Page 100 of The Forever Queen

Aisling lowered her arms, both she and Starn’s attention shooting toward a figure between the mist.

Taller than any man Aisling had ever laid eyes on, he was breathtaking. Battle-dark hair falling into eyes possessed by forest dreams and nightmares alike. His pointed ears and tattooed throat were bejeweled by wild gemstones and freshly cut gold chains. His cologne was heathen’s magic: unadulterated and ladled from the heart of the Forge itself. His every breath, haunted by the collective susurration of the oaks, the yews, and the alders.

Lir.

His name scraped and clawed through the walls in Aisling’s mind, pounding at the gates to be let in. Anduril stayed quiet this time, chained by the iron that suffocated all magic.

The Sidhe king’s axe hit the hull but immediately spun back, flying toward its keeper. Lir caught the spinning blade deftly, never taking his eyes off Aisling.

“I believe you have something that’s mine,” Lir said, eyes flicking to Starn.

The depth of his voice flooded through Aisling, river-black and laced with the foam of its rush. It carried the familiar Sidhe accent, aged like wine for over a millennium.

The Unseelie still hovered at the periphery of the ship, but Aisling could now smell their fear—teeth chattering, mouths gaping, they shuddered from the Sidhe king.

To Aisling’s surprise, Starn smiled.

“You’re as punctual as ever, fae,” Starn sneered.

And as if prompted, the ship slowed, and Aisling heard a familiar “stomp and drag” in the silence that followed such violence. The rest of the mortal ships were silent and dark, rocking along the current aimlessly as ghostly galleons.

Nemed limped toward them through the fog on his iron prosthetic. His violet eyes glittered knowingly, soaking in the sight of the legendary dark lord standing on his very ship in the Silver Sea.

“How I’ve longed for this moment,” Nemed said, nodding his head toward Lir in greeting.

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Lir said, the tilt of his head arrogance personified.

There was something so familiar about the way he moved, spoke, looked at her. She was pulled to him by an invisible current, threatening to drown her at the edge of the rift should she resist. Yet, her mind cloaked any memory they shared.

Nemed scoffed.

“On how many battlefields have we met,mo Damh Bán?” Nemed asked, stepping closer. He said his Sidhe title mockingly.

Lir rolled his neck.

“I haven’t been counting,” the Sidhe king said.

“We could end this now,” Nemed continued. “Let us, high king to high king, end this now. The Aisling you wedded is no longer. She’s been replaced by something insatiable and uncontrollable. Any hopes you or the Aos Sí have of mastering her abilities is both fruitless and futile. There was a reason Aisling was never given a blade, a key to Tilren’s gates, or a crown gods forbid. She is reckless, wild, and the creature that devoured her is worse. She will ruin the Aos Sí and the mortals alike. Surrender,mo Damh Bán. Surrender and return to your caves to lick your wounds.”

Lir grinned, ear to ear. His fangs sparkled despite the gray-clad skies.

“For a millennium I have cut through mortal legions, wept over my slain kin, and shielded Annwyn from your fires. My wings have been ripped from my back, my skin burned; iron swords have been pulled from my chest. And by far, the worst of my suffering has been dealt not by the hands of humankind, but by your daughter.” Lir’s eyes flashed to Aisling. “And I’ll happily forsake those millennia,” Lir said, “for her.”

Aisling’s eyes burned. Her tear ducts smoked. She wasn’t certain why or for what reason but herdraiochtflailed inside, roaring and scratching to be released in the presence of this Sidhe king. She felt it powerfully, wildly, insatiably. His words tangling roots around her heart until she couldn’t stand its feral beating.

Nemed and Starn exchanged a knowing glance, lips curling.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t surrender,” Nemed confessed. “But as a gentleman, I had to, at the very least, offer you an alternative to suffering.”

Lir licked his fangs.

“Is this our cue to fight to the death?” the Sidhe king asked, spinning the haft of his right axe in his hand.

“Not quite,” Nemed said. “You’re going to lead us to the gateway between our realm and yours and then you’re going to help us carve the curse breaker from your bride’s heart.”

Aisling was almost knocked off balance.

Bride.

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