Page 89 of Kiss the Fae

“Come again?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You kissed him, did you not? That cemented this fate.”

Warmth floods my neck. I kissed the Fae I’ve longed for in dreams. I kissed him, knowing who he might be. “What happened this morning was—”

“We are not referring to the present.”

I pause. It hits me that our lip-lock on this mountain hadn’t been the first one. Fact is, the first kiss happened a long time ago.

The Horizon explains, “A human lacks the power to compromise a Fae—with one exception.”

“If the human has the Fae’s real name,” I recite. “I know.”

There’s a chagrined but dignified pause. “Very well. There are two exceptions.”

If I weren’t antsy, I’d guffaw. In any case, I relinquished that advantage after making a deal with Cerulean. There’s nothing else left.

“A human in possession of a Fae’s real name can control that Fae,” the Horizon prefaces. “But a human who shares the purest of kisses with a member of the Folk will be intricately attached to that individual. You may call it a bond.”

A chill rolls down my back. I tense, recalling a tale from the Book of Fables. It’s one of Juniper’s least favorites because it touts romance, insisting that if a human kisses a Fae—a genuine and unconditional kiss—yeah, they’ll be linked.

The notion had swept through my mind back in the wagon with my sisters, when I struggled to narrateAn Owl Meets a Lark.

In stories, a kiss breaks the spell. Apparently in this world, a kiss enacts one.

But we were tykes! We hadn’t known what we were doing. That kiss had been desperate and impulsive. It was a kiss good-bye, shared with nothing to lose or gain, nothing to prove. It had been…unconditional.

Shit. Oh, shit.

“What link?” I draw out. “As in, fated? As in, mates?” When the Horizon makes no reply, I growl, “Does he know about this? He may not recognize me, but he remembers the girl who saved him. Does Cerulean know he’s bonded with her?”

“He does not.”

My relief is short-lived. How can henotknow? How can he not realize who I am? His heightened senses should have picked up my scent, if not my older voice.

And aren’t mates supposed to feel an intense sensory connection? Shouldn’t we have experienced that from the start?

An epiphany rings in my ears. “We don’t need any connection. If I tell ’im the truth, he’ll release me. If I freed ’im once, he’ll free me back. Fated or not, he’ll let me go, and then my sisters—”

“No, he will not. He made a vow that cannot be unsaid. You know why, Lark.”

I sag because they’re right. As ruler, he has a duty to restore the lost fauna. Their death alone is a tragedy, but it’s also weakened this mountain. By extension, that threatens the Folk’s existence. He can’t betray or condemn them.

Being linked—bonded, fated—won’t help me get out of here, and it won’t prevent him from targeting me. What’s more, I can have as many feelings for Cerulean as I like, but that doesn’t mean I forgive him for forcing me into Faerie, separating me from my sisters, and tossing me into this maze.

And I can’t quit the game. I’m fighting one-third of this battle, while my sisters are doing the rest.

Do I want Cerulean to know my identity? Would he care because of who I used to be? Or who I am now?

Fucking magic. No matter Cerulean’s point about its complexity, this so-called bond happened without our consent. We created it unaware, robbed of the choice. With that between us, with a link shackling us together, how can our hearts be real?

How do I feel about him? Do I love the past or the present?

How does he feel about me? And how much is the answer going to hurt?

24

Tímien returns me to the tower. I bow and watch his body cinch into its smaller form. Once he flaps to the ivy spire, a calmness settles over the landscape. Back in the guest chamber, panels of indigo glaze the room, and I retreat into deep, dark dreams.

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