Page 40 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

“Who else knows?” Aisling pronounced each word carefully, but her efforts to keep her inflection steady were in vain.

Lyre’s sly grin widened. “I, more than anyone, understand the value of secrets. I haven’t told a soul, and I don’t plan to.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?” she demanded, slowly forcing her panic into submission. “What do you want?”

He sat back down and crossed one leg over the other. Absolutely at ease with the power he now held over Aisling. “Protection, mydear girl. In this treacherous court, one can never have too many allies. I want your guarantee that when the storm comes, you will ensure my safety.”

Silently, Aisling weighed her options. Trusting Lyre was a gamble, but it seemed she had little choice in the matter. As he said—the Unseelie Court was a dangerous place; having an ally, even one as slippery as Lyre, might be her best shot at navigating it. Instead of answering right away, she redirected: “Rodney seemed to think you would be able to help me. What do you know about the prophecy?”

“I study many things, prophecies included. Call it my own attempt to stay one step ahead of fate.” He paused and winked. “But of yours—less than I should, truth be told. I know that it has been around for a very, very long time. I also know that Kael ordered all mention of it stricken from our books. Those pages were torn out and burned centuries ago.”

Her brow furrowed. “But you know it; you must know something. What do you make of it?”

“That it is you who must be responsible for ending this war and restoring our broken realm, likely only by seeing to the end of our court. Though,” he added, “being that you are here, I would imagine you already put that much together.”

Kael’s face, the trust she’d seen flickering in his eyes as they’d knelt together on the mossy ground, flashed in Aisling’s mind.Where would the end of the Unseelie Court leave its king?She shook her head sharply to clearthe thought.

He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “But then, prophecies are rarely as straightforward as they seem. One interpretation is as right or as wrong as the next.”

Finally, Aisling found it in herself to stand. Trembling still, but at least steady on her feet. She straightened her spine and stared Lyre down. “I promise your safety if you keep my secret.Andif you continue to use these connections of yours to learn more about the meaning behind the prophecy.” Her request was as good as an admission: she still knew nothing about how to fulfill her role. She was as clueless now as she had been from the start.

Lyre rose, too, and opened the heavy door for Aisling to leave the chamber. “You have my word.”

Aisling sped down the corridor, eager to put as much distance as she could between herself and Lyre and that looming, malevolent painting that had made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end each time she glanced up at it. Her hands still shook despite the way the conversation resolved. It had gone better than she’d imagined it would, yet she was unsure of Lyre’s true intentions, of his trustworthiness. Something in his countenance left her feeling uneasy; his cunning grin made her want to take a shower.

She had little time to dwell on it, though, as she drew nearer to Kael’s study. Aisling slowed her pace when it came into view and took a steadying breath. She tried to focus instead on the feelings that had filled her the night before, hidden away in the forest with his lips pressed hungrily against hers. His breath in her lungs, andthe sounds of his pleasure in her ears. The thought carried her to his half-open door and across the threshold.

“Aisling,” he said, looking up from an aged map spread flat on his desk. The way he said her name filled her veins with a million tiny sparks, and the way a furtive smile unexpectedly warmed his face eased the tension she’d been carrying in her shoulders. “I was beginning to think my map hadn’t been clear enough.”

“This is hardly a map.” She brandished the slip of parchment for effect before rolling it back up and tucking it carefully into her pocket. He’d written it just for her; she wanted to keep it.

Aisling paced around the perimeter of Kael’s study. There were more books there, organized neatly in a system she couldn’t identify. They looked to be older, more valuable perhaps than those in the library. These were all leather-bound with gilded printing on their spines. Some were written in English, and some in the same Fae language she’d seen on the pages that littered the Shadowwood Mother’s thicket. She wondered briefly what it would sound like to hear Kael speak it. She imagined it would be beautiful, full of pretty words and lilting tones.

“More history books,” he provided. He’d been watching her make her way around the room from his seat.

Aisling hummed. “My favorite.” Once she reached his desk, she looked down at the map. It, too, was labeled in the same foreign language. Harsh, jutting mountain ranges cropped up between dense forests. Rivers flowed down from the peaks, and there was a lake somewhere to the west where several of them joined. Dotted borders crisscrossed the terrain. All of the names and locations werehandwritten in a script that closely resembled Kael’s. She traced a finger over the closest set of markings.

Kael rose from his chair to stand beside her. He kept his eyes on the map as well. “Last night…” When he trailed off, Aisling braced herself for a curt statement of regret. He started again: “Last night was—”

“Magic?” She winced at her own poorly executed attempt at humor. Instead of correcting her, Kael silently slid his hand across the map and placed it over hers. When she spread her fingers in response, he curled his to lace them through the spaces between. The act of intimacy, however subtle, made the ache that had been growing in Aisling’s chest flare painfully. She squeezed his hand tightly, squeezed her eyes shut tightly, then pulled away.

Kael looked at her, brow furrowed. “I apologize, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Aisling shook her head and turned sharply back to the books to hide the tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. He had put his trust in her; he had let her see so much of him. The guilt of keeping her secret gnawed at her insides hungrily. Relentlessly.

I can be the Red Woman and I can be his,she thought to herself again. Then again, and a third time still. And even if she couldn’t, she needed him to hear it from her. If Lyre reneged on their agreement, Kael would undoubtedly be the first one he’d tell. She needed to take control of her narrative before the Prelate could twist it himself.

“Is something wrong?” The overt concern in Kael’s voice only deepened the ache. Aisling circled around to stand in front of his desk, unconsciously using it to enforce the distancebetween them. He paused for a moment when he saw the pallor of her face before he stepped around it, too.

He moved with a languid, carefree sort of grace that would have been entrancing had it not been for the threatening flex of his corded muscles. He carried himself this way not just because he was Fae, but because he was a battle-tested warrior—as Aisling well knew. Trepidation tightened her throat and stilled her tongue under the words that were poised there, waiting to be spoken. He could strike her dead quicker than she could blink. But the way he had looked at her—he wouldn’t kill her.He wouldn’t.

Aisling took two steps back and said, “I need to tell you why I’m here.” Kael made to speak, but she raised a hand to stop him. If she didn’t get it out now, she’d lose whatever nerve she had left. “The real reason. What I told you about my mother, that’s all true. But her stories aren’t what brought me here.” She glanced up at him, but his expression was unreadable.

“Go on,” Kael said coolly.

“When I asked you before about prophecies…” She stopped. Cleared her throat. Started again: “I’m here looking for information about a prophecy.”

“Which.” A statement, not a question. As if she were still just as connected to him as she had been in the forest, she could feel the way his body was becoming tense, the way his heart hammered against his ribcage. The way his shadows smoldered beneath his skin.

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