Diamond dust shadowbound.., p.1
Diamond Dust (Shadowbound Fae Book 2), page 1
DIAMOND DUST
K.F. BREENE
Copyright © 2025 by K.F. Breene
Map by Cartographybird
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
FAERIE
For the women who love dancing in the flames.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Try Sin & Chocolate
Also by K.F. Breene
About the Author
1
Daisy
Tarian turned, Daisy’s hand still tucked into his. The animals waited within the barn-shanty, and Tarian’s Fallen were over picking through the wreckage from the darkrend. They’d had to stall while Daisy and Tarian hashed out their deal.
The creatures waited placidly, their great maws grinding dried grasses. Each stood about six feet high at the shoulder, with powerful legs ending in three hooked claws at the front and one toward the back. Thick horns ran along their heads and out to the sides, with big manes of coarse hair and something like a beard off their chins. Their wings were tucked into their sides, furry along the ridges but feathery on the actual wing part. Their tails were a combination of fur and feathers as well, most of them swishing periodically.
“What are they?” Daisy asked as Tarian gently tugged her around the first, giving it a wide berth.
“They are stormbacks. They inhabit the mountain regions and don’t have much time for my kind. They often find us too dimwitted.” He laughed. “At least, that’s what they’ll tell you.”
“That’s what…they’ll tell you?”
He pulled her to the largest of them at the back, its shaggy mane streaked with gray and black. The fur on its body was a fuzzy gray-white. The creature was as scary as it was beautiful. She wanted to pet it as much as she wanted to avoid it.
“Yes. They can communicate mentally. They don’t often use words. They are more inclined to use imagery and feelings. When they lower themselves to communicate with fae, that is. They can understand words just fine, though, so let’s keep the running dialogue to a minimum. What you’ve thought is great, but if you insult them, they won’t allow you to ride.”
The great beast let out a deep huff before stamping its foot. We are not so prickly as that, child.
“Beg to differ.” Tarian let go of her hand and put his arm in front of her. “Stratow, this is the human I spoke of. She’s a captive who doesn’t know how to shield her thoughts. She has a right to be surly and needs our forgiveness for her horrible bluntness.”
Daisy tried desperately to keep from saying a sarcastic remark. She was fine pissing off Tarian and his Fallen, but this was one beast she was inclined to mind her manners around.
The creature huffed again. She has more sense than you ever did.
Tarian grinned and winked at Daisy. “These creatures don’t enjoy fae, and enjoy giving rides like common mules even less. I was such a pest, though, that we ended up making a deal. After he tried to kill me, of course. I fulfilled my end of the deal, he did his, and then…well, what can I say? I’m likable.”
“About as likable as sand in your ass crack, yeah,” she grumbled. “A constant nuisance and really hard to get rid of.”
The creature made a sound like a low growl, and Daisy stepped back and threw up her hands.
“Hey, look, to each their own,” she said quickly. “I’m sure his personality…rubs off on you eventually. You know, in a non-abrasive sort of way.”
The beast’s growling continued, and Daisy started to sweat. She licked her lips and glanced back. The other beasts pushed in closer, blocking an easy exit. The claws on their feet glistened. Daisy felt her knife pulse within her shirt.
“That’s the sound of his amusement, not a growl,” Tarian said, grabbing her hand and tugging her around him. At the back of the shanty, there were two large doors. He dropped her hand to open them. “I figured I’d let you sweat because of those comments.” He gave her a smirk. “You like my personality just fine.”
He motioned her toward him as the Fallen came around the corner. Their appearances were uniform—the lower part of their heads were shaved with long hair on top, half done in a knot or bun. They all wore pocketed skirts, almost like kilts, outlined with fur. Leather bracers encircled their wrists, and the females wore tight, fur-lined tops in a strip across their breasts. The males only had various leather straps crossing their bare torsos, with a lot of ink on display. They all looked fierce, as well as sexy, male and female alike.
“Thank you!” Niall put up his fists in victory. “She called me sexy. Goodbye, ugliness, hello, sex god.”
“She thinks our outfits are sexy, dummy,” a female said. She had hard gray eyes and a button nose, with wheat-colored hair and knockout curves. The lady was a stunner.
“Let him have that one,” said Lennox, the one who looked like a Viking of old, with his flowing, wavy hair, reddish beard tied under his chin with leather and tassels, and his thick frame. “It’s about as good as she’s going to give him.”
Half of them burst out laughing as the stormbacks walked out of the barn, their heads bobbing with each step. Stratow glanced over the gathered fae, snorting through his nostrils as he passed.
They detest the flatlands, Tarian told her, the thought something like a faint murmur. They also get annoyed this close to the fringe. They have a keen sense of the purity of magic and are having a hard time tolerating how out of balance things have become.
Purity? she asked.
He turned to her, his large hand coming around to brace along the curve of her hip. He splayed his fingers, gently squeezing in something akin to possession, as though he couldn’t help himself.
Warmth emanated from his presence and touch, sizzling along her body. She was thankful his gaze was directed behind her, affording her the space to breathe in his delicious proximity, bathe in his sensual heat, and bask in the buzz between them that licked along her nerve endings. It had to be her ability to heighten his magic, though it felt so horribly divine.
He looked down at her, his eyelids hooded. I have to pour magic into the crystal chalice to activate its—your properties. It’s complicated and taxing, and trust me, I’m not doing it right now. This buzz isn’t magic. It’s chemistry, little dove. Our chemistry.
Call it whatever you want, but the gods created it.
Maybe. His gaze traveled over her face. Or maybe you’re so fucking beautiful that I can’t help my attraction to you. And vice versa.
She crinkled her nose at him, but she couldn’t deny that she agreed about his incredible appearance, from his breathtakingly handsome face, to his spectacular physique, to his confidence and swagger. She liked what she saw and loved watching him move. Still, she’d seen handsome men before, and she’d never felt this way. She’d never been mesmerized by their touch and delighted by their witty banter. She’d never felt this desperation—this ache—for someone. If it wasn’t magic, she was utterly fucked, because their story couldn’t end any other way besides tragically.
His chuckle was a ripple of black satin. Suit yourself. Regardless, I’m not trying to distract you in that way right now, though it is working admirably. Despite what Stratow said, stormbacks are prickly creatures. They don’t like being talked about unless they can hear what is said. They find it incredibly rude not to have their say, and rudeness is never tolerated. He might decide not to do me this huge favor, and that would add days to our journey. Days we can’t waste.
I assume they are far enough away not to hear my broadcasted comments.
His smile was faint. Yes. And so we’re going to pretend to drink in each other’s proximity while we wait for them to be ready. And maybe we’re going to…
He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. An explosion of pleasure lit up her world. She clutched him, her eyes drifting closed, her mouth opening. His tongue darted in, swiping through, filling her with his taste. Her fingers tightened, but she forced them open again, leaning away. Considered slapping him. More than considered slapping herself.
He smiled deviously. Go ahead. If the former, let’s see if you can land it. If the latter…that’s something I’d like to see. I’m sure the others would get a kick out of it, too.
&n bsp; She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing.
Purity of magic meaning…the rightness of it, I guess, he said, staying close but allowing some space. Fae magic isn’t like human magic. It is not isolated to the person who wields it. We derive our magic from Faerie itself. Magic here is circular. We are all part of it—we feed from it, and it from us. So if the wylds get twisted, for example—corrupted—or the Obsidian royals or various creatures get twisted, that feeds back into Faerie. It disrupts the magical system and creates a ripple effect. If a fae or creature gets too bad, like that darkrend, it cannot be redeemed. It must be destroyed so that Faerie—the magic of Faerie—can heal itself and everything can return to perfect harmony. Balance. The dawn brings the light so that it may shine. The light must give way to dusk so that the dark may have its reign. And so on. Dark and light, with dawn and dusk to balance them out. If things are too light or too dark, it pulls everything out of balance. The magic tries to compensate, and twisted magic is fed into the minds of all who draw upon it. It twists the very fabric of Faerie. Does that make sense?
The Celestial colors… Sunrise and sunset, the colors so remarkably similar but reversed in order of appearance.
He nodded.
So the stormbacks can feel the imbalance?
Yes. Even when it is subtle. They are gravely worried about Faerie, which is probably why they are lowering themselves to acting as transport. They’re doing their part. I think the wylds helping you was the same. The heart of Faerie wants to right itself, but it needs help. Our help, as I explained. He ran his thumb along the edge of her jaw. Look over my shoulder and see if the stormbacks are nearly ready. They detest being rushed.
She couldn’t look over his shoulder without rising onto her tiptoes. Instead, she angled him a bit, leaning against him and glancing at his Fallen. They waited idly, chatting amongst themselves like they had all the time in the world. She let her gaze swing toward the stormbacks, but she couldn’t help but think about the appearance of the hard chest against her. Or the perfection of his back and the amazing design covering it.
Do your tattoos mean anything or are they for appearances? she asked as the breeze caught and flung her hair.
He grabbed a strand and curled it around his fingers. The stormbacks?
Oh. She leaned away so her hair would pull out of his fingers. They’re getting into a half-circle formation, facing the north.
He sighed, looking off at the trees. I really shouldn’t be impatient. They are saving us a lot of time. It’s just…
Tattoos?
He glanced down at her again. Something indecipherable lurked in his eyes, his true emotions hidden behind his carefully cultivated humor. They mean something. He took a small step back. His arms flexed as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing each delectable inch of skin as he went. Since you enjoy looking at my nudity so much…
She pressed her lips together at the taunting tone but couldn’t deny it.
He pulled the shirt away and paused, giving her a chance to once again marvel at his incredible physique. He reached for her hand and brought it up, using her finger to trace the design across his chest that looked like a thick necklace curving against the edge of his pecs and then wrapping around his neck. Her nail scraped his flesh, raising goosebumps.
This was a necklace that was burned into my skin by Equilas when she helped trap me in the Obsidian kingdom. It’s a marker of station. Not with the Obsidian kingdom but—
As a High Sovereign. I haven’t forgotten. Or…I guess…the memory hasn’t been taken from me yet.
He stilled, his brows pinching together in confusion. She didn’t miss the flash of hope lighting his gorgeous green eyes.
Every time someone looks upon this necklace, he said, not commenting on her retained memory, they get a flash of recognition. Every time, I wonder if they’ll know who I am. If I’ll regain some piece of my former life within their knowledge of me. And every time, their eyes dull after a moment. Well, dull or turn to disdain. I’m not well loved within the Obsidian Court. I’m feared, so I’m given a wide berth, but at best I’m tolerated. I do not fit in there.
Like she didn’t belong in the magical zone. She remembered his sentiment in the hotel room those many months ago. She remembered feeling connected with him. This was why.
She nodded, taking in his pain and bearing witness to his struggle. This time, she didn’t move away when he wrapped a lock of her hair around his fingertips.
These—he lifted an elbow to indicate the tattoos on his arm—are my rings of ascension. They denote the various trials I have mastered through training and perseverance.
What kind of trials?
Magic, weaponry, battle planning…various things. The trials are open to all of Faerie—to anyone who wishes to ascend. With each mastery, a title is granted and added to our name. The title increases status. The marker on the arm is proof of ascension. The royals of the Diamond Throne are pushed to collect as many as they can. It looks good for the Sovereign if you have at least ten. Most are able to do this.
She frowned as she rubbed her thumb across one of the lines. How is this proof? Someone could just make the tattoo themselves.
He broke out in goosebumps again as her thumb traced his skin. What you see is not…how they should look. It’s further mockery of my situation. If Equilas sought to make me harder than any fae has a right to be, she chose the correct tortures. If she sought to make me cruel, more cunning, more willing to destroy…she chose correctly there, too.
Her gaze flicked back and forth between his eyes, seeing the darkness lurking there. The wicked deviousness. This fae had suffered, and it had crushed him into something she could identify with. Something dark and twisted, maybe not magically, but certainly morally.
“Is he telling you he didn’t really earn all those rings yet?” Niall called over, the others all watching. A couple of them snickered.
Tarian shifted uncomfortably. “I…had an advantage.”
“Bullshit,” a female with bright red hair down to her waist said, a braid running down each side of her face. A splash of freckles stretched across her nose. “The amount of power a person possesses only helps in one of those trials. You mastered the others because of natural talent and staunch determination. We were with you—we saw the many hours you put into training.”
Daisy looked at their arms, not seeing the same lines. “Did they not want to participate?”
The Fallen looked between them, many flaring their elbows. “When Equilas stripped our wings,” the redhead said, “she also stripped away the proof of what we are. Except for the scars. Those you can still see if you look hard enough.”
“Or, in Gorlan’s case, if he constantly shoves his arm in your face so you can’t help but count all fifteen of his rings,” Niall said, pushing a darker-skinned male with thick black lashes.
“Well?” Gorlan replied. “Besides Tarian, I got more than all but one of the royal family, whom I tied. That’s kind of fucking awesome. You’d shove it in everyone’s face, too.”
“Besides the king, too,” said Darryn, Niall’s similar-looking brother. “He has sixteen.”
“He doesn’t count. It was easier back when he took the trials. He made them harder so no one could match him.”
“Joke was on him.” Niall smirked.
Daisy looked at Tarian’s arm, counting the rings. Ten down to his elbow on his right arm, ten on his left. “How many trials are there?”
“Twenty,” one of the Fallen said. “No one alive, save for Tarian, has mastered them all. Any others are recorded in ancient scrolls. They might as well be myth.”
The others puffed up in pride at Tarian’s achievements, except for Tarian himself. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair.
“What is your advantage?” she asked him.
His gaze hardened. “My advantage turned into a curse, and the trials helped solidify the Diamond Court’s wariness about the possibility of my taking the throne forcefully.”
“And your family’s wariness that when the king passed on the throne,” Lennox said in a slow, deep drawl, “he’d pass it to the most qualified of his heirs. They all knew it would be you—not because of your magic, but because of all you’d done within your few short years—”
