A Dream of Fate & Flesh (Courts of Malice #2)

17. Blue-Eyed Demon

seventeen

Blue-Eyed Demon

Alessia

“ M ake yourself comfortable,” Ezamae says, leaning against the doorframe, smirking.

I study his smooth face and quietude, wondering who this faerie is, not just in title but at his core.

What are his intentions? Why would he help me?

“This is the Aer Court?” I ask lamely, glancing around the space and its modest decor. It’s clean and tidy, but definitely too small for the amount of books crammed into it.

“We are on Aer Court grounds, yes,” Ezamae says. “This is my private dwelling.”

I’d call it a cozy cottage, but for someone as affluent as he is, it seems more like a tiny shack. The type of dwelling Char and I would reside in.

After seeing Umbra Court and Terra Court, I expected something more elaborate than this single-room dwelling. There are only two doors. One has a window reflecting back the room, the night dark beyond, and the other behind Ezamae appears to lead to a bathroom. Other than that, there’s a kitchenette, a sky-blue couch, and a roaring fire crackling in the hearth.

The ceiling is made of skylights, and when I squint past our reflections, I can make out the night sky and its abundance of stars.

I sit uncomfortably on the edge of Ezamae’s bed, which is sized for one—not that it matters, but it isn’t something I’d expect from the Prince of Pleasure . I’m reluctant to get comfortable for a multitude of reasons.

One, how can I possibly get comfortable with Rainer in danger?

Two, Gods only know how many activities these sheets have seen.

“My linen is not soiled if that concerns you.” His eyes twinkle with humor. “This space is off limits to… well, everyone else.”

“I’m considerably more concerned with finding Rainer,” I say flatly.

“Oh, he’s fine.” Ezamae inspects his fingernails, apparently unbothered by the evening’s events. “He’s in Yvanthia’s dungeons.”

Alarms go off inside me at the word dungeon , and I fidget, trying to quell the nervous energy. Who knows how they’re treating him down there. Will the blood he drank hold him over? How often does he need to drink?

“We need to go,” I say. “Immediately.”

He quirks a brow. “Shouldn’t you rest for a moment? You lost quite a lot of blood.” His nose wrinkles and his eyes wander to my neck.

My fingers graze the healed skin there. There’s a weird sense of loss with the proof of Rainer’s bite gone. I don’t fully understand it, but I almost regret allowing Eoin to heal me. Though the holes are closed, I hate to admit it, Ezamae is right. My head still swims, and my limbs feel weak.

There’s a solid chance I could use a meal and water, but I’m not desperate enough to ask. I’m familiar enough with these sensations, having grown up in neglect, and it won’t kill me as uncomfortable as it is. At least not yet.

Dragging my gaze from Ezamae’s lingering stare, I peruse the finer details of the room, including the various hand drawn maps hanging around the walls.

I stand carefully but have to grab the edge of the bed when my legs wobble.

“Easy,” Ezamae says softly.

Ignoring him, I reach for a book atop one of the nearest stacks. Gently, I trail my fingers across the rough red leather binding. I recognize the seven-pointed star—the one Ezamae said symbolized the seven courts. I flip it open. The inside title page reads Spiritus Court.

“Is this the missing court?” I flip through the pages, taking in the faded ink and yellow-stained paper.

Ezamae is quiet, and I glance at him. He avoids eye contact. “It’s not missing,” he says matter-of-factly. “It exists beneath Shyga.”

“What happened to it?”

He clears his throat. “It belonged to a demon bloodline. When Yvanthia exiled them…”

“The court was left unattended?” I surmise.

He nods.

I move to set the book back down, perusing others until another title piques my curiosity: Demons of Avylon. Carefully extracting it from the stack, I then flip it open and scan the table of contents. My eyes bounce over the list.

Banshees.

Chorts.

Gremlins .

Imps.

Incubi.

Malaisires.

Reapers.

Spiritcallers.

Succubi.

Vampyrs.

Wraiths.

My stomach turns to a ball of iron, sinking into my bowels as I reread the list, stopping at vampyrs.

“Rainer doesn’t deserve this fate,” I say, shutting the book and putting it back on the stack.

I don’t care to read it. I’d rather learn about Rainer from him than from a stuffy old book likely written from someone else’s perspective.

“We need to find him,” I demand, surprised by my steady voice. “If the queen truly hates demons, she will kill him.”

“He did attack another prince in his home court—unprovoked.”

“Don’t be an arse.” I narrow my eyes. “We both know Eoin is a little shite. He set it all up.”

“You will be relieved to know Yvanthia rarely disposes of those who hold value.”

“I don’t care,” I say, shrugging. “The sooner I free him, the better.”

Ezamae’s brows fly up. His shimmering silver hair appears almost golden in the glow of firelight. He appraises me. “He’s a fortunate male to have someone so devoted fighting on his behalf.” He smirks. “If he’s captivated you with that salacious bite, I can promise an even more exhilarating experience. ”

I growl, picking up his pillow and pelting him with it. “We are not allies. We are not friends. And if you dare try to use your sex magic on me, I will claw your eyeballs out.”

He chuckles, his body shaking as he leans his head against the wall behind him. “Rest assured, if I were ever to seduce you, it would be solely due to my wit and charm, not because of magical manipulation.”

“That will never happen.” Even though Rainer might drain my heart with every drop of blood, it remains his.

“Never is only never until it happens,” he says.

I ignore his cheeky comment. “Why are you helping me?”

He sucks in a sharp breath, rising to his feet. “Why not?” He tugs on his fancy jacket. “It keeps things rather interesting, does it not?”

After tonight, I’m sick of faerie princes and their misguided assistance. “Straight to the core, Ezamae. What’s in it for you?”

“Other than the kindness of my own heart?” He puts a hand on his chest, pouting. His thick, dark lashes frame his silver eyes dramatically.

I gaze at his fireplace, opting to watch the flames dance instead. “Don’t you have a court to run or something?” I mutter. The fire pops, and I flinch.

“Something like that.”

“Where is Aer Court, exactly?” I glance toward the front door, but it’s too dark to see beyond the window.

“Atop Mount Altum,” he says with a puffed-up chest.

“How far away is the queen’s dungeon?”

He mumbles something to himself, then adjusts his sleeves. “Quite a hike from here, but we should get there in no time. ”

Huffing my frustration at the faerie aversion, I stare him down. “You can’t teleport us? Or better yet, pop into wherever Rainer is and drop me off?”

“Windwalk,” he amends with a sigh.

“Windwalk me to Rainer.” Please .

No.

No more pleases.

“Do you want the good or bad news first?” he asks.

I groan. I’m not sure how things could get worse after tonight.

“Okay, bad news first. I can only windwalk so far at a time, especially with luggage.” He gestures toward me. “I need to replenish my power. But even so, I don’t think I can get us precisely to Yvanthia’s dungeons.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a powerful old crone.” He taps his chin contemplatively. “Although, it did seem as if her magic was stuttering out,” he mutters. “I imagine she didn’t personally escort you to the Gleam because she’s not of sound mind or body to do so, and it’s quite far away from Ethyria and—”

“Ethyria?”

“The biggest city in the realm. It’s where she holds court with the elders.”

“And the queen is sick?” My mind races, trying to devise a solution to save Rainer.

“She is old ,” he amends. “Old but powerful. Not to be underestimated. Knowing her, it could be a trick enticing us to underestimate her simply so she can make a lesson out of us.”

“Is everything in this realm a game to you guys?”

He grins. “Unfortunately not, although games certainly make things more interesting.”

“How do you replenish your magic?” I ask, strolling past his books and fingering the various textures. There’s an obvious lack of dust on anything. “Can you fill up so we can windwalk out of here?”

He smirks. “There’s a reason they call me the Prince of Pleasure.”

I squint at him, trying to understand what that has to do with anything. “Yes, and?”

“You asked how I replenish my magic.” He cocks a brow.

“Sex,” I whisper, scandalized. My eyes widen, and I retreat, putting space between us, until my back hits the door. Sennah mentioned something about his powers working in tandem. I shouldn't be surprised.

“You’re not thinking about running out of here, are you?” He gestures to the door. “Fine if you do, just be careful. Stride too far forward, and you’ll take a rather long spill down the mountain.”

I glance out the door. Does this mean I’m stuck here?

Ezamae laughs. “I’d also recommend staying in here since your human lungs likely aren’t used to the thin air at this elevation.”

Shite .

“I’m breathing just fine.”

“Because the air inside is controlled.” The humor has yet to dissipate from his face, and my annoyance grows.

Nothing about this is funny.

“Well, I must be going… unless you’re willing to assist me?” He cocks his head, leaving an opening for me to reply. I shake my head rapidly, and he chuckles. “Then I must be going before my power diminishes, leaving us in a bind.”

“ How ?” I ask, eyes wide with exasperation. He smiles again, and I shake my head and put up a hand. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. I meant, how does your enchanter power replenish your windwalking? I thought they were two different abilities.”

Sennah’s words come back to me: primary and secondary powers.

“Fae magic is unique to each wielder in that it manifests in various ways. There is always a price, a balance. Our magic intertwines within.”

I squint. “What’s the price you pay?” Certainly, being intimate isn’t a steep cost.

His humor melts, and discomfort flits across his features. It’s there and gone in an instant. He lazily shrugs a shoulder. “Doling out orgasms. Someone has to do it.”

Before I can reply, he disappears in a gust of sparkling air. The spot where he was shimmers for a moment, then the air settles, leaving no sign of the prince behind.

Placing a hand on my chest, I exhale heavily, grateful for his departure. That’s until the quiet of the cottage sinks in.

I pace for what feels like hours before giving up and lying on the bed. The fancy gown I’m still in squeezes my ribs, biting into all the wrong places.

Groaning, I get up to search for something practical to wear. There has to be something in here.

A chest at the foot of the bed proves fruitful, and I find an oversized navy tunic. Stripping out of the fabrics, I throw the shirt on, grateful I wore leggings beneath my skirts.

I sit back on the bed, sorting through my jumbled thoughts.

Is Rainer truly okay?

Am I safe here alone?

Instead of worrying myself senseless, perhaps sleep would be a better option. Ezamae will return when he’s ready. Sleeping will quiet my mind, and I can hopefully see Rainer. He can give me insight on how to find him.

I need to find him.

It was a lie when I told him our story only had an ending. We are just beginning our story, and I’m unwilling to accept that it might end before it has a real chance to start. I will never forgive myself if anything happens to him before I can express my true feelings.

My throat constricts with intense grief at the mere thought, making it hard to breathe.

If something happens to him—

No .

I refuse to entertain the thought for a second.

Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and try to doze off. My mind continues to race. For a moment, I’m no longer in the cottage. I pretend I’m back on my cot in the lord’s estate, with Char only inches away.

“Tell me a story,” I mumble, pretending she can hear me. “About the fae.”

As Char’s voice fills my mind, a distant memory of the only family I’ve ever known, I doze to sleep, desperate to greet my dreams.

Desperate to see the beautiful, blue-eyed demon.