Page 120 of The Forever Queen

The Sidhe king of the greenwood turned on his heel. “Nothing unbecomes me,” he said, motioning for Aisling to join him as he coolly started toward the door. He placed his hand gently on the small of her back and pushed. Once Aisling surrendered and stepped forth, he pulled her tightly against him by the waist. Aisling’s heart leaped and the bridge of her nose flushed. His touch, burning through her gown and scalding her skin.

“You’re fortunate the mortals storm our world another day and not this eve; unlucky is he who sheds blood before battle,” Lir said as they arrived at the door. Lir paused, turning and facing Niamh, fuming still at the dais. “Nevertheless, never rest and always wonder if the next corner turned is your last. My hand, your end.”

Niamh parted her lips, following Aisling and Lir with her eyes. Aisling cast another glance at Niamh, wondering what she’d meant. Wondering if Aisling could wield the Goblet alone, after all. Or was there some magic to hers and Lir’s union that spun fate, destiny, and the universe toward its end regardless of the choices she made?

Lir led Aisling onto a balcony. They floated at the edge of Castle Yillen, connected to no other turrets until the next pathway arrived at their door. At once, Lir whispered a spell beneath his breath.

“Helliacht sec tru saera deste.”

Aisling turned to Lir, searching for the manifestation of his magic. A boom sounded to her right, knocking the tower to the side. Aisling stumbled, quickly caught by the Sidhe king. The sorceress found her footing, spinning to find a giant tree knocked from another level and onto theirs: a bridge.

Lir picked Aisling up, holding her behind the knees and around her back. Aisling’s first instinct was to strike him for touching her. Aisling still believed he’d somehow bewitched her, her body burning from the inside out in his proximity. Herdraiochtgrew feral and tempestuous, eager to bite.

The Sidhe king walked them both across the fallen tree and onto the next platform. The downpour made the bark of the tree slick, but Lir walked nimbly and easily across.

Lir leaped onto the next level, Aisling still in his arms. This part of Castle Yillen was overgrown with different species of moss, wildflowers, lily pad ponds, and weeping willows, all hugging the spindly tower at its center.

Lir walked them to the door nestled at the base of the tower, crowned with archivolts. Sidhe markings were etched across its surface—protection runes, Aisling recognized. The door, on the other hand, was latched with a tangled system of roots, braided together.

“Where are we?” Aisling asked. Lir set her on her feet gently. He approached the door and the latched roots immediately unlocked, slithering apart.

“My rooms,” he said, stepping inside.

Aisling considered leaving then. She could slip away and take refuge in her chambers until the break of dawn. Exhaustion tugged at her body from the floor, her eyelids growing heavier. And still, against reason, she stayed.

The sorceress followed the Sidhe king inside and out of the rain.

As soon as one stepped across the threshold, the tower spiraled upward in an intricately carved staircase. They climbed up, emerging into a large bedroom at the top of the turret.

Aisling inhaled, soaking in the room.

It was humbler than Aisling would’ve imagined, neither covered in a king’s precious gemstones nor metals. Instead of pillars, ash trees grew crooked yet tall, supporting the slanted ceiling of the dilapidated tower. And the rain that dripped from the holes was gulped by theellwynthat spread like a disease over everything: the paint-chipped walls, the pointed windows, the beams that ribbed across the ceiling in great vaults.

Aisling stepped into the room, her feet brushed by fallen petals, by the grass between cobbles, and the hand-woven rugs.

Lir shut each of the windows, his flowers preening when he neared.

“You’re welcome to rest here for the evening,” Lir said. “Tonight, this is the safest edge of the castle for you.”

Aisling glanced over her shoulder at the door. It was still open, inviting her to leave if she so wished.

“I may not trust Niamh,” Aisling said, “but neither do I trust you.” Against her will, Aisling’s eyes flicked to the solitary bed at the edge of the room, pressed against an enormous rosette window. She swallowed, an image flashing across her mind’s eye like lightning: Aisling—clad in a ruby gown and veil—stood in a tent, lit by the soft glow of flower bulbs. Lir towered across from her, a bed between them.

This is your imagination and nothing more, Anduril said.This is a fantasy.

The image possessed her—thememory. Herdraiochtsinging to itself gleefully inside her.

The corners of Lir’s lips twitched up.

“I hadn’t planned on staying,” he said as if reading her mind.

“Good,” Aisling said without pause. Lir’s smile widened, but he turned his face away from her.

Lir waved his hand across the garlands of flower bulbs, bubbling around the windows and across the bed’s canopy. They grew in bundles that spilled down the bedposts, blooming before Aisling’s eyes with light.

Aisling smiled despite herself, trying and failing to hide it.

Lir’s expression stilled, eyes widening slightly as his gaze lingered for a breath longer than usual.

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