Page 103 of The Forever Queen

She stood in a sharp, ornate tower chiseled from the bones of opals. Every speck of the tower was carved by the methodical, precise, and whimsical fingers of the Sidhe, narrating tales of beasts, forests, and winged knights with glowing sabers. The tower grew from the center of a crystal-clear pool, filled to the brim by the sleek silver waterfall slipping over beds of wildflowers and moss. The rest was dense forest populated by fruitful plum trees, soft glowing orbs drifting aimlessly, and the hum of insects.

Most marvelous of all, however, were the clear skies up above.

The moon sighed, laying its head on quilts of clouds, dreaming up stars that scattered across the sky.

Aisling leaned out and over the edge of her window, drinking up the view for several moments.

“Do you…” Lir began, startling Aisling. He moved closer to her, joining her at her side by the window. “Do you feel alright?” he asked.

Aisling appraised herself, inspecting the bandages around her wrists, hands, and abdomen with her eyes. Indeed, her wounds still hurt her. Yet, the fresh air here was enough to strengthen her by the breath full—void of either the mortal flesh or iron she’d been forced to inhale.

“Aye,” Aisling replied, meeting Lir’s eyes. “And I’m eager to return to the Isle of Rain.”

This close, Lir was nightmarish in his beauty. He carried himself with both feline elegance and the promise of brutal violence. Both enough to bring most people to their knees at the mere sight of him. But his eyes grew deeper the longer Aisling looked, pulling her into a forest of shadows and bloodthirsty beasts till she couldn’t find the way back.

Aisling dropped her gaze as if burned by the image of him. And if Lir noticed, he didn’t react.

“We’ll return you to Castle Yillen as soon as you’ve gathered your strength,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Aisling chewed on her bottom lip. “Did you bring me here?” she asked.

Lir looked at her, shifting slightly.

“Yes,” he confessed.

“Thank you,” Aisling said. “Thank you for helping me.”

Cautiously, Lir studied her with his eyes, never meeting her own. He traced her wounds, her shoulders, her brushed hair, her flushed cheeks. His gaze lingering on the edge of her lips.

Aisling swallowed.

“Do not thank me,” he said after several quiet moments. “It’s my oath.”

“Why then did you bring me here? Weren’t you meant to return me to Castle Yillen?” Aisling asked, gripping the windowsill more tightly. Her rational mind didn’t trust Lir. Her mind insisted he was a stranger she’d scarcely spoken to—every memory of him, quick and slippery. And yet, herdraiochtspun madly in his presence begging her to release it. A strange knowing that if she were not injured, exhausted, or spent, her magic would devour them both whole whilst in his presence. Was this the effect the high king had on everyone? Aisling shook her head, swatting away her thoughts.

You’re confused, tired, and lost, Anduril said.Do not believe the questions sprouting inside your mind now.

“You needed to rest and regain your strength,” Lir said. “As soon as you step foot in the Other, you’ll need to focus on the Goblet once more. The Goblet of Lore is the only way to prevent the mortals from destroying the gateway. And with the fire hand close to discovering its location…simply put, the Forge and time are no longer aligned.”

Aisling nodded her head in understanding. Still, his answer didn’t satisfy her. He spun words like a spider spins its web, effortlessly snaring unsuspecting insects.

“And yet you brought me here?” Aisling pushed. “When our haste is of the utmost importance?”

Lir worked his jaw, staring out and over the forest—as if doing his best to avoid meeting her eyes.

“I—”

“You’re wounded as well,” Aisling conjectured, answering for him. Indeed, Lir no longer wore his intricate Sidhe leathers. Now he donned a loose knight ritter blouse, the strings undone so all his fae markings shone along his throat, collar, and the beginning of his broad chest. His abdomen narrowed tightly at the hips, belted by several humble, leather straps to secure his trousers. And still, his axes winked at his back, crossed like wings on his shoulder blades. But it was the gauze peeking beneath his ritter that caught Aisling’s eye.

Burn bandages.

“I’vewounded you,” Aisling said.

Lir had leaped off the ship with Aisling swathed in flames. She’d smelled the burning of his flesh as they’d fallen into the sea, knotted together.

The Sidhe king had ventured to the mortal realm for her, rescued her, and held her despite her destructive magic. He’d sacrificed and risked a great deal, reminding Aisling of herself: she too—at one point in time—had risked everything for mankind. She recognized the obligation of duty on not only his crown but on his heart. Why had she never noticed such virtues before as she did now?

Lir hesitated, uncharacteristically tripping over his words.

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