and fear. I think this is a cruel, horrible power.”
There. I’d said it. This was what I had been thinking since the moment I’d woken from my first lament.
I didn’t want to be a banshee.
Staring up at him, I dared him to argue with me. He clenched his strong jaw, a muscle jumping near his ear as he stared back. He dropped his hand from my waist but only to take both my hands in his.
Opening his mouth to speak, he suddenly snapped it shut when a familiar, black-haired man with the devil in his smile appeared at his shoulder.
“Just tell her she’s pretty.” Flynn winked at me and cut between us. “Too slow. I’ve got her now.”
Flynn whirled me away, spinning me into the crush of dancers. Killian took one step toward us, but someone slid in front of him.
“No more sad faces, Genny,” Flynn said, twirling us so quickly his handsome features blurred. He held me tight against his chest, and I let myself shut his eyes.
It was easier to obey Flynn when he put things so simply.
“Okay.”
The lights came on at million-watt strength, wrenching me so hard from my dream I landed, painfully, back in reality.
Another day had begun.
Imogen
Since being imprisoned, time no longer held meaning. There was light and darkness. Awake and asleep. And that was it.
I’d resigned myself to it. This was my lot in life, and whether I deserved it or not, I no longer had control over my own destiny. Maybe I never had.
Yet, today was different.
After seeing the princes yesterday...after dreaming about them last night...time seemed to have meaning once again. As the minutes ticked by, my anxiety rose, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint why. It was like I could feel something hovering over the horizon—the metaphorical one, obviously, since I hadn’t seen the sun in a year—but I didn’t know what.
I wanted to believe it was a sense of doom, because the alternative was worse. I couldn’t allow myself to hope. Not when I’d already embraced the hopelessness that was Nightmare Penitentiary.
But I’d caught a whiff of morning dew again, and with it came optimism like I hadn’t felt in so long. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was my imagination. Either way, it made today different.
The slot in my door flipped open, and I assumed my barely edible dinner had arrived. But instead of the expected tray, I saw a book sliding through it.
Jumping up, I ran to the door and peeked through the slot. The prison librarian crouched on the other side, his grin wide behind his scraggly white beard.
“I don’t have much time,” he whispered. Since I was technically in solitary confinement, he wasn’t supposed to visit me. But he didn’t mind breaking the rules every once in a while. “I heard you had visitors yesterday.”
Of course, he had. Pretty sure there was very little that went on inside NP that he didn’t hear about it. It was a talent, really.
I scowled, trying to communicate that my visitors hadn’t been friendly ones.
He chuckled. “You’d think you’d be happier about a trio of Fair Folk princes traveling all the way from Tuatha to see you. Guess you’re not a royal-watcher.” After glancing both ways, he leaned closer. “Regardless, you’re the talk of the prison.”
I wanted to mention that he was probably responsible for the lion’s share of the gossip, but beyond rolling my eyes, there wasn’t a good way to convey it.
Pushing the book closer to my side of the slot, he added, “And, I discovered this book in the library this morning. Can’t imagine where it came from, but it’s clearly for you.” He winked. “Enjoy.”
And with that, he was gone.
I took the book and walked back to my bed. When I saw the title of the leather-bound volume, I almost smiled. Almost.
It was a book of Irish folk and fairy tales. I’d always thought it was funny that mortals were so obsessed with attempting to turn fact into fiction. If only they were able to look past what they didn’t understand, they’d see right through all of our magic and glamours. Deep down, they must not want to believe.
Killian and I had discussed the phenomenon on many occasions. Killian.
I looked down at the book again. Was it possible...?
Flipping through it, I searched for a note or some indication that he’d left it for me. But there was nothing.
Hope and then disappointment. The kind of disappointment that could shatter my already fragile soul.
This was why resignation was so