AISLING wandered the barren halls in a stupor. How had the glorious, awe-inspiring halls of Queen Saeread's court become like this? Paint-chipped walls and stained carpets, threadbare shades and broken windows. The chandeliers hung dun in their places, and the candelabras had fallen from the walls. In places, the stone even showed through the ruined drywall that had been put up back when it first became an accepted way to build walls.

She didn't know this place. Up above, a rafter creaked. She darted forward, narrowly avoiding a beam that had broken loose, bringing an entire section of the roof and the plastering down behind her. She choked on the dust and spun to look at the way back. Blocked. She didn't even know for certain where she was anymore. This part of the mansion was from the adjoining castle, and it was much, much older. Still, it hadn't looked like this, and she bit her lip. Should she really continue onward in light of the roof's clear instability?

Her shoulders slumped. What choice was there? She couldn't move the rubble now blocking the way out, and she knew no one was in this wing. She wasn't supposed to be in this wing either, really. But she'd come in here for a place away from the bustle and chaos that was Midsummer's Festival preparations. A broom closet would've been the safer option, evidently.

A set of doors loomed up ahead, the gold gilding on them lackluster and the paint peeling. How long had it been since anyone was in here? No one who was allowed her had talked of this place as an abandoned wreck. They all said it was a quiet, peaceful place meant only for the Queen and her closest advisers.

She approached the doors with careful steps and tried not to make noise as she cracked the doors open. A tiny squeak emitted from the hinges, and she cringed. Stupid. Of course it would creak! Things this old and in such a state of disrepair would make noise when opened. She stiffened and listened for a long moment, but no one moved to accost her or shouted in alarm.

The tension in her shoulders eased, and she released a low, slow sigh. She ran her fingers over the flaking gold and touched the ruined paint. Did she even want to know what was behind them? Did it matter? The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and her entire body tingled. Whatever was behind this door, it would change her life forever. She was certain of that. That thought alone sent a tremor through her. She could still turn around.

But where would she go? The way out was blocked, and no one knew she was here. Better to keep looking for another exit. She pressed her palm to the door and cracked it open just a bit more before peeking inside.

There was a man crouched in the center of the room. She stiffened, her whole body trembling. Why hadn't he said anything when she first opened the doors? He had to know she was here. And who was he? One of the Queen's councilors? Another intruder? The last didn't seem likely. Who would wish to intrude here where there was nothing worth stealing and the roof could cave in at a moment's notice?

He had his gaze fixed on her and the door, and his uncanny citrine eyes stayed on her even as she backed away from the door. She pressed a hand to her breast, wishing it could still her racing heart. Should she run? Or would it be best to simply admit that she'd been breaking the rules and misbehaving? Maybe if she owned up to it, her punishment would be lighter. After all, if she told him the truth, that she wandered in here just for a moment of peace and quiet, he might be more understanding.

But understanding was the last thing in those eyes, which were still trained on the door and seemed to pierce through to her soul. She swallowed hard and turned to go.

"Going so soon?"

She turned, both startled and enamored by the velvet-and-silk voice that filled the room and spilled out to the hall where she stood. Still, she wasn't going to walk in there. She took another good look at the man and the room where he was now standing instead of crouching.

He watched her stare from beneath dark lashes, which made his citrine irises more startling still. His clothing was immaculate, unlike the rest of the room, which seemed to be some sort of ballroom. He wore a tailored suit and nicely polished boots. A little behind the times with the boots and the suit's cut, but then, members of the Queen's court often dressed as if they were in the nineteenth century. Unlike the other members of the court, though, he possessed a feral look. His hair was unkempt, and his smile was razor sharp. She shivered and looked away from him to the rest of the room. Why did he both terrify and excite her?

The floor around him was dusty, and the light coming through the dingy window just behind him cast the edge of some kind of platform into sharp relief against the floor. Yet, somehow, he didn't cast a shadow. In that room of decay and despair, he fit in but also stood apart. His wild hair indicated a carelessness that the room's occupants reflected in letting the curtains be eaten by moths and time unheeded, but his clothes were immaculate. An enigma in every way, even if he did appear to be somewhat at home in the otherwise empty room.

She cracked the door a little more and peered past him at the strange crack in the wall that was emitting an unearthly glow. What could it be? Some sort of portal, maybe? It didn't look safe, whatever it was. She couldn't see past the light no matter how hard she strained, but she caught some chords of an ethereal, haunted melody drifting through the room to where she was standing.

"Will you hide there all day, daughter of shadows?"

She bit her lip, ignored the strange rush of warmth his sultry voice sent through her and shook her head. Something about this was wrong. She backed away from the door again, determined to run this time. He never gave her the chance. The second she turned her back, hard fingers dug into her waist, pulled her back and held her still. How dare he do this? She squirmed and kicked at his shins, but it didn't achieve anything. It only made him laugh, a rich sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

Aisling frowned and struggled more, but he only pinned her to the wall and gripped her chin in his firm, hard fingers. "You want out of here, yes?"

She nodded, relaxed and hoped he'd loosen his grip. He didn't. But he also didn't tighten it to the point that it inflicted pain.

"What if I'm the only way out?"

As if she'd believe that. She eyed his belt, looking for any weapon she could use. Only one presented itself, and she knew with one glance that it wasn't an option. The single blade, unsheathed and tucked through a belt loop, could be a way to free herself, but she couldn't bring herself to touch it. It whispered to her of arcane things and darkness, of the Seelie and the Unseelie, and worst of all, of war and disaster. She let out a muted cry and wrenched her gaze away, only to meet the stranger's yellow gaze again.

He gave her another of his feral grins and leans in closer. "I asked a question, and I expect an answer, please. What if I'm the only way out of here?"

"How can that be possible?"

"Look around you, little one. Do you see a luxurious castle with multiple entrances and exits for the servants like yourself?"

She glared at him. "I fail to see how that's important. Just what are you driving at?"

He laughed. "That if you want to escape this cursed mansion where everything is dying along with your Queen's power, you'll come with me." He leaned closer and ran his mouth along the curve of her ear. "It's a simple choice. Starve to death here or take a single sip from my cup."

"Your cup?" Aisling swallowed and stared at the wall across from them as if it might give her answers to her questions. Why did he have to press so close? She couldn't think straight with his warm body pressing and molding against hers in the perfect way. No, no. Not perfect. She couldn't think of it like that if she were going to make a good decision.

"I left it in the ballroom when I came out to fetch you." He pulled away and grabbed her wrist, tugging her through the doors. "You either drink from it or starve to death in this place."

"I don't understand."

He stopped and cupped her face between his hands in a gesture that didn't seem to fit him. Tenderness. Unexpected from him, so far, at least. "I know you don't. But you should be able to understand me when I say there's no escape besides this. Trust me on that one, would you?"

"You're a complete stranger."

He let her go and shrugged. "Suit yourself. Walk away. Maybe fate got it wrong after all."

She frowned. If he was just going to leave her here, then why did he seem so distressed? His words said he didn't care, but his eyes told a different story. "Why does it matter to you what happens to me? And how would fate be wrong?"

He snorted. "It matters because I'm a relatively decent...individual. And fate isn't wrong, which is why you're going to drink from my cup, even if you're scared."

"You seem awfully certain of that." Her fingers trembled against her thighs. She didn't want to provoke this stranger. Not really. But the idea of drinking from some random cup and somehow being able to escape through unknown means terrified her. Was he in control of whatever would suddenly free her if she obeyed him? Would she be safe?

"You might not always be safe, but I promise that once you drink from the cup, you'll be under my protection. And that means I'll do whatever is in my power to protect you." He smiled. "The cup is the only way I can do that though."

"Why?"

"Because you must become a new, improved version of yourself if I'm to take you to my home."

"Rude." She glared at the floor. "I'm not good enough for your people?"

His fingers locked around her chin, and he forced her head up so that her gaze met his. "Do not speak to me that way. You will respect me and those around you. As for whether or not you're good enough? It doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks. My opinion is the only one that matters. If I say you belong, you do. Understood?"

She bit her lip. "Fine. And you're sure the cup is the only way out?"

As if on cue, another snap echoed from outside, and a beam a few feet from the door crashed down.

"The whole place is falling apart. Your Queen's magic is failing and can't keep the illusion or the alteration magic working in the face of the disruptive field from my dagger. Now, come." He took her hand and pulled her into the room. "I'm not infinitely patient. Drink or die. Those are your choices."

"Why isn't there an escape?"

His grip tightened. "Because of fate. Or because of whatever it is that will make you feel better about what is going to happen."

Aisling's gut clenched. She stared at the object that was resting under the unfiltered brilliance of the strange crack in the wall. An odd liquid that looked silver in nature swirled about in the cup. "You want me to drink that? It looks like it might kill me."

He guided her to her knees before kneeling beside her. "It won't. Just one sip. One tiny sip, and you'll be freed."

She reached out and picked up the cool metal cup. "Just one?"

"Just one."

Sucking in a deep breath, she lifted the cup to her lips and took a tiny sip of the liquid. At first, a sweet and spicy tang filled her mouth. Then the bitterness hit, and she gagged, choking on what she had swallowed. It burned all the way down her throat and set a fire in her belly. The warmth wasn't unpleasant, but she didn't like it all the same. "What is this stuff?"

He gave her a mysterious smile, and the liquid in the cup began to change to gas, billowing out of the cup and flowing over her. It seeped into her pores and invaded her nose, drying her throat and leaving the same cloying taste of sweet, spicy, and bitter on her tongue. "W-what have you done?"

He laughed and laced his fingers through hers as every nerve in her body burned and ached. "Exactly what I promised to do. I've made you mine. You're under my protection now, little one. Now sleep. And when you wake up, this will all seem like a dream."

Her eyelids grew heavy as the pain eased to a dull throb. She could feel her body tipping for a moment before the stranger caught her and cradled her in his lap. Then her eyes drooped shut, and she let go, losing herself in an abyss of dreams and his strange citrine gaze.