Page 114 of The Forever Queen

Lir closed his eyes.

Their lips met, melding together effortlessly. Lir sank into the kiss, hands flying around her waist and pressing her against him. He felt her soft curves, her supple angles against him, and growled between breathfuls. He was ravenous for her.

Aisling slipped her hands around his neck. She panted against him, pushing herself against him as if to feel every line of his body against her own.

Lir groaned against his own volition.

He couldn’t…he shouldn’t.

Anduril was glowing hotly, forcing a violent reaction from Aisling as she visibly resisted its magic. Aisling focused on Lir, her pupils dilating and shrinking wildly as she fought for agency.

Lir clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to tear the Blood Cord from her body like a diseased branch on an oak. She was in pain, her mind tearing at the seams of Anduril’s and her consciousness, sewn violently together. Fury flamed inside the Sidhe King—the overwhelming urge to protect her, overcoming him as he witnessed this dark magic. He’d cut it from her if he must?—

In the midst of his anger, Aisling slipped her tongue between his teeth and Lir unraveled. He picked her up by the backs of her thighs and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his torso, pressing herself against him as she kissed his lips hungrily, hands weaving through his dark hair.

“Who are you to me?” she said as Lir’s hands found her thighs and slid up.

“Your undoing,” Lir said, his mind lost to her. His heart blazing. Hisdraiochtwhistling with heat, begging to be unleashed.

Listen to him, Anduril roared.

But as soon as the last syllable dropped from Lir’s lips, Aisling let go and pushed herself back.

It was hot and then, in a breath, it was cold, her body no longer against his own.

And when Lir emerged from her spell—magic brewed with the spices of hers and his longing—he saw the destruction their intimacy wrought.

Flames licked the surface of the baths and beyond, the forest whipped to and fro, growing like giants before their very eyes. No longer was the moon visible beyond the great canopies of plum trees—gnarled and contorting oddly. Faces burnt into the trunks that screamed alive and thrashed as if Simril’s Glade stormed. The night, crushed by the devastating blow of a morning sun.

“And that,” Aisling said, wiping her bottom lip as she stepped back from him, “is all I needed to know.”

Lir flinched as if physically struck. Aisling had deceived him. Seduced him for answers. He’d been a fool to believe she’d want him despite Anduril who still muddied her mind. And yet, he’d known that. Known that and succumbed to his desire for her regardless.

“Be well, dark lord,” she said as she climbed the bath stairs and rose from the waters, her robes sticking to her legs. Her every movement, feline. “Be well and think twice before you bewitch me again.”

CHAPTER XLVII

AISLING

Only one moon remained of the storm season. The Sidhe were falling and their end was rushing toward them, unstoppable. The mortals worked in the dark, veiled by the Lady, but the forest grew black and bloody and filled with rot each moment their influence inched closer to the heart of the Other.

They were coming.

They were coming and Aisling’sdraoichtsensed it, lighting her fingertips each time her heart leaped with nerves. The journey back to Castle Yillen, jumpy and anxious as she navigated the waters in between and was spat back out in one of Niamh’s courtyards.

Aisling swiftly changed and ate three full plates from the kitchens before searching for Galad.

They were running out of time.

Galad swung his sword like a blue star burning through the sky. He lunged to the left—a feint, for he swiftly changed direction and struck on the right. Peitho, on the other hand, avoided the onslaught with the grace of a dancer, her feet moving swiftly between each strike. Their duel, a collaboration more than a fight.

“Without strength, make use of your agility and your speed,” Galad said, moving his heavy blade in a devastating arc. Peitho responded swiftly, dodging the tip of his sword by a breath’s width. She found her footing, leaping and striking before Galad could raise his giant sword again. She threw herself toward him, Luinagren burning bright as she swung. In the last moment, Galad raised his weapon, shielding himself. Both swords connecting in an ear-splitting clash.

They came apart, heaving and exchanging nods.

Aisling stared at them both, Sarwen between her fingertips.

“Would you like to give it another go?” Galad asked Aisling, approaching her at the side of Niamh’s floating, glass ballroom.

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