Page 75 of The Forever Queen

The fae king placed both hands on Aisling’s thighs. His palms burning into the fabric of her gown and scalding her flesh. Aisling shivered, herdraiochtblooming fully awake.

Lir watched her closely. He studied her expression, eyes tracing her lips as his hands slid up and gathered her gown between his fingers. Aisling sucked in a breath, her body flinching with surprise. And in the same breath, Lir touched his lips with hers.

Aisling, Anduril hissed.

Racat lit, scale by scale, with a violet glow. Herdraiochtshuddered awake and alive, eager to be released and numbing Anduril’s fury.

Lir deepened the kiss, leaning closer. The taste of him brought fire to the edge of Aisling’s will. She sank into him as he moved his tongue inside her mouth. Aisling was flushed with heat—her breath quick as prey as she rested her hands on his arms. Immediately, Lir tensed, his kiss slowing. Aisling continued, sliding her hands up his arms, onto his shoulders, and loosely around his neck. Lir leaned further into Aisling, pushing gently until she fell onto the bed of quilts.

Aisling, Anduril screamed with all its might. And yet, its voice was cleaving from Aisling’s mind as she and Lir kissed, his knee pressing between her legs.

Lir moved his hand around her throat, moving slowly down her body and grazing her breasts. He stopped at her waist, pulling her against him—almost lifting her from the bed.

His hand moved further, pausing at Aisling’s hips.

No, Anduril screamed, and it echoed into oblivion. Lir’s fingers tugged on the belt even as it trembled with wrath. Aisling froze, her body suddenly turning to stone. Lir pulled again, this time harder. For him to enter her comfortably, Anduril needed to be removed. And what’s more, Aisling wanted it gone in that moment. Wanted him instead. Even if it meant nothing. Even if he despised her, she wanted to feel him, to have him, to be with him for a moment. Especially if this evening was her last.

“Wait,” Aisling broke her mouth free of his and grabbed his wrist. Lir met her eyes, something sharp in the shadows of his expression.

“I will not remove it,” Aisling said instead. She spoke like a spell, sealing the truth of her convictions into the fabric of the universe.

Lir opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, his attention was stolen. The fae king turned his head to the side. His body stilled completely.

“What is it?” Aisling asked, her heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

“When I say,” Lir whispered into her ear, “leap through that window. The trees will help you down.”

Aisling found the window Lir spoke of; steepled, its pane was pushed open and the patchwork curtains drifted on a phantom breeze.

“What’s happening?” Aisling asked again. Herdraiochtstill pulsing hungrily and Anduril bright with heat between them.

“Dorkoth,” Lir said.

As if prompted, a crackling noise grew near the corners of the room. Aisling bolted upright so Lir instinctively held her tightly against himself.

Stone bubbled from the wood, mossy and dirt-caked. It grew like a disease, multiplying, reforming, and reshaping until figures began to take form. And at the center, materialized Dorkoth.

“Apologies, faerie,” Dorkoth said, his voice filled with gravel and still solidifying itself. “I don’t usually become so hostile with my guests, but you see you’re the answer to all this. Kill you and the mortals’ pursuit ends.”

Aisling and Lir came apart. They wore the same face of betrayal and anger, both theirdraiochts snapping ravenously inside.

“Don’t be reckless, Dorkoth,” Aisling said. “This is a battle you won’t win.”

Dorkoth opened his arms and looked around at his stone spirits. There were seven or so, some tall and others short. All broad and heavy, made of rock and mountain’s edge.

“I like my odds,” the tavern keeper said.

“The cost will be your life, Dorkoth,” Lir continued. “Reconsider.”

“My apologies,mo Damh Bán. But the fate of the Sidhe is more important than any single faerie.” Dorkoth’s smile cut across his face in a thin jagged line. He snapped his fingers and, at once, his spirits descended.

“Now,” Lir said.

Aisling dove over the bed and toward the window—quick as a ghost caught moments before sunrise. Four of Dorkoth’s spirits lunged for Aisling, their fingertips almost closing in on the last inches of her hair, her gown, or her wrists as she threw herself at the window. But in the same movement, the fae king unsheathed one of his twin axes and threw. The blade flew in a perfect circle cutting down one, two, three, four of Dorkoth’s spirits in one fell swoop.

“Get them!” Dorkoth shouted, but most of his spirits were now headless, stone strewn across the floor of the tavern.

Burn, Aisling spoke to Racat and the tavern lanterns raged with violet flame eager to explode. Herdraiochtwas salivating, chomping at the bit to be released in its full glory.

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