Page 41 of The Blood Queen

“I do.” Keryth’s voice matches mine. We could be the only ones on the dance floor now. “Your father tried to convince me to give a shit about the mortals who will die.”

He pushes me a little, and I turn it into part of the dance, calling the twinkling lights to settle over my dress, the foggy mist to swirl through my skirts, the breeze to flutter my hair. Around us, I hear soft gasps; we really are the only ones left dancing, all eyes on us.

Keryth holds out his hand. I sweep into a curtsy, but when I rise, I place my fingers against his palm.

The fae care too much for appearances. Keryth likes the attention of the court; I will have his ear for as long as I can maintain the dance.

The music shifts. Slower. More luscious. Fireflies and dragonflies and sprites and pixies flutter around us. Others cast rainbow light or the heady scents of flowers.

I glance back at the crowd. My father is watching, a pleased curve to his smile. Samson looks ready to punch Keryth’s face in, but they’re both letting me play this game I know I can win.

Nearby, I spot other important fae—Prince Corvyn, whose realm overlaps with the Hebrides. Prince Albin of Buchan, Prince Ness of Lochaber.

Powerful fae, both in magic and influence.

One of them moves closer to Samson, says something that makes his aura sparkle with anger, but he keeps his face impassive.

Keryth pulls me back into the dance, but I catch the curious green, the swirling yellow within the other two princes’ auras. And through the brown disdain and stubborn pink of Keryth’s own aura, I see flashes of the same curiosity and anticipation.

I’m so close.

I almost want to laugh at the way this foolish man has spent his time on hunts and balls, frivolity and lavishness. And to think he’s the wild one? To think he’s stronger than me?

Men who think they’re superior never realize when they’re the ones being preyed upon.

So I swing the dance closer to him. I let his hand drop to my hip. I let his eyes drop to my bodice. I slink over his body, trailing my fingers up and down his arms.

By the time he dips his head down closer to my lips, he’s forgotten all about the fact that I’m half human, the politics at play.

He’s forgotten everything but me.

Exactly as I intended.

“Prince Keryth,” I whisper, and I feel the ripple of his shoulders as my breath warms his skin. “You’re the most powerful prince in this room.”

“In the entire realm,” he mutters.

Fool.

He is a prince, not a king. And while the legends say it is out of respect for the fallen Faerie Queen, it’s also because none of these idiots are competent enough to unite the provinces into one realm.

I glide my fingers from his arms to his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. “I killed a portal yesterday,” I say.

His eyes go wide at the contrast between my words and my seductive tone.

“I killed it by myself. It was in my father’s province,” I add. “But you need to know that I did it. And I’ll kill every damn portal in your realm too, if I have to.”

Keryth rules over the northern tip of both the fae and the human realms. It’s riddled with portals, and the more links connecting the realms, the more powerful the prince who rules. It’s why the lowland princes are so unimportant now, powerless. Half of them aren’t even here at this ball. Midlands up, that’s where the real power is.

As long as the portals remain.

I have Keryth’s full attention now. “Your power is not your own. Your magic draws from the land. And if the portals in your province must be killed to protect us from the Red Cap invasion, well… Your power will fade.”

He opens his mouth, but I press a finger against his lips, silencing him. We’re not dancing now.

“You choose,” I whisper so that only he can hear me. “Help us defeat the Red Caps now, before they slaughter all the humans in Scotland, or watch as I take away all the power you think you have.”

“You wouldn’t—” he starts.