He was beautiful. His dark hair curled slightly on his head, and his eyes were the gold of ancient coins. They seemed to glow as he stood surrounded by fae guards and curious guests. He was tall, and something about the way he stood, with his wide shoulders slightly angled, made me picture him swinging a sword. Power swirled around him, and I was sure a woman lucky enough to see beneath his tux would find nothing but hard, sculpted muscle.

There was something slightly feral about his expression. His eyes said that he was endlessly amused with the bowing and scraping, but beneath the amusement, I caught a glimpse of dull rage. I forced myself to step closer.

His eyes found mine.

“Ah, the woman escorted by Samael himself,” he murmured, his voice low, but it still seemed to carry over the crowd. Heads turned my way and I ground my teeth, fighting back a flush. Few things annoyed me like public attention.

The king smiled, his eyes still on me. “Leave us,” he said. I took a step back, but it was everyone else who was melting away, other than a few guards who took a couple of steps back. One of them shot me a warning look and I resisted the urge to flip him off.

“Hi,” I said stupidly. The unseelie king smiled indulgently.

“Hello. Your name?”

“Danica. And you?”

Surprise flashed over his face and he laughed. The ballroom seemed to go silent at the sound. There was something musical and yet deeply sexual about his laugh. I swallowed.

“You’re enchanting. My name is Finvarra. My closest friends call me Fin.” He winked at me, and I raised one eyebrow as his gaze left me, lingering somewhere behind me.

He was flirting with me in an effort to get under Samael’s skin. Oh, I had his number. I merely smiled and took a step closer, lowering my voice.

“I was hoping you could help me with something.”

“Of course.”

“My father was unseelie. He left my mother and she never told me who he was. I’d like to know if you have heard of any unseelie who were with a witch a few decades ago, or if you can direct me toward anyone with this information.”

Surprise crossed his face for less than a second, but I caught it. He leaned closer and seemed to breathe me in. His power swept along my form, and I could feel it nudging at my shield. I fought to keep my hands away from my knives. His power was endless— like Samael’s. Both men could rip my shields down and stab into my deepest well of power with little more than a thought.

“You’re not one of mine,” the king’s voice dripped amusement. His gaze languidly scanned my body from head to toe. “More’s the pity.”