Page 91 of The Forbidden Fae King

A chill runs down my spine. It would be insanity for me to remain here when that happens, but it is getting harder and harder to drag myself away from him.

I watch Aldrin as the pixie queen talks in fast succession for long periods of time. He doesn’t rush her, and each time he speaks, more of the tension seems to fall from her small body.

Aldrin is nothing like the stereotypes of the high fae from my world.

Lilly leans into me. “Aldrin promised we will stay here for three days, and the high fae will take turns fueling magic into these lands. The throne room is a siphon that distributes the raw power into the earth. These are the duties high fae neglect.”

I stare with rapt fascination as Aldrin, Lilly, and Silvan place their hands on the quartz pipes of the pixie’s mound and the stone illuminates beneath their touch.

A soft, low-pitched whistle fills the air as the light of their raw power grows, engulfing the entire structure and pulsating downwards. A wave of static energy washes over me, making stands of my hair float upwards. By the time they are done, all three fae are panting, and their faces shine with sweat.

The pixie queen beams a smile at Aldrin.

On our second day in the meadow, I borrow a bow and quiver of arrows from Drake and practice shooting at a target he creates for me from roots and earth. He pulls them up from the ankle length grasses and sets the woody tentacles to sway defensively around my mark. I attempt to take control of their motion to allow my arrows in.

My earth magic was undiscovered before I came to this realm. I cannot grow roots or branches, but I can manipulate what is already there. I can destroy it.

I notch my arrow and line it up with my target, a large, ripe fruit akin to an apple. A light breeze slips through my hair, and ripples my long tunic around my legs, held in place by my tightly laced cotton corset. I abandoned my dress today, opting for thick leggings instead.

I thread a weave of air upon the arrow’s shaft, so I can guide its trajectory with precision. Tendrils of my earth magic run toward those moving roots to lasso them in place, but my grip on the weave keeps slipping.

Closing my eyes for a long moment, I thrust my power into the ground through my feet. My awareness follows it, as the magic links each bit of vegetation growing in the dirt between my feet and that target, like forging a tunnel through them. I struggle to hold onto hundreds of sprouts of grass across the distance all at once.

The whipping motions of the roots around my target slow to a snail’s pace.

I shoot my arrow.

It rushes toward that target. I nudge it with air while still wrestling the roots. This is where all my weaves usually unravel, but this time the arrow flies true and the roots merely twitch. I suck in a breath with anticipation as the arrow flies toward the fruit.

It is an inch away when a root snaps out of my feeble control and snatches the arrow out of its trajectory, wrapping its feeler around the shaft and snapping it in half.

I stare with utter confusion and impotent rage, until a rumbling laugh echoes behind me.

I swing around to Aldrin. “You!” I practically roar.

“Me.” He has the audacity to grin.

“I almost had it!” I slap his chest hard as he makes the mistake of walking right up to me. “You broke my arrow.”

“You’re doing it wrong,” he says. The roots toss the apple-like fruit toward us and he catches it and takes a bite. “It took so much of your focus; you didn’t even notice me approaching.”

“Maybe I was ignoring you,” I say.

His teeth sink into the crisp flesh of the fruit again. “You don’t want to wrestle with your earth magic. Use it as a gentle caress, convincing the plants to do your will. Let me show you.”

He tosses the core over his shoulder, but his focus is on me. I give him a curt nod. Aldrin turns me toward the target, so his hard chest lightly presses against my back and places his palms on either side ofmy face, his fingers at my temples. I become hyper aware of his closeness and my breath hitches.

I relax into his touch, that strangest of embraces. Aldrin tethers his magical wield to my awareness and core of power. He tugs on it, and my senses stumble forward.

Then he leads us down and through the ground, his magic hopping between each set of roots along its path, instead of trying to hold them all. His magic runs right up the roots around my target, stroking them to relax and wilt.

It feels like he caresses fingers down my own awareness and my mind melts into him, my magic a calmed beast. There is an intimacy in the way his power touches my own, like he fondles my depths.

“This is a simple trick to undo another’s magic on a plant,” Aldrin murmurs into my ear.

“And…how did Drake…” I try to hold onto my train of thought as his breath tickles my neck. “How did he make the roots move?”

Aldrin sends a pinch through that tether to the plant, making it writher with agitation. That same sensation grasps my power and awareness, sharp and sweet as though he had pinched my bottom. I gasp, a shiver running through me. I wonder if he knows the effect he has on me.

---