Page 113 of The Forever Queen

They shared a heavy breath, lips a thread’s width apart.

Fate was humming, spelling them together. Lir could hear the laughter in its voice as it worked, humming louder and louder until Lir feared Simril’s Glade would burn. Hisdraiochtscratching at the walls of his consciousness as if trapped in a jar. The sound of its claws against the glass, unbearable.

“Rest,” Lir commanded by a miracle, and he’d despise himself for it for another millennium. He turned his back to her, tearing her hands away from his bandages. With her so near, touching him as she did, he’d lost the ability to cloak his true feelings. He’d made an oath, and even if it killed him, he was bound to uphold it. And this temptation—this torture of her proximity––forced Lir to wonder if he’d survive his promise to Niamh and the Forge or if perhaps a death, intertwined with her, was preferable.

Still, Aisling remained, watching him quietly.

“Were these scars forged by my magic as well?” Aisling asked.

Lir closed his eyes, exhaling. He didn’t need to ask what she referenced. His shoulder blades were grossly scarred where his wings had been taken.

“My commands aren’t suggestions, sorceress,” Lir said, ignoring Aisling’s questions.

“Command me something else then,” Aisling offered, her voice lowering.

Lir forced himself to remain still. If he turned and faced her…he wasn’t certain what would become of them both.

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, lazily traveling down the length of his arm. She traced every muscled curve with her fingertips, followed shortly after by her nails.

Lir swallowed, his tongue a stone in his mouth.

“Command me,” she repeated as she moved closer to him, her lips brushing against his spine. Lir shuddered, unsure whether this was dream or nightmare incarnate.

The Sidhe king shut his eyes tightly, bracing himself. The need to resist, thinning by the breathful.

Lir turned, bending to her will.

She stood before him, half-soaked by the light of the stars shimmering from the dome above. Her robes and hair stuck to her body, mercilessly exposing her figure and the flesh beneath.

Lir jerked his head away, averting his eyes, fangs grinding into his tongue.

Wicked as a wolf, Aisling grinned. Her red lips spread apart, and Lir imagined his tongue between them, tasting her dark, effervescent magic.

Aisling grabbed his jaw and gently turned his head so he faced her once more.

Lir held his breath, eyes half-closed by her opiate.

“Command me,” Aisling said again, “before I command you.”

A muscle flashed across Lir’s jaw.

“Either way, you’ll do as you like,” he said, his voice not his own. Thick, raspy, and heavy as wine.

“Is that what you’re waiting for?” Aisling asked, placing her palm flat against the center of his chest. Lir’sdraiochtshivered, chilled to the bone. Pupils drowning his iris in black.

With whatever wisdom remained, Lir grabbed her wrist and held it in place. This way, she was unable to stroke the hard angles of his abdomen.

Aisling stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck so her mouth barely pressed against his throat as she spoke.

Suddenly,Aisling hissed with pain, doing her best to obscure the sound from Lir’s ear. But the Sidhe king heard it regardless the moment Anduril emitted a soft luster that burned like a blade dipped in the Great Forge of Creation itself.

He cursed beneath his breath, able to smell Anduril’s magic but not hear it, fearing what whispers it spun inside Aisling’s mind.

Lir leaned into her touch, the will to resist her, melting and dripping between his fingertips.

She lifted her head, bringing her mouth to his. Lir pulled back but only slightly. The distance between them fathomless, so long as they weren’t wholly intertwined.

Her adrenaline smelled of ripe cherries, dripping down her chin as she bit into its flesh and succumbed to the draw of their intimacy.

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