I was back in the manor.

  I could make out the grand foyer some distance behind me, its lush shades of blue and pearl shimmering in the flickering candlelight. The walls around me were luminous with cascades of moonlight through looming, crystal-clear panes of glass set every few steps. The moon was full and round, just as it had been the past few nights.

  I wonder if the sky ever changes? They keep calling it the ‘Night Court’; does that mean it’s never daytime? Is there never sunlight? How awful.

  It seemed a silly thing to focus on, standing in this cold and malevolent prison. So instead I chose to turn my attention towards something a bit more helpful.

  The bolt.

  It was clutched tightly between my thick woolen gown and one white-knuckled hand. I rubbed my thumb along its glassy surface, breathing evenly.

  It worked. I’m able to bring things here. That settles it, then; why he keeps dragging me back. He’s hoping I’ll have the shard with me. But now… now I have a way to defend myself.

  My nightdress had no pockets, so hiding the bolt would be awkward. But not impossible. I tucked gray cloth over the silver and then bunched the fabric together with one hand.

  There. Perhaps I’ll look a bit odd, clutching at my gown while I walk, but it’s better than nothing.

  And then the next question… where was he? The hallway was entirely empty, and there was no noise or movement from the foyer. Closed doors lined one side of the wall, each one bathed in ghostly silver from an adjacent window.

  I chewed my lip and spent a long moment in thought. If I went back towards the foyer, I would be in somewhat familiar territory- at least, as familiar as I could be. If I continued down the hallway I might find… well, anything, really. For all I knew he had treasure or weapons stashed away in one of these rooms.

  My eyes slid to one of the tall windows, and to the immaculate sky beyond it. I spent a long moment staring, struck nearby breathless by the sight.

  The foyer. That’s the smart thing to do. Then if I need to run, I’ll… well. I’ll certainly still be caught, but if I’m to be tortured or killed then at least it will be somewhere beautiful and not trapped in all this awful marble.

  I squared my shoulders and crept along, flinching at every flickering light, until I was back in front of the grand staircase. It was still dark at the top. The shadows of the manor’s upper level seemed unwilling to yield to starlight.

  “Children at play.”

  I jumped. The voice had sounded feminine, and was very faint. I clenched my fingers around the bolt and looked around.

  “Insolence.” The reply was deep and low. Him. I trembled.

  It was coming from the very wide hallway underneath the staircase, the one that stretched- presumably- towards the manor’s far side. I inched closer, holding my breath.

  “Surely the antics of a few-”

  “Shall I use a smaller word for you?” His voice was dripping with menace. “Treason, perhaps?”

  Silence snaked its way through the foyer. I was now just past the staircase landing, beside another wrought iron sconce, and could see that the space in front of me was less of a transitional area and more like some type of gallery. There were paintings framed in gold and pearl and vivid blue, a crystal dais that twisted up into a wide pedestal set with elegantly curved goblets and sparkling decanters, otherworldly statues carved of ivory and alabaster and some stone blacker than sin, and… more doors. One of which was closed, but through which I could make out the muffled voices.

  “My lord,” the woman’s voice was unhappy but contrite, “It will not happen again.”

  “On your word alone?” I could practically picture him sneering.

  Another long pause. And in that silence, I heard something else. A sharp, quick inhalation of breath. Coming from just there…

  I staggered back, a scream dying in my throat. The not-child was standing beneath one of the statues, peering up at me with its enormous white eyes. Its red lips peeled back, baring those thin, curving teeth, and it gave a little hiss.

  “I smelled you before.” Its voice was still childish and high-pitched, but all traces of sinister playfulness had vanished. Now it sounded confused and quite angry.

  I turned and ran. Instinct sent me straight for the grand double doors. I made it six steps and then slammed to a halt. The little figure was in front of me, between me and the exit, squinting up and sniffling at the air.

  “You tried to hurt Forthys!”

  I stepped back, trying to think of what response might deter the creature. My fist clenched tightly over the bolt and the muscles of one arm tightened, ready to lift and thrust forwards- gods, could I actually stab something?! I wasn’t sure- and then there was the sound of footsteps behind me.

  “And now your whelp is terrorizing someone else’s property, Saerith. Have you no sense of decorum?”

  I wasn’t sure whom I was more afraid of, so instead of fully turning to face the danger behind me I sank to one side, heart pounding, as the not-child took a step back and lowered its eyes. It mumbled something angrily as the footsteps grew louder.

  “Behave, Vessa,” the woman growled. I turned and caught my breath, eyes widening.

  Just as he was beautiful beyond words, the woman before me was positively mesmerizing. She was willow-thin, with skin the color of freshly fallen snow and long silver hair that glinted and glittered like a cascade of diamonds. Ice-blue veins traced patterns beneath her skin, and I almost thought I could see the motion of fluid within them. Her eyes were pearl-colored and very large, framed by long lashes that seemed to catch and reflect the flickering candlelight. I tightened my fist and flinched back, hitting the marble wall behind me as she approached.

  But the figure brushed past, paying me no mind, and attended to- apparently- Vessa. The little Fae in front of me grumbled something else and flicked its gaze towards mine with a little hiss.

  “Yes, but we don’t take food unoffered,” the woman crooned. One elegant, bejeweled hand stroked Vessa’s white hair and her hypotonic eyes finally fixed on me. She curled her lip and then looked with something akin to polite incredulity towards the figure doubtlessly looming behind me. “Have you begun keeping humans, my lord? I’d heard the rumor, but it seemed… unlikely.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Keeping humans. Like we’re pets. My stomach roiled, and I recalled his words from our last encounter. ‘For entirely banal purposes. Amusement. Breeding.’ Gods, I was going to be sick.

  He was silent for a moment. The woman’s icy eyes flicked back towards me. Appraising for a moment, then dismissive. “Rumor?”

  She ran her tongue along her lower lip and looked back up at him through exquisite lashes. “Ah… apparently some of our peers caught wind of mortal blood just the other night. Out in the garden, after your celebration.” I winced, wondering frantically if she was referring to when I had pricked my wrist a few nights ago. Had those few tiny drops of blood been enough to alert monsters that I was here? Had I been in even more danger than I’d realized? There are a thousand things here that would love to savor your flesh. I shivered and pressed myself even harder into the wall, as if I could simply melt away into it. Her lips twitched. “Lord Embriel was quite vexed over it.”

  “Mortal blood? What a shame.” He chuckled and a chill ran up my spine. “No, Saerith, I am not amusing myself with vagrants. Perhaps someone on the grounds is saving her for later.” I felt the blood drain from my face. It wasn’t because of the implication towards me- I knew exactly why I had been brought here, after all, though I did wonder at his choice of words with this otherworldly woman- but rather the sheer flippancy of his tone. As if monsters here quite regularly kept humans around to ‘amuse themselves’ with.

  I looked over in poorly-contained horror, but he seemed entirely disinterested in my reaction. Disinterested in me altogether, actually. His unusual eyes were narrowed at the graceful figure behind me.

  “Of course. I thought it seemed… ah, a bit of an antiquated thing to suggest, my lord.” I looked back in time to see her lips curl back into something between a smile and a sneer. Her mouth was the same hue of blood-red as the child’s. And, like the child’s, the teeth behind her lips were too many, too thin, too curved and much too sharp. I bit back a whimper.

  “I did not invite you here for idle gossip, Saerith.”

  She straightened and laid one elegant hand on Vessa’s shoulder. The little Fae was glowering, her luminous eyes fixed hatefully on me.

  “Of… of course. This,” the hand tightened, sharp nails digging into the cloth and flesh beneath it, and Vessa gave a little hiss, “Will not happen again.”

  “Good. I’ll trust you to keep your word. And,” he stalked past me and dropped to one knee, so that he was eye-level with the smaller figure, “Trust that I will be much less forgiving if there is another incident.”

  Vessa’s eyes fell to the floor. She said nothing, but her small white hands curled into fists.

  Saerith cleared her throat. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He rose. “You are dismissed.”

  The little Fae’s white eyes settled on me again. Her lip curled and those awful, snake-like teeth bared into a snarl- and then her mother drew her away towards the foyer and the grand ivory doors, murmuring things in a soft but harsh tone.

  I held my breath, heart pounding, until I heard the quiet scrape of stone against marble. When the door clicked shut, I was left in silence.

  But not alone.

  He turned and acknowledged me for the first time. “You were later than I expected, mortal. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t sleep.”

  I swallowed tightly, trying to calm my racing heart. “If only.”

  He chuckled and walked forwards, towards the door he and the Fae woman had emerged from. Without knowing what else to do, I followed.

  It opened into a small parlor decorated in lush reds and golds and blacks, with iron bookshelves lining the far wall. Once inside he ushered me towards an ornate, circular little table wrought from night-black metal and studded with rubies. On top of it was a small iron chest and a clear crystal decanter filled with garnet-hued wine. There were two chairs set opposite each other, each made of twisting metal but lined with plush red cushions. He moved to sit in the far one, then idly picked up and sipped at a crystal goblet half-full of something that looked like fresh blood and smelled like currants.

  I waited with baited breath, my right fist trembling over the glass-smooth witchwood. I pressed the weapon tightly into the thick folds of wool around my thigh.

  I am not defenseless. I may be trapped, at least until Teela wakes me up, but I… if he tries to hurt me I can hurt him, too.

  The thought was immediately followed by a cold swell of fear at the idea of what the monster sitting in front of me would do if he saw me holding a weapon specifically designed to kill him.

  I sank into the empty chair, pulse thrumming. The table obstructed his view of my lower half, so there was no concern of him noticing the weapon. Yet. He said nothing for a while, just sipped his wine and regarded me, seemingly lost in thought. Eventually the silence was unbearable.

  “What you said to that… that woman… is that to be my fate?” My voice quavered. “You’ll just feed me to something after you get what you want?”

  He scoffed. “‘Feed you to something’? How barbaric.”

  “You said-“

  “I’m sure your flesh and memories and hopes would all make a fine meal for someone in this realm, mortal. But I have no intention of letting you satiate some lackey’s baser needs.”

  My blood turned to ice. “M-memories? What…?”

  He waved a hand absently. “Memories, fears. Secrets, laughter… a feast, for the right Fae.”

  Salt, I think I’m going to be sick. It’s not enough for these monsters to kill people, first they… what, take pieces of them?! The nauseating thought was followed by another, and I somehow managed to voice it aloud. “And what… what do you… f-feast on?”

  He regarded me for a moment, eyes glinting like freshly drawn steel. Then one corner of his lips curved upwards. “Dreams.”

  I was on my feet, backing away. Dreams. He eats dreams. Is he… is that what this is? Gods, what does that even mean?!

  He looked amused. “You’re welcome to run, as you have been. It’s only prolonging the inevitable.”

  I staggered to the door and clutched the knob with one shaking hand. The other hand remained clenched, vice-like and nearly numb with terror, around the sharpened witchwood. “The… inevitable?”

  “I’d prefer it to be bloodless, but that is entirely up to you.”

  I’d prefer not to get blood on my nice carpet, is what he means. I stood staring at the doorframe, my fingers trembling over the cold iron, and whispered, “So this ends with me dying, then?”

  There was a faint rustle of cloth from behind me, as if he’d stood. My shoulders stiffened and my knuckles turned white as I pulled the door open. “Quite a dour creature, aren’t you? This ends with you returning my stolen property.”

  “Stolen?” I whirled around. He had indeed stood, but had actually moved away from me; he was standing near one of the bookcases, idly thumbing one hand along leather-bound spines and sipping his glass of wine.

  He glanced my way, then resumed examining his collection. “Stolen.”

  “By you!” I cried. “You took it from Fellbrook!”

  “‘Fellbrook?’”

  “My home!”

  “Ah. What a… charming… title.”

  I moved forwards, practically vibrating with anger. He glanced over and one corner of his mouth twitched upwards. I was about to continue shouting when he pulled a heavy-looking tome off the shelf and held it out in my direction.

  I stared for a long, tense moment. “What… what am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Traditionally, they’re read.” He took another drink and then placed his glass back on the table. After a moment he turned to face me fully, frowning. “Ah. Are you… literate?”

  Heat flooded my face. “Yes! I meant, why are you giving me a book?”

  One dark eyebrow quirked upwards and he leaned forwards a bit, lowering his voice. “…For you to read, mortal.” His lips twitched again. I was given the distinct impression that this powerful, vicious monster was mocking me.

  I swallowed, trying to calm my racing heart. A book? What is he playing at? “Wh-what… what do you mean… you ‘eat dreams’?”

  He pondered the question for a moment, brows furrowed. “A true answer to that would take more time to give than we have. Will it assuage some of your seemingly limitless terror if I say I have not been feeding on your dreams?”

  I stared in disbelief. “Will it… no. No. Why would I believe anything you say?!”

  “Because I am not your enemy.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  He actually rolled his eyes. The gesture was so nearly human that I found myself shaking my head in bewildered fury.

  Not my enemy? After what happened to Fellbrook, to Royce?! Why would he-

  “Humans are exhausting,” he muttered, frowning at me again. “You’re the first one I’ve ever truly had a conversation with- if your incessant shouting and accusations and tears can all be considered conversation. Is this behavior normal for your kind?”

  “Well, it is when we’re being threatened by monsters!”

  “You’re shouting again.”

  “Of course I’m-!”

  “Enough.” In the blink of an eye he had crossed the distance between us and was looming over me. I fell back with a sharp gasp and flung both hands up, one clutched iron-tight around the weapon now pointed directly at his side…

  I felt more than heard the impact of razor-tipped wood against silk, and then the resistance of flesh, and then the horrible give as it sank in almost eagerly. There was a hiss of pain and a hot exhalation of breath and then-

  I ran.