Page 121 of The Forbidden Fae King

“Of course I will marry you,” I whisper into his ear and his grip tightens on me as his lips find mine. I taste salt on my tongue, and I don’t know if it's from his tears or mine, or both.

Flicker.

I stand beside my husband and king on the palace balcony overlooking the parade of our people, chanting both our names. The crown no longer sits heavily on my head, and the rigid straightness of my back, shoulders and raised chin is now natural to me. Jarrah sends me a look of absolute adoration, then squeezes my hand.

It took us years to get here, and many political battles for me to be accepted completely, but this court isn’t composed of only high fae. These lands are for low fae and humans as well, and I have become their champion.

I grip the shoulder of our young daughter, just tall enough to look over the railing. There will be no barriers left for her to fight against, because Jarrah and I will have conquered them all by the time she is grown.

I blink rapidly as the memories slide away from me.

My hand shakes violently as I remove them from the scroll.

What is Aldrin trying to tell me by showing me this living memory scroll? Surely it cannot be…

For the first time in my life, I have no idea which path to take. Remaining here would be a huge leap of faith. That old fear curls within at the thought of my kingdom burning to the ground without me.

Chapter 31

Keira

Aldrin’s breaths are long and even, deep in sleep beside me. His entire golden chest is exposed to the waist, with a light sheet draped over his hips. I examine the way the moonlight plays across the sharp angles of his face and trace the peaked tips of his ears with a finger.

He looks so peaceful in sleep.

So incredibly vulnerable.

Gone are the brooding frowns that often pinch his brows and the quick flash of expressions.

I finger the beads of my moonstone bracelet. They hardly glow even in this dim light.

Aldrin had tried so hard during our dinner to tell me how he feels, but I couldn’t hear it and he is still so guarded. We were destined to fail from the start. I feel like the last grains of sand are slipping through my fingers and I have run out of time.

I made love to him tonight like it would be the last time I touched him, and it probably will be. A blade twists and twists again in my chest as I grieve him while he is right here, in my arms. As Aldrin drifted of to sleep, my mind stayed completely alert to savor every last moment.

It all comes down to a choice between the fae realm or my realm. Between what is best for me and what is best for my people, and I have never, ever put myself first. I attribute no value to my own happiness, when being selfish could result in the ruination of my kingdom. It is as simple as that.

Half the night disappears as my mind runs around in circles, looking for some loophole or way out.

I finally get up and make my way to the bathroom. I splash cold water onto my face and stare at myself in the mirror for a long time. Until I decide to make the most of right now. That is all we have.

I want to wake Aldrin and feel his powerful arms wrap around me and pull me into his chest. Kiss and touch and lick his body to see how quickly he hardens for me.

I open the bathroom door and freeze in shock.

A man in a deep indigo robe stands over Aldrin’s sleeping form, grasping the hilt of a longsword in two hands, preparing to drive it through Aldrin’s chest. The blade shimmers and glitters with dim white light, imbued with magic. Shadows curl out from the tall figure, moving as though they are a part of his robe.

Time slows down a crawl and every second lasts an hour.

Fear roars to life within me, squeezing my heart in an iron grip. It is swiftly followed by rage, detonating all magic I hold. It feels like my chest will explode. I scream Aldrin’s name and the sound echoes off the walls like the call of a banshee.

The trunks of all the potted trees in the room shatter, and those shards elongate into a hundred crude arrows, flying as one at the assassin. I wield air to drive the projectiles to my target and give them deadly force to bury into the body of that robed figure.

An airshield immediately snaps in place around the assassin, but it is not enough. The assassin’s blade whips away from Aldrin in a movement so fast and fluid it registers as a blur to my eyes, and cuts down the missiles that penetrated his defenses. Then he turns his gaze toward me, barely visible from beneath his hood.

My blood freezes.

His face is hidden behind a black mask, but those slitted, ice-blueeyes glow with radiance. They are lined with thick bands of charcoal and his lips are jet-black.

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