The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) by Jessica Aspen Read Free Book Online

never could approach the thrones. Not today. Not for Logan. Today, the magic of the court was an escalator to hell.
    Two ancient trees towered into the sky above, their roots twisted into polished seats for the queen and her counterpart. Prince Kian’s throne was empty.
    No help there. And no knowing when he might see his friend and probably only ally. Please the Goddess, the prince was not still in disfavor with his mother. Logan should know, fifteen years of the queen’s disfavor was enough to kill a man.
    Her majesty, The Black Queen of the Tuatha De Danaan, was a vision in a barely-there gown, a shimmering rainbow of purples, matching her eyes and exotic purple red hair. Once the poor, ignorant humans had worshipped her as a goddess, and no one had better forget.
    Logan was relieved to see Aeval, her pleasure aspect, and not the Morrigan, the dark battle goddess. Or worse, the Crone. Aeval implied her mood was light. At least, as light as the queen’s mood could be. The queen’s appearance was one of the many gifts that had put her on the throne. Her changes were real, touchable, and dangerous.
    He made his bow, exposing his neck for the ritual chopping block, and waited to be addressed. The small, inlaid box weighed heavy in his hands.
    “So Huntsman, it is done?" Her unwavering gaze latched on to his and he struggled to remind himself that he too was of royal blood.
    “I followed your instructions, my lady. You bade me go to the house of the witches and kill what I found there.” Her eyes constricted slightly, darting from side to side in a quick birdlike motion, but she didn’t call him on the deception. He hoped that meant he had successfully deceived her into thinking he had obeyed.
    “I see you have brought me a gift. What is it?”
    The court’s immediate silence hung over him, the crowd waiting for the queen’s languid hand to wave before the blade dropped. The hot, heavy smell of jasmine twined around him, tickling deep in his throat. He suppressed a cough and stepped forward to present the queen with the small box.
    This had better work, or he was worse than dead.
    “The heart of she I slew,” he said formally, holding the intricately decorated box out until his arms strained. An eternity later, a slender maid with sly, tip-tilted eyes took it from him and presented it in turn to the queen.
    Aeval took the inlaid box, and opened it.
    Of incredible Dwarven craftsmanship, the box was magically made to preserve whatever was inside. It held the fresh oozing doe’s heart as it had been moments after death. Logan concentrated on not holding his breath and looking the correct amount of disinterested.
    The queen barely glanced in the box before she shut the lid and handed it off to her handmaiden.
    “There is only one. What of the rest? There were to have been more of them!” Her lips compressed into a small thin line. He felt the court shrink behind him in preparation for flight. Another drop of sweat slid down his neck. The itching became almost unbearable.
    The key to lying successfully for one of the fae was to never actually lie. That would get him through this. That, and the fact that the queen knew, as well as anyone, that none of the fae could utter a lie. Fifteen years of floating in the never land of hibernieth had given him ample time to think of how to deal with her majesty.
    And how to dissemble. Not lie.
    “There was only one.”
    “No.” she said, rising to her feet. Her hands moved outward in a short chopping gesture. “My mirror said there were four witches living there!”
    Logan stood his ground and held fast to the truth he chanted inside his head. The truth he wanted her to hear, to believe.
    “There was only one.”
    It was the truth.
    One doe in the sage labyrinth. One doe called by his magics. One death for the queen.
    The queen’s eyes swirled into a deep purple vortex, sucking him in. He couldn’t look away as she looked deep into his soul, as if she could force him to