Cursed Shadows 1 (The Dark Fae): Dark Romance Enemies to Lovers Fantasy (Cursed Shadows (The Dark Fae)) by Quinn BLACKBIRD

Author:Quinn BLACKBIRD [BLACKBIRD, Quinn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-28T00:00:00+00:00

Like last time, the flat roof of the tower is peppered with thick cushions and warm furs and glowjars. Eamon helped me pinch it all from around the garrison. Looted even the cases of honeywine he seems to be helping himself to as I wander through the archway.

His golden-amber eyes lift, his grip loose on a bottle he’s worked halfway through already, and the wide grin that sweeps his warm face is a guilty one.

But I only pay him a heartbeat’s thought before I shift my attention to the large, feathery cushion opposite Eamon. The one with the slender female who twists around to look at me.

Aleana.

We haven’t really talked yet. Nothing beyond a tight smile in passing or exchanged greetings when I’ve stopped Eamon in the corridors to chat to him for a few moments, update him on Pandora’s health or complain about Taroh.

Aleana… She’s hogging my friend.

But I don’t find any resentment in me as she, too, gives me a grin that reeks of honeywine and guilt.

I wander over to them, pausing only to snatch up a bottle from the wood crate for myself.

I drop onto the plush plum-velvet cushion, my favourite one because I can recline on it and the way it shifts under my weight forces enough feathers to support my back. It’s a good reading cushion. Also it gives me a good view of the archway entrance, so I feel a tad safer.

I’m so desperate for the familiar embrace of the honeywine that I have tugged out the cork and lifted the bottle to my lips by the time Eamon speaks—and his tone has darkened, his smile vanished.

“Taroh.”

That’s all he says and it’s enough. I watch his darkening eyes run me over, taking in the dishevelled state of my hair, the tear streaks on my cheeks, and the small rip in my forest-green skirt.

Aleana is quiet for a moment.

She considers me. Her posture—better than my slumped one with my legs splayed out and a bottle to my lips as I gulp too eagerly—is prim and upright. Yet the fatigue lives in her somewhat sagged shoulders, as it does in the shadows under her eyes, and the dryness of her hair. I think of her brother, his hair that glistens like ink, like tar, like it’s forever damp, eternally caught in a light drizzle of rain.

Then Aleana asks, her voice like silk, “Why not tell your father?”

I drop the bottle from my lips with a pop and an ahh. My weary, bloodshot eyes turn on her.

The smile that steals my lips is bitter. “Maybe I don’t want to know what he’ll say.”

Will you still sell me to Taroh if you know what he does to me? Will you love me and keep me safe—or choose the tocher, the connections, the alliance?

Maybe I fear the latter so greatly, I can’t so much as imagine telling father about the assaults.

Aleana just looks at me.

And I stare back.

Can feel Eamon’s gaze sliding back and forth between us, feel the

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