Page 74 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
Long seconds pass before he nods, turning his full attention to his clothes. “Duly noted.”
I clench my teeth until the meteoric flare of guilt passes, and force a deep breath down my lungs. Now that the haze of pleasure has lifted, a terrible bout of anxiety blossoms at the pit of my stomach. A sore of weakness and betrayal. I let myself down. But sex doesn’t have to mean anything more, and now that I’m no longer starving after months of celibacy, no longer hypnotized by the novelty of Seth’s body, I won’t let it happen again.
I sit on a rock to lace up my boots, pleasantly surprised that his wind managed to dry them through, while Seth repacks his climbing gear neatly into his backpack.
“It’s almost dawn,” he says, his voice tight.
I dismiss the tremor in it, reasoning that my comment—my attitude and my refusal to fawn over him like he probably expected—must’ve bruised his pride. Nothing more.
“We’re about an hour from the city. Only Storm Fae are allowed in, which means we’ll have to change our appearance. People around here aren’t used to folks like us,” he says.
I fail to mask my surprise. “Are you saying Storm Fae can’t be dark-skinned?”
“No, I’m saying we can’t show up at the gate looking like Devi Eros and Seth Devine. We have to looknormal.”
I chew the insides of my cheeks, unable to mask a wince.
“Is there a problem?” he asks.
I can’t use my magic to do my hair, let alone glamor myself to look ugly and pale. I rake a hand through my loose braids, wondering how to phrase it. “I don’t like the idea of passing as someone else. Sara gave us black, hooded tunics for a reason. We’ll be fine.”
“Fine?” Seth snorts, shaking his head. “Okay, the way I see it, we can argue about this for hours, or you can admit outright that you can’t use your magic, and I’ll draw a few glamor runes on your body to take care of it for you.”
“Have you lost your mind, comrade?”
He’s right, but hell if I’m going to admit it. It’s bad enough that I let him touch me.
He puts on his best condescending smirk. “Don’t bother, I know I’m right. You used your light magic briefly in the sceawere to fight the wolf, but not once since. You’re holding back your bite of power like it’s some kind of disease. And Elio slipped you an end-all blade to defend yourself.”
My jaw drops. “You pat me down in the sleigh while I was sleeping?”
“By accident. The hard shell of a dragonbone sheath isn’t exactly discreet. Why would the great Devi Eros need a weapon like that unless she was otherwise defenseless—or hired to kill someone?” His eyes narrow, studying me.
He’s treating this like it’s an either-or situation. Either I can’t use my magic, or I’ve been hired by the crowns to carry out an assassination. The only question is: which one do I admit to?
“Alright,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I can’t use my magic. Not outside the sceawere.”
A full-blown frown spreads across his features. “Why? Does it have anything to do with that strange buzzing sound I heard back in Inverness?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“We’re traveling through the most dangerous Faerie province undercover,” he says, pulling a small vial of ink and a fine paintbrush from his bag. “I think itismy business.”
As if I’m going to give him any more power over me after the cave sex debacle. Never. I need to establish those boundaries I’ve been daydreaming about, and soon.
“What happens if we’re caught sneaking into the city?” I ask.
He shrugs and dips the brush into the ink. “We’ll be taken straight to the Warden of Lightning Point.”
“Is he an enemy?”
“Oh no. My uncle is not so bad, for a Storm Lord.”
Seth traces a delicate rune along the curve of my ear. The gentle tickle of the brush raises goosebumps all over.
“Then why don’t we ask him for help? He must control the access to the obsidian passage,” I say.
“My uncle is unfailingly loyal to the crown, so we have to assume he’s now under Luther’s command,”
