One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

Ravyn waited. “What of the yellow that flickers through your eyes?” he asked. “I can’t tell you,” I said, more forceful than before. “You won’t want anything to do with me if I do.” Ravyn exhaled. “Then your estimation of me is lower than I imagined.”

“So everyone except me and the magically disturbed woman?” “Disturbed?” the Nightmare and I called at once.

I closed my eyes. “I’m degenerating, Ravyn.” I heard his sharp inhale, then the clang of silver as his goblet hit the tray. He was out of his seat and kneeling beside me in a breath, one hand on the arm of the chair, the other on my knee. “Tell me,” he said.

Ravyn’s hands moved to my hips, his gaze traveling up the curve of body. He looked me in the eye, kissed me hard, and yanked me to the cusp of the bed. “Can I kiss you?” My voice shook. “A bit late to ask, isn’t it?” “Not on your mouth, Elspeth.”

We lay, undone, on the floor and watched the fire with heavy eyes. Ravyn ran a finger down my spine and I traced the lines of his throat, his jaw, his brow, his hooked nose. When I could no longer keep my eyes open, he lifted me off the floor and carried me to the bed, wrapping us both in the thick quilt. I pressed my head to his chest, lost to the sound of his heartbeat against my ear. It stretched on and on, an eternal beat, a false promise.

Everyone was watching him, brows high. When I looked up, Ravyn’s gaze was on me, his mouth upturned, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. “Morning.”

He looked stupidly handsome, smug to his boots. I hid behind my teacup. “Morning.”

“You’re smiling.” Elm looked over the table. “Does no one else find that incredibly unnerving?”

He kissed me, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck. “I don’t want rest, Elspeth,” he murmured into my lips. “I want you.”

Emory’s hand shook. When he spoke, his voice was strange—slippery. “There once was a girl,” he said, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King, a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same…” He did not have to say the rest. I knew it by heart. “The girl, the King…” I breathed. The Nightmare’s voice burned through my mind. And the monster they became.

When he leaned over me, a few strands of dark hair fell over his brow. “Elspeth,” he said, kissing my mouth. I swept his hair out of his face and looked him up and down. “Black suits you, Captain,” I said. “All that’s missing is the mask.” Ravyn smiled, almost boyish. “Same to you, Miss Spindle.”

And I—I was not made of pearls. I was made of salt.

“Are you still pretending?” I said, reveling in his gaze. Ravyn gave a surprised laugh and, in front of everyone, leaned in and kissed me. “I never was,” he whispered into my lips.

“Be safe,” I whispered to the wind as Ravyn Yew disappeared beyond the gate. Had I known they’d be the last words I’d say to him aloud, I might have chosen them differently.

The Nightmare coiled in the corner of my mind. I don’t know what will happen, Elspeth, he said. Your degeneration is almost at an end. I could see the spindle tree in the courtyard from my bedroom window. Its crimson branches swayed, ever gallant, in the autumn breeze. I whispered a goodbye no one would hear and closed my eyes, shutting out the spindle tree and my childhood room until there was nothing but shadow. Shadow, and the Shepherd King.

Elspeth, the Nightmare cooed, my name like honey on his tongue. Get up. I reached out in the darkness for him, and when my mind scraped against the coarse fur on his back, he did not flinch away. I can’t, I said. I can’t get up. Not this time. I felt heavy, buried. But you can. Elspeth. It was going to happen anyway, Nightmare. You’re strong. And I’m… I’m so tired. My head… His voice was no more than a whisper. Let me help you.

I closed my eyes, a final whisper escaping my lips. The story—our story. The Nightmare’s and mine. “There once was a girl,” I said, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same…”

Elspeth lowered her voice to a whisper, her spine twisting as her yellow eyes narrowed, wicked and infinite. “The Twin Alders is hidden in a place with no time. A place of great sorrow and bloodshed and crime. Betwixt ancient trees, where the mist cuts bone-deep, the last Card remains, waiting, asleep. The wood knows no road—no path through the snare. Only I can find the Twin Alders… “For it was I who left it there.”