Page 39 of Chosen By the Fae King

Abruptly, he backed away. Nox raked a hand through his hair cursing under his breath. “If you don't go now, you'll be late for training.”

I sat there, dazed.

“Go, Aeryn. If you stay, I'm going to fuck you on that desk.”

Finally, I registered what he was saying. The first thought to hit me was whether or not I should go back to my room and change my underwear, wet as they were.

Nox was carefully watching me. I met his stare, refusing to drop my eyes.

“Was this peasant not good enough, Your Highness?” I jeered, the simmer of embarrassment and regret starting to bubble.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I may deserve your ire, but never speak like that again, not about what you know is between us.”

I snorted and spun on my heel, stalking from his office without another word, unsure how to interpret what just transpired.

My body still burned, unsatisfied and aching. I craved Nox's touch, yet I despised him for ... for what? For denying me?

My head was a mess. I was supposed to despise him because of the trials, not because he left me wound tighter than a pissed-off viper.

Liam, who had the manners not to say anything about my swollen lips or flushed skin, escorted me to the training grounds. I was tempted to ask him about Nox but realized it would only get back to his master.

The sounds of clashing steel met my ears. I paused, watching some of the contestants sparring under Lorne's instruction, their movements smooth and practiced.

“Do you have experience?” Liam asked.

I rounded on him. “Excuse me?”

He fought a smile. “With steel, Lady Aeryn. As in swords? Or any degree of combat?”

“No. I'm a farmer, remember?”

“I remember, but I try not to assume things.”

“Could have fooled me,” I muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Ignore me. My brain doesn't seem to be working at the moment.”

Liam's lips twisted. “Listen,” he lowered his voice, “this is where things start to get serious. If you don't have a clear head, you don't have a head. You get me?”

“I get you,” I sighed.

“However, one of the best ways to clear your head is to beat the shit out of something or to overexert yourself. Helps with composure, too. Probably because it wears you out, but still it helps.”

“Liam ... sir, are you giving me pointers?”

The male scratched at the scruff on his jaw. “The king will be upset if your head somehow gets detached from your shoulders.”

“But you won't?” I joked, ignoring the little high his words gave me.

He lifted a shoulder.

“I'd wager almost anyone would be more upset than the king if I lost my head.”

“Doubtful. Deny it all you want, but it's true. Also, there are some contestants here that I, well, let's just say some of these trollops aren't the most honorable.”

Well, that was unexpected.

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