Page 27 of The Forever Queen

Aisling snapped back into her body, the vision fading.

The sorceress swallowed, focusing on all those standing before her, here and now.

Tonight, Aisling was clad in a gown sewn by mourning banshees and collected during twilight’s fog. Her only accessories were watercress and Annwyn’s antlered crown to match the Sidhe king’s own; a dark rogue himself, dressed in leather and an artfully tailored jacket without a tunic beneath. And yet, Aisling scarcely remembered his name. For all that she remembered of her time in Annwyn and her ascension to queen, she did not recall Lir. But she recognized his eyes as those of her intruder’s and shuddered.

His place in her memory was empty despite what the sparrows insisted as they braided her hair around her antlered crown. And the more she heard his name, the more she disliked it—Anduril burning through her gown and into her flesh at the mere mention of the Sidhe king.

“The time to enter the Other is nigh,” Aisling said, ignoring their gawking.

Filverel cleared his throat. “Aye,” he agreed, stepping toward the fountain.

Filverel, Galad, Peitho, and Gilrel were resplendent in their attire: embroidered tunics, leather jackets and boots, and polished pauldrons. But Peitho glimmered more brightly even in the dank atmosphere of the forbidden wing, clad in a ball gown made from autumn leaves dappled in pond water.

“Shall we get on with this then?” The southern Sidhe princess approached Ina’s fountain with no hesitation, the others shortly behind—too eager to wait on greeting one another.

Aisling wondered to herself what they thought of visiting the Other. Returning to the plane of their making, where their blood and bones were forged yet rejected from all the same, unable to return lest invited this one time of year.

Filverel pulled out Niamh’s invitation. He glanced at the Sidhe king, a silent conversation passing between them. The dark lord of the greenwood was as stiff and stoic as a lone pine, arms crossed before his chest and his jaw clenched. A silent sort of fury he donned. He despised her, Aisling felt. His eyes studied her with palpable disdain, flicking away the moment their eyes accidentally met as if repulsed by her attention.

Aisling chose to ignore her intruder—the strange kinguntil he spoke suddenly.

“Wait,” he said. The room froze, the tension between them inexplicably high. Aisling studied their expressions, their postures, the way their hands fidgeted when her eyes lingered too long. “Aisling and I will go forward alone,” the Sidhe king said.

Aisling whipped her head at her intruder.

“We will do no such thing,” she bit. Herdraiochtrose up her throat with an energy Aisling hadn’t anticipated. She hushed Racat, digging her nails into her palms. The Sidhe king unsettled her, and because she couldn’t remember him, Aisling questioned why. Nevertheless, if Aisling chewed on such questions for long, they were swiftly beaten out of her mind. It was as if another occupied her thoughts, guiding her again and again to Sarwen strapped to her back and nothing more.

“My mind will not be changed,” the Sidhe king said, his face expressionless. He was as inhuman as the myths claimed and more nightmarish in his beauty than Aisling allowed herself to admit.

“It is my will that ought to be convinced,” Aisling said, the violet of her eyes glowing more brightly with her temper.

“Perhaps it’s wise to enter the Other with us all,” Gilrel said, cautious as she pleaded to the Sidhe king and not Aisling. At this, Aisling fumed. She was queen of Annwyn and soon, she’d earn the gods’ favor as well. This strange wolf who crowned himself in antlers and struck fear in Aisling’s allies was an imposter. This much, she knew in her gut.

Anduril vibrated with magic, confirming Aisling’s beliefs immediately.

“My word is done,” the fae king said and, as if a bell had been rung, the room descended into obedient silence from either fear, respect, or both, Aisling couldn’t tell beyond her own frustration.

Filverel, Galad, Gilrel, and lastly Peitho, met Aisling’s eyes with a silent apology. They’d chosen to stay and obey the strange king.

Aisling rolled her tongue to one side, chewing on her anger lest it seeped through fangs like the flames from adragún’s mouth.

Filverel cleared his throat and repeated the invitation in Rún.

When the days lengthen and the wildlings crawl from their slumber,

Woke by warm breezes, by berries, by nuts—your hunger,

They’ll come with the rain.

When the ice melts and the forest thaws, crying out in pain,

The clouds will gather and break,

And the seedlings will be slaked.

So I pray,

That you’ll come with the rain.

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