Page 20 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“Of course not. But she’s not at her peak anymore, and we both know what happens to monarchs who aren’t. Her days are numbered either way.”
Her gaze strips me bare. She’s not looking at me as a man but as something to be used, measured for worth in her grand scheme. The cold precision with which she studies me is unsettling, like she’s already decided what I am. A stepping stone. A tool. A means to an end.
She’s not at all the tamed, reasonable, and defeated monarch people believe her to be. She’s hungry for more. In her eyes, I’m just another piece to be moved. But gods help her if she thinks I’ll let her control me that easily.
"How would you propose getting around the issue of me being banned from Faerie?" she asks.
"You’ve been back since your banishment."
"Never long enough for it to matter."
I lick my lips in anticipation. “There’s one thing Spring folk value more than power. My mother included."
"A good fuck?" Devi cracks.
I know she’ll think I’m mad for mentioning it, but she’ll be forced to recognize my genius. “True love."
"But we don’t love each other," she counters, as amused and skeptical as I expected her to be.
I step closer, my voice softening, magic sparking from my skin. "Nobody knows that but us."
"We couldn’t lie about it," she says, her pupils dilating despite her calm, dismissive tone. She narrows her eyes, leaning in, her breath warm against my cheek. “Or are you proposing I shoot you with a love arrow?"
Her heavenly scent floods my senses—a rose set ablaze, spiced with saffron, kissed by sunlight, and shadowed by a trace of ash.
“I’m offering you my hand in marriage,” I declare with a verve I didn’t know I had. “You must have thought about it before now.” I gesture to the hearth and the rowan-paneled walls. “You've been stuck here, brooding in this... dump for eight decades. True love reigns supreme in Spring, and marriages have saved more than a few Fae from ruin. If you were married, even just for show, to Freya’s only son, how could anyone deny you a second chance?”
“Your brain is awfully skewed by your own sense of self-importance.”
“I’m right, and you know it. What do you say, Devi Eros? Will you marry me?”
She smiles, her voice warm with the rumble of a genuine laugh. “In your dreams, pretty boy.”
"I'll take that as amaybe.” It was a little reckless to phrase it like that, and not ease into like I’d planned, but my lips twitch.
“Is this a habit of yours? Tying up all your romantic relationships with a quid pro quo?" she asks.
“Deals are easier to manage than feelings.”
She nods in agreement, but before I can sell her on my idea further, a ball of movement the size of a fist zooms toward me, almost hitting me square in the face.
“Who do you think you are, you sleazy dick?” the ball shouts, inches from my face. “Talking about marriage as though it’s on the table, when we don’t even know you? The nerve!”
Electricity crackles along my skin, fading as I register the intruder as a small Faeling.
Devi’s Faeling.
I’ve read about him, but I didn’t expect him to be so…outspoken.
He wears a deep purple frock with golden embroidery on the lapels and cuffs, paired with a neatly buttoned waistcoat. A crisp white shirt peeks out from beneath, fastened with aminiature cravat pinned by a bronze brooch. His trousers taper into polished little boots, while leather cuffs encase his hands, adding a roguish touch to his otherwise refined look. Delicate wings shimmer at his back, peppered in Faerie dust.
Faelings are born out of a royal Fae’s first laugh and are tied to their masters for life. The needs and flaws of the one they serve shape their personalities, and their souls are so entwined that Faelings wither when separated from their master for too long.
“You should kneel before her, if you have any respect at all,” he adds.
“Percy…”
“She’s Devi Eros, the Queen of Hearts, the devil of Spring, the most powerful archer, carver, and groomer these realms have ever seen. Her blood flows with the beauty and vitality of the Secret Spring, as well as the li?—”
