Page 71 of Claws of Death

“I remember that’s how human equals greet each other, or has that changed since I left the human realms?”

I’m so surprised that I barely stutter my agreement. “Human equals. Not a queen, though. Not really.” At least not one wearing a crown.

The Fairy Queen places her hand back on her belly, grimacing like the baby just kicked her ribs. “He’s never quiet, that little monster.” She laughs again, the sound so unbelievably cheerful I can’t find my voice. “Pastry?” She holds out the plate. “I haven’t talked to a human in forever. Not thatyou’re entirely human according to Recienne. He is wondering how your shift will work out today, by the way.” She loops her arm around mine, guiding me back toward the kitchen, and I let her. Who am I to stop a pregnant human-turned-fairy from breakfast? If I get to have a piece of pastry in the process, all the better.

Garrison follows us with a step distance, attention on my daggers like he worries they might accidentally slice the Fairy Queen open.

The kitchen is smaller than I expected. Then, this is a magical palace, and who knows what sorts of powers are at work to keep things going? Preparing meals with magic most definitely doesn’t require the same task force as a human kitchen does. Pots and pans are sitting in a corner, ready to be used; in an open oven, bread is baking, and a male with a crooked nose and two curled horns so big they cover the sides of his skull stops to bow at us mid-motion. A glance at me and he summons a plate from thin air, loading it with an assortment of pastries from the platter at the center of the working island at the heart of the space.

“I hope you’ll enjoy them.” His eyes twinkle as he lets the plate float toward me, waiting for me to pluck it from the air before he returns to his task with another bow.

“Thank you.” It’s all I can push out, too flabbergasted by the display of domestic magic.

The Fairy Queen leads me across the kitchen to an adjacent dining room that appears to be for the staff.

“Recienne and I sometimes come here when we want to get away from court duties.” She picks up the caramel-scented croissant on top of her pile and bites into it with a moan. “Elliot makes the best pastries.”

When she motions for me to follow her lead, I take a bite of the crooked thing the cook chose for me and almost groan with delight at the explosion of buttery sweetness in my mouth.

“I prefer to eat down here most days because Recienne and I chose not to announce to the world that we’re expecting just yet. In times of war, it’s always best to be careful with vulnerabilities. I’m sure you’ve already seen for yourself that my mate is a master at doing just that.”

Those first conversations with the Fairy King come to mind, the mask of the unforgiving king he presented when we first came here. How he managed to keep his mate out of our conversations. Even Clio’s evasiveness makes sense now. She didn’t want to spill their secret. Not even to me.

“I understand.” And I do. New life is precious in the human realms where children are part of a natural progression of the world while, here, they are rare treasures. I wouldn’t want to leave anything to fate by potentially alerting my enemies to my pregnancy.

“How have you been dealing with the whole magic situation?” She looks me up and down over her plate, a conspiratorial expression on her features, and brushes her hair behind her ear. They are rounded like any human’s.

“I’m still adjusting. Clio has been helping me a lot.”

“She’s the best to coax those new powers out.” She takes another bite, considering me. “But your mate has certainly been there for you as well, given your magic is more similar to his than to ours.

“He is doing what he can.” It sounds like a lame excuse, but it’s the truth. Myronhasbeen doing what he can. It’s not his fault we were thrown into battle without time to prepare, and he is still ready to aid me with my shift or anything else I ask him for, I’m certain of that.

“Magic takes time. Even with a hundred years of using it, there’s always something new.” Her words should be an encouragement. Instead, my stomach drops at the prospect of always wondering if I’ll accidentally blow up something or someone when I try to achieve a task by magic. The Fairy Queen laughs at my expression. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” She finishes her pastry and gets to her feet, making Garrison snap to attention as she turns to the door. “Be careful on your mission today, Ayna. It will be nice to continue this conversation some other time.”

I barely get to stand before she’s out the door, plate of pastries in one hand and the other resting on her belly.

When I make my way back to the suite, the door to Myron’s room is open. I stop in the common room, right between two silver brocade armchairs, listening for sounds informing me he’s in there, but all I can hear is the soft snoring from Herinor’s room and the grumpy morning humming from Kaira’s mingled with that of running water.

“Myron?” With a few strides, I’m at the dark wooden threshold, trying to decide if the view of his empty room is a relief or disappointment.

A single bed stands against the sand-colored wall right of the door, between a desk and a narrow, empty bookcase, all made of the same dark wood as the door. The window across the room is open, crisp morning air carrying Myron’s scent from the rumpled sheets to my nose. I inhale a deep breath, relishing the familiarity and the fact that there is no one to witness this moment where I allow myself to remember what Myron of Winghaven means to me.

“You can come in.”

I nearly hit my head on the door frame as I jump at the deep rumble of his voice.

“I… I’m… I didn’t… Sorry, I didn’t know you were here.” My heart is pounding in my chest like it’s a creature of its own, and my head swims from the force of his scent as he shakes out his wet, dripping hair.

Myron is standing in the doorway to the bathing room I missed while being so focused on hisbed, dressed in nothing but a beige towel slung around his hips and a look of pleasant surprise on his face.

“I mean it. This room is always open for you. You don’t need to knock or ask permission.” He tries to smooth his features over, but a hint of what he’s really saying is shining through anyway.Please stay.

I collect myself, grabbing onto my daggers for support. “I was looking to see if you’re ready. I want to try a few times without the others first so Silas won’t tease me about it for the rest of my life if he finds me naked.”

Myron looks at me like I just spoke a foreign language.

“Shifting. I mean shifting,” I clarify.

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