Page 69 of The Forever Queen

Lir’s throat bobbed, his complexion paling.

Aisling fought the urge to comfort him. She was horrified by the sudden reflex to reach out and squeeze his hand, to run her fingers through his hair, to cup his face between her palms and reassure him. The impulses were strong and unwelcomed, burning her flesh where Anduril bristled with heat.

“Come,” Aisling said instead. “Let us drink wine.”

Both Helm and Lir offered Aisling their arm in the same moment. Aisling hesitated, gulping in the awkward silence.

Take the Howling Winds king’s arm, Anduril insisted.He is strong and capable but not more so than you. That is a better match for us.

Aisling chewed on her bottom lip before looping her arm through Lir’s. Her body moved for her, quickly punished by Anduril’s squeezing.

Helm bowed his head in silent concession, meeting Lir’s eyes briefly.

Lir, on the other hand, straightened, his head held a little higher than before.

They approached the large dining table where Dorkoth took his seat at the center.

“Come, come!” he shouted to his guests. “Come and dine with me.”

The festival evolved into a feast, food flying from the table in glittering colors and rich smells. Plates clinking against one another and chalices spilling.

Lir pulled a chair for Aisling, watching Helm carefully as he took his seat beside the sorceress.

Immediately, several plates pushed toward Aisling of their own accord—every poached apple, every lamb leg, every cherry gelatin enchanted and eager to be eaten by Dorkoth’s guests. Lir took several plates himself as he sat on her other side, his tattooed fingers brushing against hers as he moved.

Aisling shivered, swallowing the pain Anduril punished her nerves with.

Several strange beasts took their seats around the table as well: a guest with three tails, one with pink curls and moth-like wings draping over their shoulders like a powdered cape, three with toads singing songs from their shoulders, and many more.

“Don’t stare,” Lir whispered beside her, his eyes never leaving his plate.

“I’ve never seen creatures like these,” Aisling said.

“You wouldn’t have,” the fae king replied. “They’re bound to the Other and only the wiliest of them creep into the mortal plane. Spiritual entities whose deception is beyond our comprehension.”

Aisling snuck a glance at the creature with pink hair. Politely, she cut through her dinner, opening her pretty mouth to reveal several rows of teeth.

Aisling jolted back in surprise, knocking her chalice against Lir’s with her elbow. Wicked quick, Lir reached his hand beneath the table and grabbed Aisling’s thigh. He squeezed gently but firmly—a reminder to keep her composure. Heat creeped up Aisling’s body, humming softly in her lower abdomen. She’d forgotten—no, she’d never been touched by the fae king. Had she? Aisling cleared her throat, shifting slightly as Lir released his hold. But it was fruitless, the whole table flicked their eyes to the sorceress.

Both Aisling and Lir stilled like foxes between the trees. Helm’s eyes darted between them, a question in his glare.

“I almost forgot,” Dorkoth boomed across the table. “But here in Flasing’s cradle, the high lord of the greenwood and his sorceress drink our wine, together, here, with us.”

His sorceress. Anduril flared hot, forcing Aisling to her feet.

Aisling and Lir exchanged glances. Lir exhaled softly.

“The legends speak my name in tongues: for every fire, another version of me is born,” Aisling said. The eyes of Dorkoth’s tavern bore into Aisling, studying her every breath. Aisling swallowed. But it was Dorkoth who leaned forward, placing both his stony hands onto the edge of the table as he spoke.

“Do you seek a correction of your title?” the tavernkeeper asked, half-baffled. Heat creeped beneath Aisling’s cheeks. She knew this pledge was unnecessary, but Anduril hardly cared. Its ambition, its drive, its thirst crawled up Aisling’s spine and spoke from her lips.

“I am faerie,” Aisling said.

Helm did a double take, lips parting as he studied Aisling anew.

“And I her knight,” Lir said, bringing his goblet of wine to his fangs.

Dorkoth and the rest of the tavern guests exchanged glances and darting eyes, whispers rustling through the feast like leaves in the wind.

---