Page 47 of The Forever Queen

“And yet,” said the bear, “she is neither Sidhe.”

“Whosoever seeks the Goblet and the gods’ favor with their will, is eligible to hunt it,” said Lir. “It matters not our opinion, nor her race. So, it is written in the collective lore of our history and in the nature of our power.”

There was silence as every guest, as every bead of rain weighed Lir’s words. Lir hoped it wouldn’t come to this. He’d hoped that asking Niamh for the Goblet would be enough and that the gods’ favor would follow shortly thereafter. Perhaps he’d allowed himself this measure of denial; to blissfully ignore Aisling potentially risking her life in the pursuit of the Goblet to secure everything she desired. And yet, standing here now, Lir realized it was always an inevitability. Without thought, without hesitation, Lir would protect Aisling from the wild and from the dark. Any who wished her harm, sadness, terror, would be repaid tenfold by his hands and his alone. But Lir realized to his own dread, that he couldn’t save her from herself.

Anduril, dappled in rain, shone like a trove of gold.

Aisling rolled her shoulders back and balled her hands into fists at her sides.

“Through trial or test or task or quest,” the sorceress said, “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes toearnthe Goblet of Lore, the gods’ favor, as well as all of yours.”

Aisling’s gaze found Lir across the celebration. He tore his eyes from her, head falling so he stared at his bloody boots, wet with rain.

Niamh broke the silence, clapping loudly and slowly.

“How valiant, the both of you,” she said, but her tone was biting. “Very well then. If Aisling is to earn my crown and favor, then so, too, should her oath-given knight. Prove yourself, great king, by the tradition of the first knight, and battle your queen.”

“What?” Lir asked, eyes suddenly going wide.

“This is my kingdom,mo Damh Bán,” Niamh said, cold as sleet, “and if you wish to maintain your welcome, you’ll follow my rules.” As if prompted, several of Niamh’s knights shifted where they stood along the edges of the festivities. Their hands and paws drifted to the hafts of their blades, eyes pinned to the Sidhe king.

A muscle flickered across Lir’s jaw, but he didn’t move.

“If you wish to stay and aid Aisling, then prove yourself her protector, her guide, her knight as you claim,” Niamh said, lips cutting into a grin.

Aisling’s and Lir’s eyes met. The room inhaled sharply and Anduril exploded with excitement, glowing at her hips like a blade dipped in the Forge.

CHAPTER XVIII

AISLING

The fae king held Aisling’s gaze like a dagger staked through the heart. Aisling’s expression turned cold, tugged by two sides of the soul. She felt both a strange melancholy and an eager excitement. Her fingers twitching at her sides to draw Sarwen from her back and slake its thirst for the fae king’s blood. And yet, inexplicably, she hesitated. Her body stiffened, torn between divided thoughts.

“Step forth and begin,” Niamh said, commanding both Aisling and Lir. She gestured for them to approach the center of the celebration. The crowds parted like bunches of flowers searching for sunlight in the creases of the room.

“Step forth,” Niamh repeated when neither Aisling nor Lir moved. Her saber-sharp eyes cut to Anduril at Aisling’s waist, pulling the sorceress forward with fiery intent.

“Gladly,” Anduril spoke through Aisling’s lips.

At last, the sorceress stepped down the dais. Niamh hemmed Aisling’s beaded raindrop gown as Aisling descended, transforming her elegance into a battle-ready beauty. Aisling unsheathed Sarwen from its scabbard as she walked. Tendrils of water braiding through her hair until her inky tresses were pinned behind her.

Aisling and Lir met at the center. The few paces that separated them, dense and prickling with energy.

“While I’m certain Lir knows the law of first knight combat duels, I’ll repeat them for Aisling,” Niamh said. “To protect, first you must attack, and any first knight must best their liege in combat and prove their strength, their cunning, and their will. The first to draw blood, wins.” Niamh clapped her hands and lightning snapped like a whip across the star-embroidered sky.

Both Gilrel and Galad had explained this law to Aisling before. By now, the sorceress was becoming well accustomed to the culture of the Sidhe––traditions drunk with mischief, tricks, games, and bargains. All bloody, violent, and steeped with magic.

“Address your opponent,” the Seelie queen of Rain said.

Lir frowned, but he stepped closer regardless. He fixed his eyes on Aisling. Had Aisling sunk beneath the surface of their Connemara oblivion before, or did the fae king bespell all and any who dared to meet his gaze?

Wicked stranger, Anduril seethed in her ears, the belt’s determination running thickly through Aisling’s veins.

Aisling forced herself to lock eyes with Lir. Herdraiochtlashing inside like a bridled horse, gums bloody where it ripped at the bit in its mouth.

Hush, Anduril hissed at herdraiocht.

The fae king lowered his gaze and Aisling drew a breath. Regally, he bowed. Aisling mirrored the gesture. Her blood, hot, rushing through her ears till she could scarcely hear the anxious susurrations of their audience.

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