The Fae King's Dream (Between Dawn and Dusk #2) - Jamie Schlosser Page 0,50

but I realize he forgot his shirt as my cheek is warmed by his chest.

“I’ll avenge your parents, my dream girl.” He drops a kiss to the top of my head.

“I wish I could do it myself.”

Maybe there’s viciousness in me after all. Because I want to inflict pain on the ones responsible for their deaths. Dark thoughts swirl in my mind—images of bloodshed, screams, and pleas for mercy I refuse to give.

Damon’s lips curl up in a wicked smirk, as if he knows my thoughts. “If I can deliver the opportunity to you, I will.”

Whitley

Walking into a dining hall full of half-dressed warriors is a little intimidating. Most of them don’t have shirts on, and I’ve never seen so much black leather all in one place. Their voices and raucous laughter die down when they see us.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Curtsy? Wave?

Fortunately, Damon simply orders, “Carry on,” and they do.

I spy Quinn and Kirian at a table, along with the rest of our group. The girls look out of place in the colorless room. Quinn, with her pink sweatshirt and jeans. Isla in a light blue gown almost identical to mine. Astrid in yellow. They all have bowls in front of them, and my mouth waters when I smell beef and potatoes.

I expect to get in line with the horde of soldiers waiting to get their dinner from a buffet-style table, but Damon guides me past everyone and leads me into the kitchen.

Just like the rest of the place, this room lacks style. Stone walls. Stainless steel. Just a whole bunch of gray, except for the red apron on the cook. Standing on a stepladder next to the stove, the female troll stirs the contents of a big pot with a long wooden spoon. Even though her back is to us, I can tell she’s younger than Astrid. Her brown hair is pulled into a bun and she’s thinner, like a young adult.

Hearing us, she looks over her shoulder and smiles. “Right on time, your majesties. I just finished a fresh batch of stew.”

After filling two ceramic bowls, she begins stepping down the ladder while juggling our dinner.

Damon leaps forward, takes the dishes off her hands, and gives her a gracious bow. “As always, Anya, your service is appreciated.”

She laughs, and a blush stains her already rosy cheeks. “Oh, you.”

I hold back a smile. I haven’t seen Damon around very many girls, but I wouldn’t be surprised if most of them become a giggling mess every time he speaks. Or moves. Or just walks into a room.

He’s, by far, the best-looking man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and it seems I’m not the only one who thinks so. How he stayed true to the terms of the curse for this long is incomprehensible. He must’ve had women throwing themselves at him over the years. The very thought of it makes my insides burn with white-hot jealousy, but he’s mine now, and he always will be.

Carrying a bowl in each hand, Damon loops an arm around my shoulders and pushes me toward an exit.

I glance back at the cafeteria. “We’re not eating with everyone else?”

“I’d rather have you to myself tonight.” When we get outside, Damon leads me to a spiral staircase in one of the four watch towers.

The citadel is like something out of a medieval television drama. Stoic guards are strategically placed throughout. The doors are so thick and solid, there’s no way anyone could get through without being invited in. The fort is also guarded from above. Soldiers take shifts flying overhead to watch for any incoming threats. Instead of torches, there are stardust lanterns. Decorative flags are everywhere, signifying loyalty to the Night Realm and the Dream Realm. Both are blue and gold, but I happen to like Damon’s better because it has stars embroidered on it.

When we get to the opening at the top of the tower, three guards are there.

“King Damon, Queen Whitley,” two of them greet us in unison, bowing their heads.

The other one, however, works his jaw and openly glares.

Nothing gets past Damon, though. “Pluto, do you have a problem?” From the calmness of his voice, you’d never know he’s mad, but I sense an undercurrent of anger.

The guard runs his tongue over his teeth before responding, “No.”

Damon cups his ear as if he’s straining to hear. “Excuse me, what?”

“No, King Damon.”

“Good. Because I wouldn’t want you to be put on cleaning duty again. How long did they