Page 63 of Immortal Sins
I hadn’t grasped the depth of her warning.
Erron ushers Bay into the building to work his healing magic on her, too, as Cole carries me inside the lodge. His right arm secures my thighs while the other snuggles my shoulder blades. He buries his nose in my curls. “I hate that you’re mortal.”
My heart thuds. “It was written on the box.”
He inhales deeply, and I relax in his arms. I almost died today and killed a dozen men. The honeymoon is over, indeed.
He lays me down on one of the couches in the foyer and traces the shape of his ear. “I never thought she’d go this far, but now that she started, she’s not going to stop. I have to speak to the King.”
The quietness of his voice suffocates me. Whatever Cole feels about his father, he’s not optimistic about this meeting. I’d say he’s downright terrified.
The fatigued lull that had crept into my flesh is chased away by a new wave of adrenaline.
King Kirkan, the sixth ruler of the united Seelie court, is about as legendary as Zeus himself. He’s been ruling for centuries, since his father died in the Dryad War.
My abs scream in pain as I sit up. I steel myself on the couch’s armrest not to topple over. “I want to go with you.”
“No.” The withdrawn mask of the Fae prince transforms his features. His body grows rigid. The few feet between us stretch into miles and miles of secrets and half-truths.
I’ve encountered this hardened version of Cole at Dark Falls often enough to recognize the change. Back when we were nothing, or when he pretended to be interested in Allie to spite me, his eyes would dim in the exact same way.
We barely know each other.
Celeste had snickered that his father wouldbeat him bloodyfor marrying me…
I cross my arms over my chest. “If you’re going to speak about me, I want to be there. That’s not negotiable.”
Cole drags his gaze from the tip of my boots to the fresh purple curls stuck to my cheek. “You do not make the rules here.”
“Your father is a ruthless warrior. If you go alone, he’ll assume I’m just a stupid mortal that tripped over her own feet to marry his pompous son. He needs to know I’m not a coward, nor a fool, and for that, I need the chance to look him in the eyes.”
The corner of his mouth quirks before he presses his lips in a thin line. “My father will judge you for the strategic advantage you may or may not be able to deliver. The only thing that will matter to him is how useful you can be to the realm. Are you ready to face that?”
He’s measuring my resolve, but through his cold and calculated expression, I detect a hint of fear…and pride.
I give this Darth-Cole a curt nod. “I’m ready.”
I can’t lose the Cole I’ve discovered. The mischievous, considerate one that allows himself to be vulnerable in my presence. I’ll fight to keep him, even if it means I have to make a deal with his jerk of a father—or the devil himself.
24
A CROWN OF NIGHT
The labyrinth of tunnels Mary guided me through before the wedding holds no mystical sway today. Healed from the arrow but sick of ambushes, I’m looking forward to this much-needed return to reality. Still, a tingle of fear sizzles up my spine at the prospect of meeting the Fae King.
Cole and I exchanged barely two words about his father. We eloped in secret, and while a million reasons come to mind as to why we shouldn’t have, none of them really matters but the fact that we barely know each other.
Instead of heading down the slope to the chapel, Cole steers me through an uphill passageway. It opens to an interior courtyard, each of the walls erected around it taller than the eye can see. The set-up would be quite difficult to access—only most inhabitants of Faerie can fly.
A tree, maybe ten stories tall towers in the middle of the secluded garden.
Silvery mist hangs on its low canopy and creates rainbows over our heads as we walk closer to the trunk. Beyond the veil of colors, the moon shines bright. Heart-shaped leaves reflect the silver rays, but their underside is all black. The two-faced quality of Faerie’s most-sacred tree casts a chill along my collar.
“The Hawthorn is sacred to this realm. The Fae King harnessed its power when he was crowned—as did each King before him—and so my father’s magic is intimately bound to this place,” Cole explains, his voice quiet with deference.
I peek around. “There are no guards anywhere.”
“The Hawthorn guards itself. Anyone who wanders close to its bark without the proper credentials will wither on approach. If they do not turn back, they’ll die on their knees at its roots.”
