Page 3 of How to Claim A Shadow King

Pennants fly overhead in a bevy of colors and patterns, and music drifts across the late afternoon and early evening air.

It feels different here, and I’m caught between hope at the realization that this town is much lovelier than I anticipated and despair that the reason I’m here is to be married off to some stranger.

Lowering my skirts, I stride past the pastry shop window and peek inside. A glass counter dominates one side of the shop, overflowing with pastel confections and tiny iced cakes, and a sign on the door reads that they’re closed for the festival.

“A festival?” I ask, casting a side long glance at my guard. Guards, now, considering the two who rode outside the coach are now following along in my wake.

“Up ahead,” one manages, tilting his head at where the music does indeed seem to be emanating from.

“On with ye,” another says, gesturing for me to keep walking.

I want to glare at him, because I truly hate being told what to do, and it’s obvious that if I want answers about who it is I’m marrying today that I should probably head to where the whole town seems to have coalesced.

“Right,” I say, attempting for cheer and landing on brittle instead. “Why not?”

I shrug a shoulder, and the guards just close ranks around me.

It’s not comforting.

And still, I cannot seem to shake the feeling that someone is watching me⁠—

“Oh!” I gasp. A red fox darts out around the alleyway, disappearing into the crowd ahead. I follow its progress, squinting in the gloaming dark as lanterns flicker on around us.

As we approach, massive tents in a myriad of fall colors loom over the streets, and it’s easy to see many, many hours of work have been put into this day.

Tables overflow with all sorts of food, pies, and roast meats and platters of vegetables. One table is simply cakes of every color and shape imaginable, and a three-tier fountain burbles as people dip ladles into it, filling their cups.

Not just people, either, but creatures of all kinds, creatures that I’ve never laid eyes on in my life, despite my time in the cities near Stormspire.

Minotaurs and sprites and sylphs and tall, elegant human-looking creatures with gently tinted skin and pointed ears that scream of their Fae lineage.

“Elves,” one of my guards mutters, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

A cluster of younger women catch my attention, all speaking rapidly and excitedly, and I can make out their laughter over the sound of the string quartet playing in the corner.

One woman’s her chestnut hair makes her bright eyes all the more intense, and next to her, a male of massive proportions, green skin and muscled beyond all comprehension.

A thrill of surprise and delight makes me shiver.

“Orc,” grates the guard next to me. “Be on your guard, men, we must make sure the duchess is wed this eve⁠—”

“This eve?!” I turn on him, my hands on my hips, and the haughtiest stare I can manage to paste on my face. “Whatever do you mean, this eve? Surely this isn’t my wedding⁠—”

I can’t get the next words out. I clutch at my throat, my eyes wide.

The music stops.

“You have summoned us, and we come to collect,” a voice booms out.

My skin crawls, power—magic, unheard of in my lands—washing over me in an immense and unearthly wave.

I turn, slowly, and it’s like fighting through molasses, to where the voice is coming from.

Three huge figures stand on the dance floor, in front of the clearly terrified musicians. Long black cloaks hide their bodies and faces from view, and an unspeakable horror fills me as the first of them raises a hand.

“It has been a long, long time since mortals have summoned the likes of my brothers and I,” the middle specter’s voice is deep, bell like. It is not human, not at all, and I swallow as he tugs his hood off. Antlers jut from his head, arching back. His eyes are the deep green of primeval forests, mist-covered and ancient. He straightens, his gaze beyond me, at one of the women who I’d envied for their easy friendship. She pales, stricken, then straightens.

“You request our power, our assistance, at the autumn solstice,” the horned being continues, looking through the crowd like sifting sand. “You call us forth with charms—” his eyes cut back to the woman. “—and the promise of new life.”