A Reckoning so Sweet (The Reckoning Book 3) Read online

  The Winter King is…not what I expected.

  He is tall, yes, and his ears are ridiculously long, but the rest of him is not akin to the other Fae. His white, icy-blue hair is cut short, spiky beneath his pointed crown. His nose is less arched, more defined than any other Fae I’ve seen. His bone structure is square and pronounced, and while he is thin, there is musculature. His stare is a bright, brilliant silver, one that causes me to freeze in the entryway of his throne room, where he sits expectantly, his cape hanging off the side of the arm rest.

  Those eyes…haunting and familiar. I want to turn tail and run away, even though I know I’ve never met him before.

  “Thank you, Prynn. You may leave us,” the King waves the Fae woman away.

  She gives me a supportive smile before she goes, and I swallow hard when I meet his heavy gaze. I shiver, leaning on a nearby column of ice for support. Is this entire place made of snow and ice? I know it’s the Winter Court, but, you know—cliché, right?

  “What is your name, Daughter of Man?” the King demands.

  It takes me a moment to formulate the letters, and I stutter in the cold, “L-Lexa.” It takes me so long because…well, because my mind is fuzzy, and at first, I couldn’t remember my own name. Weird.

  He stands in a smooth motion, heading toward me in long, elegant strides, his head cocked as he asks, “Are you frightened, Lexa?”

  Do not lie.

  As he draws closer, my eyes fall to the floor. My breath is short. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I…have been tricked by many Fae.” Elysia, the Queen, Raegar. None of the Fae were kind; they only wanted to use me for their own gain. To trick me and keep the truth from me. “You can’t blame me for feeling like that.”

  It’s a short while until he whispers, “No, I suppose I cannot. Let me try to assuage your fright, then. The Winter Court is not your enemy. We are more welcoming to outsiders than Aislinn’s Court. We protect those who are ours.”

  I keep quiet, not knowing what to say to him, not understanding why he’s trying to make me feel better about my current situation.

  “However, before that happens, you must give me something in return,” the King finishes, and my already sluggish heartbeat nearly stops.

  I lightly set a hand over my chest, over my heart, as I whisper, “I’m sorry. I have nothing to give.” My gaze remains on the floor. If I look at him, I fear I will fall into yet another Fae trap.

  “How very literal.” A hand enters my field of vision. “Come with me.”

  Do not anger him.

  I slowly slip my hand onto his, my short and stubby fingers dwarfed by his long, effeminate ones. Instead of putting my weak frame onto the column, I have to put it on him as we walk through the throne room, to a nearby hall.

  Large openings allow me to see the outside landscape—nothing but a snowstorm. Miles away, I can see where the forest begins, and the snow ends just like that. Like magic. Between the openings, numerous doors line the walls, made of a bluish wood, their hinges iced over. From the windows, it’s clear that the dozens of doors here do not lead anywhere. A strange way of decorating.

  “Raegar spoke of a meeting you had with Aislinn,” the King says, keeping hold of my arm as we pass a few doors, stopping in front of a particularly greyish blue one. “Was it about this?” With his free hand, he yanks the handle, and the door swings open.

  I should have known the doors aren’t for decoration.

  The King pulls me through the portal, and we step into the forest, the portal shimmering behind us in the root system of one of the large trees. A terrible stench enters my nose, and I hold in a gag. A black plague spreads across the ground, killing everything it touches, traveling up the trees and mushrooms, a sticky goo that envelopes anything that comes in contact with it—including, from the tiny skeletons poking out, pixies and other creatures of the forest.

  “She wanted me to fix it, somehow,” I say, my teeth chattering with the coldness that radiates from the King. “She wanted me to meet Gaia and find a way to stop it from spreading.” I recall how quickly the Queen’s demeanor changed. “I think she blamed me for it, but I’ve never seen this before. I’ve never heard of anything like it. I don’t know why she thought I could—”

  “Aislinn is a young queen. This will be her first Winter. What she does not know is that this,” he pauses, looking out at the decaying stuff, “has always been here. It is growing, but not as rapidly as she would have you believe. She is simply nervous because it grows in her kingdom, toward her Court. It does not grow toward mine.”

  I put two and two together. At least, I think I do. “You started this?”

  His laugh is cold, empty. “I did not. But I am certain Aislinn believes it.”

  “Why show me this? Why bring me here?”

  “Because I want you to know we are not like the Summer Court. We do not distrust outsiders. Anyone can pledge their allegiance to the Winter Court, and anyone can have its protection,” he says, adding quietly, “even you, Daughter of Man.”

  I finally lift my gaze, meeting his silver stare. My breath catches. Flashes of blood in my head, images of a wing and sounds of screams, but they’re gone as soon as they arrive. I’m holding his hand, but when did he get this close to me? Why do I feel like I want to believe everything he is telling me? Before I can say anything, his free hand appears before me, holding an icy blue apple, very similar to the ones Prynn tried to give me. The ones I didn’t eat.

  I slowly take it, studying it as the King says, “Accept Winter, Lexa. Accept me into your heart, and my Court will welcome you as its sister.”

  I shouldn’t hesitate. I should toss the apple as far as I can throw it. But…I feel tired. I feel weak. What I should do and what I end up doing are two separate things.

  I bite into the apple.

  My reflection stares back at me, a different woman than I remember. My skin paler, whiter than it’s ever been. My eyes lighter, a watery blue. My black hair, pulled back into a bun, frosted with ice. My lips are blue without any makeup, and my nails sparkle like the snow. My body seems thinner than it did before, my ears curving into a point.

  I’m looking less human with each passing day.

  It’s been two days since the feast where King Weylon announced to his Court his intent to marry me, along with the intentions of birthing a new race—one that would know no Summer or Winter, Fae that would dominate all. It was, of course, met with cheering. I felt hollow inside, at first, but he assured me that it was normal, that the only reason Raegar did not feel the same was because his change, his oath, was not as sudden as mine.

  Raegar. I still disliked him for what he did to me, bringing me here against my will, but from tonight onward, my disdain must be kept to myself.

  Tonight is a special occasion. Not only will I say the oath that binds me forever and always to the Winter Court, but I will also become Weylon’s wife, the Queen of Winter. I should be happy. I should be thankful that I have a future, even though I also have a past I cannot remember.

  I lightly touch the dazzling white stone hanging around my neck. Heavy as it is, it is beautiful. The way it shines in the light, how it—

  An image of a golden brace on my wrist startles me out of my thoughts, but just as soon as it appears, it is gone. My wrist is bare once again.

  I stand, pushing myself out of the chair and heading to the hall. When I leave my bedchamber, I stumble to the wall, my feet catching on the train of my white, sparkly dress. I happen to glance to my hand on the wall, seeing a yellow band again. Something vague, from my old world, that I cannot remember. It vanishes with another blink.

  Prynn spots me, rushing to my side. “Are you all right, my Queen?” She helps me stand.

  The strange band is gone. Finding my voice, I say, “I am, thank you. And I am not your Queen yet.”

  She gives me a smile as I stand fully on my own. “Oh, but you are. Beautiful and kind, you are just what the Court needs, what t
he King needs.”

  “Thank you, Prynn,” I say. “Will you walk with me, in case I have another spell?”

  She nods, and as we start to walk, she gasps. “My Queen! Are you…are you with child already? I knew your kind was fertile, but so soon—”

  I wave her off. “We are waiting until our marriage is seen in the eyes of Gaia.”

  Her nose scrunches, and she whispers, “A human thing.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. A human thing. I’m not feeling very human at the moment, so I’m grateful for each human thing I can remember.

  “You will see his wings,” Prynn says with a dreamy sigh. “I have not seen them myself, but I hear they are spectacular.”

  “When you have no wings,” I say, my back free of them, “any pair is spectacular.” We round a corner, and a wave of dizziness sweeps over me. My walking slows, and I’m unsteady on my feet. “Prynn,” I whisper, “something is—” Eyes closing, I fall, passing out.

  I wake in a desolate place. Snow sits around me, small hills behind me. Before me, a great, wide pool of water sits, utterly frozen. Standing, I dust myself off. The snow is up to my knees.

  “This isn’t you,” a dark, deep voice states, as if it’s simple. As if I could agree. “None of this is you.” The voice is powerful, strong, and it shakes me to my icy core.

  Turning, I face the owner of the voice. The snow around his feet melts instantly, vapor rising into the air with each step as he draws closer to me. The way that he looks at me, I decide it makes me uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know you,” I say.

  Dimples appear on his cheeks. He is now less than an arm’s reach away. “You don’t, do you?” With a sigh and a growing smile, he murmurs, “What mess have you gotten yourself into now, Lexa?”

  “Do not speak my name,” I state, trying to sound like a queen. “I do not know you.”

  “Maybe I should remind you, then,” he says, his hands gripping my face. Before I can shout any words of warning, he brings his lips to mine.

  At first I fight it, but it feels so good, so warm, that I can’t. My eyes close, my hands move to his chest. Wide and strong, the smell of a musky campfire. The ice in my heart melts as the snow around us does. I’m filled with a warm, bubbly feeling; my entire body tingles. I feel better than I have in a long time.

  Our lips part barely an inch, and I whisper, staring into his deep blue eyes, “Dagon.”

  “Wherever you are, Lexa,” he pleads with me, “do not make a scene. I am close.”

  “How?”

  “I made David do the spell again, after I found a new crystal.”

  I grow alarmed. David was already exhausted with keeping our group with clean water. I felt bad making him do the spell once, but a second time?

  Dagon sees the look on my face, quickly saying, “David is okay. Deb…isn’t.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “We have to—”

  “We will get back, somehow. For now, getting you is my main priority.”

  I feel a tug, and we part arms. Around us, a warm, tropical beach stands, its waters no longer frozen and the sand dunes free of snow. “I’m waking up, Dagon.”

  “I’ll be there within the hour.” He’s fifteen feet away; the beach is stretching us apart. “It’s harder than I thought—my power isn’t as—” And that’s the last thing I hear from him as I’m ripped from the dream.

  The coldness of the Winter Court’s halls greets me as I regain consciousness, a concerned Prynn leaning over me. She tucks some of her white hair behind a tall ear when my eyes open. She sighs in relief.

  I say nothing as I stand. The coldness around me doesn’t bother me anymore. I still don’t have my Mark, I see, nor do I have Athena’s and Demeter’s boons. Though the important bits are covered, I feel naked.

  “Lead me to him,” I say, moving away as she tries to help me walk. For the first time, I feel fine. I feel great. I feel ready to rumble with any Fae who gets in my way.

  I remember everything.

  I try to last through the meal without making a fuss. I fiddle with the knife in my hand, toy with my food, and make small talk with the Fae who tried so very desperately to make me his baby-machine. Of course, the meek Lexa only goes so far.

  And she’s not that reliable, apparently.

  “So,” I say, watching as the Winter King eats all that sits before him. Plates of icy meat and fruit. None look appetizing to me, not anymore. “How many children do you want?”

  “As many as your body can handle.”

  I smile. “Wonderful. I always wanted a flock of mini-mes running around, getting into trouble.” Cutting into the meat, I abruptly change the subject, “I remember you saying something about a Child of Night. Is he here?”

  Cloud is, after all, the reason I wound up here. It’d be nice if he was actually here, and we could bring him back with us. It could help relieve a bit of my guilt.

  “No. Many moons ago, my scouts spotted one. He would not return to Court with them. Odds are the forest has eaten him alive by now.” The King pauses, his icy silver stare meeting mine. “How did you know the Child of Night was a man?”

  I wait a moment, recalling Prynn’s words do not lie to him. Who is this Fae to me? Not my King, and certainly not my husband. “Prynn was talking about him. I told her we call them Vampires. Not as elegant as Child of Night.”

  He seems to accept my answer, nodding. “True. It is not. If there is one thing Fae are good at, it’s turning things into drawn-out affairs and elegance.”

  Also being liars by twisting the truth, but that’s neither here nor there. As far as I know, he hasn’t lied to me. He just wants my womb. Everybody does.

  “You know,” I say, “back in my world, I was always the odd one out. Marked since birth. My only friend is a Warlock who’s over three hundred years older than me. I was the outcast, mostly of my own doing, I guess.”

  King Weylon tilts his head, his eyes—a silver that reminds me of the blasted betrayer Gabriel—bearing into me. “Marked? What does that mean?”

  “You Fae have souls, I’m sure. It might be the magic of this place, or something else, but they seem to hardly ever die. My kind does, and our souls either go to the Underworld, or they revert back to the Demons who own them. They have complete control over us in life, and in death.”

  I stop, gripping my silverware tighter. “My parents sold my soul to a Demon before I was even born. I didn’t know who it was, or when it would come. I’m a special cookie, you see, the most unique snowflake there is—because my soul doesn’t belong to a Demon. It belongs to the son of the Devil himself.”

  “And this Devil,” Weylon says, very interested in my tale, “is he some sort of king on your world?”

  “Not my world. He’s the King of Hell, like you’re the King of Winter and Aislinn the Queen of Summer.” Having one hundred percent of his attention, I add, “You don’t know much about apocalyptic prophesies, do you?”

  Before he has the chance to respond, I say, “Well, I do. I have a lot of experience with them. Four Horsemen—War, Pestilence, Conquest and Death. I met them all. I’ve also met Hades, Zeus, Hera, Demeter, Athena, Aries, Aphrodite—stop me when I get to a name you know—Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel—”

  Weylon narrows his gaze, finally catching on. “You are more than you seem.”

  I nod, probably giving him my crazy-eyed look. “Turns out there’s a big beast living in my world, at its very bottom. The Titans, apparently. Zeus overthrew them a long time ago, but he couldn’t kill them. Now they’re about to escape, and everybody and their brother wants to fight each other, and fight it. Whoever wins—if anybody wins—will get to rule over everything.” I curl my fingers into a fist and rest my chin on them. “Isn’t that just the best story you’ve ever heard?”

  “Whatever is happening on your world is none of your concern, not anymore,” he tries to tell me.

  “I came here to find my friend—the Vampire—but I’m also looking for a Prim
ordial. Any idea if one’s around?” I give him my warmest smile. “Gaia, maybe? The Greek gods talked about her, I assume she has to be important.”

  Weylon bangs his fist on the table, shouting, “Gaia would never help your world! She was cast out, forgotten and betrayed, and in her womb, this realm was born, we were born. Gaia will not lend your world any aid.”

  “Not if I don’t give her a choice—” A hand closes around my throat, ice forming where his hand touches my skin.

  Ice spikes form on the table, and his snarl is a menacing one. Until now, Weylon was the king of civility. Leave it to me rile him up, specifically when I was told not to do anything stupid. His snarl wavers. “You are warm.”

  “Sorry about that,” I speak into the table.

  “How?” His hold on me lightens in his confusion.

  A third figure appears in the room. “Because she is mine.”

  As much as my feminist side hates that saying, another part of me loves it, because of who said it: Dagon.

  “Weylon, meet the owner of my soul,” I talk into the plate I’m smashed in. “The owner of my soul, meet the Fae King who wants to put lots of babies in me.” That does the trick.

  With a roar, Dagon rips Weylon off me, growling, “How very tired I am of hearing the word baby.” He’s about to throw the Fae King to the other side of the room, but soon Fae soldiers appear, drawing their swords and bows. Dagon waves a hand, as if he expects fire to erupt at their feet, but nothing happens. It seems this realm is messing with his magic, too.

  A series of whispers fill the room, causing all the Fae to freeze to ice; even the king is iced over in Dagon’s chokehold. This way, the whispers say in unison, and a gust of glittering snow rolls to the hall to my left, directly past the frozen group of Fae warriors. Quickly.

  I slap Dagon’s arm, saying, “Come on!” I run to the hall, my speed only as fast as the dress allows.

  Dagon drops Weylon, and I do my best to ignore the crack that I hear. I hope that was the floor and not Weylon’s icy body—not that the Fae deserves any favors. Still, I’d rather not set the Fae realm topsy-turvy by accidentally killing its Winter King.