking a battle he would most definitely lose, but I’m tempted to invite him anyway—if only to let you unleash all the pent-up fury. It would be so much fun to watch.”

I bow my head and blow out a long, slow breath. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to rifle through another person’s private thoughts and emotions?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, sighing. “I’m being an insensitive brute, but I promise you I mean well. It’s simply that it’s been many centuries since two such powerful males fought over a female. Millenia since two brothers did, and this time seems no less significant than the last.” He flicks his wrist, and a glass of wine appears on the table by my fork. “I offer a glass of my finest wine as an apology.”

I ignore the wine and lift my gaze to his. “You keep saying two males are fighting over me. Why would you say that?”

“Prince Ronan and Prince Finnian? Ring any bells? Or are there other powerful males battling over you? If so, I’d like to know now. I don’t like surprises.”

I cool my glare to pure ice. “But wouldn’t you know? Or are we pretending that you’re not reading my mind now?”

He sighs. “Ronan and Finnian are fighting over you, obviously.”

“And you know this how? ”

“Because I have eyes in the Court of the Moon.”

Of course. Everyone in this realm seems to have spies everywhere. It’s a wonder there are any secrets at all. “Perhaps they fought, but that has nothing to do with me. Sebastian bonded with me because he knew it would kill me. Because of the curse, it would kill me, and when I died, he’d get the crown. This was all about the crown—about who is the rightful ruler of the shadow court—not about me.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Misha asks, lifting his wineglass.

“Yes, I’m sure. And it’s a relief. I’m done being a pawn. They can fight all they want over that damned court. It has nothing to do with me anymore.”

He chuckles. “If only that were true.”

“It is true.” I wave to the top of my head. “See? No crown.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Perhaps you’d like to see for yourself?” He whistles, and a large brown spotted hawk swoops down from the branches of the sequoia to perch on Misha’s shoulder.

“This is Storm, my familiar.”

I frown at the hawk. “I have no idea what a familiar is.”

“It means our minds our linked. He obeys me. Serves me.”

I immediately think of the Barghest, the giant wolf-monster-creature that attacked me when I first came to this realm. Sebastian had said that sometimes the Unseelie take them on as familiars. He suggested that the attack may not have been coincidence.

“I had nothing to do with the death dog,” Misha says. “My creatures don’t attack—never offensively at least. If they’re attacked first . . .” He shrugs.

“So what about this bird do I need to see?” I ask.

“Storm returned from the Court of the Moon this morning. If you look into his eyes, he can show you what he saw there.”

“I don’t need to know. It has nothing to do with me.”

The corner of Misha’s mouth twitches upward in amusement. “Humor me?”

The bird’s eyes are just like Misha’s—russet and glowing. The pupils dilate, then constrict as I look at them.

“I don’t see any—”

I don’t know how I expected it to work, but I’m not prepared when I feel as if my consciousness is yanked from my body, and suddenly—I’m flying. Flying like a bird of prey, circling a castle turret before swooping into a high window and perching on a stone ledge.

Below, Finn stands at the bank of windows, looking out onto a bright day. I instantly recognize the sprawling space with its crystal chandeliers and shining marble floor as the Unseelie throne room, even without Mordeus smirking from beside the throne.