Page 64 of The Forever Queen

The rock beneath them turned over, stones flying like embers from a fire. Geld reared, huffing and groaning with fear, but it was hardly audible over the roar ofFlasing and its shifting granite. Lir drew his axes, cutting Geld’s reigns from his wrist. He smacked the mount’s rear, encouraging it onward. The stag bolted down the corridors, winding through the mayhem for his life.

Before Aisling could blink, the fae king cut the distance between them and shoved her against one of the cliff walls. The scream in Aisling’s throat was cut short by the smack of several giant rocks on the face of Lir’s axes, crossed above both their heads.

Lir’s breath traveled hotly down the curve of Aisling’s neck where both he and his axes bore the weight of the rock above them.

“Wrap your arms around me,” Lir said, his voice strained from the weight of Flasing’s debris.

“What?” Aisling asked, cheeks flushing despite herself.

“Wrap your arms around me,” Lir repeated, his voice more coarse than before.

It’s a trick, Anduril snipped.Don’t trust him. Don’t touch him. Don’t?—

“Ash—” Lir hissed between his bared fangs, veins cording in his neck and forehead.

Aisling swallowed, slipping her arms around the fae king’s narrow waist and pulling herself against him.

Wicked quick, the fae king released his axes above him, arms falling around Aisling. He smashed their bodies together, swinging them out from under the avalanche that’d nearly buried them alive. Both Aisling and Lir flew to the side, falling against broken stone. Dust powdering the corridors and mingling with Niamh’s storm mists.

Aisling blinked, grimacing with the pain of the fall. She lay on her back, the fae king atop the sorceress, a leg and arm on either side of her—shielding her body with his own.

The forest green of his eyes studied the violet of hers. A recognition of the trust she’d laid in his nightmarish hands—the legends she’d grown to fear, fizzing like poison wines between them. The dark lord of the greenwood a shadow, a myth, a horror that had sunk its teeth into her spirit and locked its jaw.

Lir’s lips parted; his breath still heavy from the adrenaline even as the dust settled.

“Another faerie king,” a voice boomed from above. Both Aisling and Lir bolted upright, searching for the source. “And could it be?” the voice continued. “The sorceress—the queen of Annwyn?”

Around them, Flasing had shifted. The mountain had moved, taking itself apart piece by piece and reassembling into a lantern-lit village around them—grey oaks growing horizontally from the sides of the cliffs, upside down and right side up, braiding their branches to hold the various stairwells and golden-lit rooms dripping with garlands of ripe highland fruit.

It was a tavern, built along the edges, through the corridors, and along the belly of Flasing. Alive with ghostly laughter, music, and the chinking of chalices.

And at the center, a giant body of rock grew from the mountain. Its bones sprouted first, then its muscles, and finally, its flesh. It was seemingly male, large and round like feast kings. It melted back into the mountain, the rock crunching as it receded and regrew elsewhere—this time, closer to Aisling and Lir.

“Welcome, welcome,” the creature said, its voice half laughter. “Please step forward.”

“We only wish to pass through,” Lir said, his voice as cool and arrogant as usual. Soft and lithe in comparison to the gravel of the rock fiend. “Nothing more.”

“Nonsense!” the creature said. “I can smell the blood of the summits in you, child, Lir, king of Annwyn and the son of Ina.”

The fae king bowed his head curtly.

“I know your name, Dorkoth,” Lir said. “My mother spoke various tales of the ill-begotten child ofFlasing, born of both the mountain spirit and the wraith of pleasure.”

“So, legend has it,” Dorkoth replied, the edge of his lips curling, flesh greening with moss and lichen as Niamh’s rains made slick his black rock body. “And so, too, does legend speak of my law of requirement: whosoever approaches my tavern, must stay for the evening.”

“We’ve other business,” Lir said, his axes still gripped in either hand. Dorkoth’s dark eyes darted to the edge of their blades—throat bobbing in response.

“Very well then,” Dorkoth said. “But in foregoing my hospitality, you also forego a warm meal, room, and bathing chamber for the evening. All of which, your bride appears to be in desperate need of.”

Bride. Anduril bristled, pinching Aisling when she shifted.

Lir’s eyes flicked to Aisling before returning to Dorkoth. A reflex he seemingly hadn’t meant to expose. Dorkoth smiled knowingly, expression brightening as the clouds gathered more thickly above, threatening a storm.

“One evening,” Aisling said. “One evening to recover from the grin and then we continue on.”

Lir cursed beneath his breath, rolling his neck from side to side. At the mention of the grin, however, Dorkoth’s smile vanished.

“One evening,” Lir agreed, glancing at Aisling over his shoulder as Dorkoth clapped his hands. Their fate for the night, sealed.

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