Page 15 of The Forbidden Fae King

He pants and a slow smile grows on his face, then he gently pushes me from him.

Finan gets up and laces up his britches. “The feast is starting soon. I don’t want to be late.”

I stare at him as the arousal falls from me like a bucket of cold water has been tipped over my head.

He is right. We really shouldn’t be late.

I clean myself up, but there aren’t leaves in my hair like he promised. It has hardly been disturbed. My underpants are tossed on the floor, a ruined heap of lace, and I am annoyed by it.

Finan pulls me by the hand out of the privacy of the willow tree, and out of my own thoughts. The late afternoon sun has made an appearance, warming our backs as we make the trek to the castle. Finan talks about something, on and on without caring to see if I am listening.

A single thought keeps flittering through my mind. I don’t know how I feel about the intimacy we just had. It was pleasant, I guess.

Chapter 5

Keira

Aroaring of voices combined with the fast-paced music of a multi piece band crashes through the great hall. It is alive with almost a hundred guests, dressed brightly in their finery and jewels, contrasting against the pale marble mosaic floors and mahogany paneled walls.

My father spared no cost for this feast.

Professional dancers move with fluid motions before us. Their vibrant skirts swish with each sway of their hips and strings of tiny bells chime, that are worn as belts, bracelets and anklets.

Movements of their arms and hips and legs are in perfect synchrony with the racy tune of the music, bolstered with flutes and trumpets. My heart rate quickens in time with that beat.

There are bouquets of flowers in immense vases on each table and garlands hang alongside the ribbons and banners that adorn the ceiling and walls. Expenses were not cut by using winter blooms, but roses and lilies and peonies, everything out of season and cut from a glasshouse.

We can’t afford this show of wealth, but we also can’t afford to show weakness.

The thought drags down my mood. It reminds me how much is atstake. Something else pulls at me. An intuition that something is off and I am filled with apprehension. I can’t quite put my finger on what I am missing.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Brianna askes, gesturing at the performers.

A smile lights up my baby sister’s face, framed by ringlets of spun gold. I swear it was only months ago that she still looked like a skinny child, all elbows and legs, but she filled out around her fifteenth birthday. Now, she is the most beautiful woman in the room.

Brianna sighs, and lops her cheek into her hand, elbow braced on the table. “I hope Prince Niall asks me to dance. He doesn’t normally notice me.”

“I am sure there will be plenty of men wanting to dance with you,” I say.

The music cuts off with a bang of symbols, the dancers bow to the applause of the crowd, then clear off the dance floor. The voices of our guests halt with the music and their attention becomes focused on our table, raised upon a dais and seating the king, the royal family and my family as hosts.

Father stands, raising his goblet of wine and surveying our guests, courtiers of both the royal household and ours. Minor lords of the North who owe their allegiance to my family have ridden in from the countryside to honor the king. Guards who distinguished themselves during the hunt join us.

I find Liam, Aiden and Brandan in the crowd, all beaming with excitement to be here. My favorite guards almost look strange out of their uniforms.

My father clears throat. “May our wine and harvest ever be blessed with magic. To those brave women who take the pilgrimage and bring magic into our realm from the Otherworld, we thank you. To our mighty warriors, who slay the fae who invade our land, so we can feast on the magic of their flesh, we thank you.” He takes a long swig of his wine, and everyone follows. “Let the feast begin!”

A resounding cheer erupts. I can’t help the brimming smile that forms on my lips and the pride of my people that fills my heart.

On cue, servants file into the hall carrying trays of steaming spit-roasted meat, with gravies and mint jelly. Dishes of root vegetables in butter and herbs, spiced eggs wrapped in thin layers of meat and a selection of preserves and pickles. My mouth waters at all the aroma and I heap food onto my plate.

It is divine, the meat juicy and tender, and the vegetables creamy and bursting with flavor. I lean forward to take a second helping, but cool fingers grasp my hand.

“Unfortunately, we women have our waistlines to think about,” my mother says from behind me, as she passes by to mingle amongst our guests.

I hate this. I really do.

Nobody cares if a man puts on weight, but I am expected to fit a rigid mold of beauty.

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