Dark King (Court of the Sea Fae #1) - C.N. Crawford Page 0,1

assassins inside the shop, so that’s a win for staying in here.”

I lifted my sea-green eyes to her. “He’s not going to go away.”

“He might. Don’t be such a pessimist.” She stared at the mirror again. “Wait, he’s writing something on a piece of paper. Maybe this is a good sign. He’s open to communication.”

“I know you like to see the best in people, Gina, but I don’t think the armed assassin is a nice person.”

“Maybe he’s seen you around and he’s here to ask you on a date. You could use one. Look at his big manly arms! And you’re both fae, right? He’s a fae, you’re a fae. You both have magic. Perfect. You’ll have beautiful fae babies.”

My gum was losing its flavor. “We’re both fae, but we’re not on the same side here, Gina. My magic is illegal and his isn’t. He’s going to snap my neck in a hasty execution, and then he’s going to drink beer in a castle to unwind.”

“Or maybe he’s lonely? You know, a bit of romance might help you enjoy life a bit more; maybe a walk by the Thames at sunset, get a Cornetto from the ice cream van. Get you out of the ol’ dirt hole a bit more.”

Gina was a people person. I was not.

“I like our dirt hole,” I snapped. “It helps me avoid people, and particularly men. Also, I prefer the term natural earthen domicile to dirt hole.”

“There are nice people out there. Even men. The old man who works at Pizza Express gave me a free meatball yesterday.”

Gods have mercy. It was clear to me at this point that Gina did not understand the gravity of the situation. “But this man is not here to give me a free meatball. He’s here to cut my head off. Do you get where I’m coming from with my concerns?”

In the scrying mirror, the fae held up the paper. In perfectly formed, elegant letters, he’d written: Aenor, Drowner of Islands, Surrender or Die a Painful Death.

I spat my gum into the trash. “Well, then. Doesn’t he seem like a catch? I’ll just put on my best dress for when I let him murder me by the Thames after our Cornettos and meatballs.”

“Shit.” Her forehead crinkled. “Drowner of Islands? What’s that about?”

“No idea. Swear to gods I never did that. But it’s an amazing nickname, isn’t it? I might adopt it.” I pointed at the scrying mirror. “Look at that sign. Do you see it? Not only is he threatening to kill me in a painful manner, but he did a weird thing with capitalizing all the words. That alone tells me he’s the worst sort of psychopath.”

“Is that blood on his sword?” Gina asked, apparently no longer charmed by him.

“It is, yes. Not ideal.”

“He didn’t even wash it off before showing up here. That bit seems a bit off, you know? I mean, give it a good rinse first, at least. Showing up to a kill with other people’s blood is just not on.”

It creeped me the hells out that he knew my first name. Also, yes, the fresh blood wasn’t endearing him to me.

“How did he know he was being scryed on?” Gina asked.

“You can feel it,” I said. “On the back of your neck, like someone’s watching, you know?”

Gina ran her fingers over the magical glass. “So, he’s here to kill you. But what exactly are you gonna do about it? You can’t fight him. He’s trained to kill outlaws within seconds.”

A powerful pulse of his magic vibrated through the walls. My stomach clenched at the dark music of it. What exactly was he brewing up there on the surface? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Goosebumps rose all over my skin. “Have some faith in me. I can kill him.” I pointed to the dried demon hearts nailed to our rickety underground walls, as well as the other demon body parts crammed between shelves of potions and magical amulets. “Look. You see that? I’ve killed before. Plenty of times. That’s why I’m known as Aenor, Flayer of Skins, Scourge of the Wicked. Boom.”

Gina gave me a sympathetic look that was frankly patronizing coming from a sixteen-year-old. “First of all, you gave yourself that name. Second of all, those guys you scourged weren’t as scary as this blood-sword motherfucker.”

“Language!” Perhaps I carved out hearts and broke bones, but I had some standards for proper behavior, and I expected those under eighteen to follow them. In theory,