Page 5 of How to Claim A Shadow King

“Better?” he asks, tilting his head.

He reminds me of a cat that used to roam my keep, a long time ago, a black cat who loved to slink around corners and attack things.

The cat had the same look in its eyes that this… being does now.

I take a step back, smoothing my skirts, all too aware of the way his gaze follows the heaving line of my breasts.

“You are mine now, little witch.” He taps a long, elegant finger against his chin. “Whatever am I to do with you?”

“For starters,” I say primly, “I am not a witch. And you could tell me your name.”

“My name?” he appears affronted, staring at me with dark, endlessly black eyes.

“Indeed,” I say. “That is usually how these things go.”

“Is it?” He stares at me.

It’s unsettling. I harrumph and raise my chin, taking the moment to get my bearings.

We’re not in the tents anymore. There are no tables piled with food, no fountain for drinks, no revelers, no musicians. The colorful silks have been replaced by thick boughs, the townspeople by tree trunks and ferns.

We’re not in the Wild Oak Woods anymore, either. Old, weathered stones lay in front of us, a ruin, ivy and brambles and trees doing their best to reclaim the structure for nature.

My skin prickles, and when I glance back up, he’s closer still, examining me.

I clear my throat delicately. “Am I to call you something? I assume there is a reason you brought me… ah, to wherever this is.”

“They called me Malakai.” He’s studying me as if he’s never seen a woman before, his eyes sweeping across my face slowly, my neck, my collarbone.

“I’m Aveline of Stormspire, the last of the ducal line,” I tell him abruptly. “And I’d like to know why I am here, and where, exactly, here is.”

Yes, those two seem like good places to begin. I nod to myself in agreement.

“You are here because you are mine.” He regards me for a long time, in that silent, unsettling way of his.

“Right.” I narrow my eyes at him and smooth my dress. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

A breath passes. Another.

“Come,” he finally says. “Let me show you our home.”

Our home. His.

“Are we to marry?” I ask him, holding my skirts with both hands and attempting to keep pace behind him. The cream of my dress is beyond ruined now, the wet earth soaking into the hem in a way that I’m not sure I possess the skills to fix.

“Marry?” he repeats, stopping short.

I run into his bare back, his sheathed blades knocking against my shoulders, and lose my balance, nearly falling back onto the ground.

Something catches me round the waist, and when I glance down, a dark, writhing shadow helps me stand back upright.

Oh.

I swallow hard, my ears ringing.

“Do all humans have such trouble with their legs?” He watches me carefully, gaze slipping to where my ankle’s just exposed.

“Do you?” I ask. “Have trouble with your legs?”