Page 58 of Taken By the Fae King

He’s wrapped his wings around me before, but I never truly studied them before now. “They are beautiful,” I whisper, tracing my fingers lightly along the beautiful panes, marveling at the soft, leathery texture. Their fragile, dragon-fly wing appearance belies their true strength.

“Thank you.” He looks over his shoulder again and flashes a smile. “I am glad you like them. I was worried you would find them strange.”

“Only in that I cannot imagine what it must be like to have them.” She sighs wistfully. “It must be wonderful to have such freedom… to be able to fly anywhere you please.”

When my hand moves close to the main joint along his back, he inhales sharply. “Not there.” He spins to face me. “My wings are very sensitive near the joint.”

Worry fills me. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” A dark flush spreads across his face. “I meant… they are sensitive in a different way.”

I frown, not quite understanding.

He continues. “The main joint where our wings connect to our back is considered a… pleasurable area. Just like the pointed tips of our ears.”

“Oh,” I reply, embarrassment heating my cheeks.

“It must be hard for you,” he says, changing the subject. “Living in a place like this when you have a fear of heights, and being unable to fly yourself.”

“I’m getting used to it much faster than I anticipated,” I reply. “Besides, the way the city is built, it is easy to imagine that we are still on the ground. It’s lovely that there are bridges and stairs throughout, but I… dislike the idea of being a burden anytime we travel.”

“It is no burden to carry you.” He frowns. “You are my mate. I will gladly carry you wherever we go.”

“I know.” I offer him a faint smile, because I know he means what he says. Still, I have always taken pride in my independence, and it bothers me to be so reliant on him for travel. “It’s just… I’m used to being able to do things myself.” I shrug. “But it’s not as if I can simply grow a pair of wings. I did try to make myself a pair once, however, when I was a child.”

He grins. “What did you use?”

“Branches and sheets.” A wistful smile crests my lips at the memory. “Raiden and I were going to sail off the balcony, but my mother thankfully caught us before we did.”

His stares in astonishment. “You could have been hurt.”

“Edmynd had placed two mattresses on the ground in case it did not work.” I smile. “We were well prepared.”

“It certainly sounds like it.” He laughs. “Your mother must have been a very patient person.”

“Most of the time she was.” I lower my gaze. “She was a good mother, but… not to Raiden.”

“Why not?”

My eyes snap up to his. “He is not her son. He was born of father’s mistress.”

“But she agreed to raise him, did she not?” He frowns. “I thought—”

“She felt as though she had no choice.” Bitter memories rise to the surface. “Father’s mistress died in childbirth. I love my brother, and I always hated that Mother treated him different.” Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. “It was something we argued over many times.” I shake my head. “We argued before she died. Not about Raiden but something else. I was young. In truth, I do not even recall what it was now. But I just wish—” My voice catches. “She died trying to protect me, Kyven, and I hate that my last words to her, before she was attacked, were spoken in anger.”

I’ve never told anyone this, and I’m not even sure why I’m telling him now. I only know that something inside me says that I can trust him, and right now, I do not feel like questioning it.

“My father was not an easy male to live with.” His gaze drifts to the wall with a faraway look. “We seemed to always be arguing about one thing or another as well. When he first sent me to the Great Wall, I did not want to go.”

“Why did he send you then?”

“I was a second son. It was expected. A tradition passed down through the royal line to ensure that the true heir would never be challenged by another.” He sighs. “Even my sister would have eventually been sent away—probably bound to a High Lord unless she decided to dedicate herself to the goddess.”

He continues. “I was angry at my mother for allowing Father to send me away. Accused her of not caring for her second born son—a throwaway spare.” He swallows hard. “She cried when I said that, and it was the last thing I told her before I left for the Wall. When I received word that she was dying, I rushed home as fast as I could.” Tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “I begged her forgiveness, but she was so ill, I was not sure she even heard me.”

My heart clenches as he continues.

“With the last of her strength, she opened her eyes and took my hand. She told me: You are my son. And I love you more than anything you could ever do wrong.” He pauses. “They were the last words she said to me.”

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