Page 49 of Faking with the Fae King

“Feel the magic. Feel my intention,” he breathes into my ear. “Light.”

A glowing ball of brightness appears on his outstretched hand. He tosses it into the air, where it hangs above us.

“Again,” he growls. “Light.”

I feel the flow of energy this time, streaming from him and into the spell, growing in intensity until another gleaming ball swirls above his palm.

“I felt something!” I breathe.

“Good.” He tosses the light up into the air, where it hangs several feet from the first. “Again.”

This time, he doesn’t give me a verbal cue, but I feel the start of the spell anyway, the welling of power in his chest right before it travels down his arm to create a third luminous ball.

“I felt it! I felt it from start to finish.”

“Good girl,” he growls.

Shock and desire ripple through me, weakening my knees and making my butterflies do back flips as my lady bits sit up and cheer.

His arm tightens on my waist, his shadows wrapping around my thighs. “Isn’t that interesting,” he murmurs.

Oh, god. He’s discovered my praise kink! Arousal and embarrassment wage war within me.

“Focus, Hannah,” he says. “Reach for your magic, match it to mine, and you’ll get a reward.”

His voice drips with honeyed promise. How the hell am I supposed to focus?

Then his magic gathers again, the power of it calling to me with a siren song. Something within me responds, stirring to life. As he lifts his palm, I stretch my hand out beside his.

Severin unspools his magic even more slowly this time, giving me time to match him. A dot of brightness appears above his hand, inching upward in size.

I can feel my magic, feel it moving for the first time. It’s a tiny trickle compared to his power, but it’s there. Yet no matter how hard I stare at my palm, there’s not the tiniest flicker of light.

Why isn’t it working? I know something is happening! So why isn’t there any light?

I push harder, straining until my body shakes. Right when I’m about to give up, a male goldfinch dives from a tree overhead to land on my hand. He spreads his black and white wings wide, framing his bright-yellow chest. “Why light not sun? Why light?”

“It’s magic,” I whisper.

“It’s a bird,” Severin says, his tone a bit dry.

The bird tilts its head to spear me with one dark eye. “No sun? No morning?”

“Not yet,” I say. “You’ve got at least ten hours to go.”

“Who are you talking to?” Severin holds the luminous ball on his palm, his magic still coursing through him, calling to mine.

“The bird.” I crane my neck to glance back at him. “Can’t you hear it?”

“I heard it sing a few notes.”

“No, it spoke in English.”

Severin huffs. “I assure you it did not.”

“Bored now,” the bird says, pecking at my palm. “No bugs.”

When I laugh, it takes off, flapping up to the maple behind me and diving from sight among the leafy branches.

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