Page 81 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
I'm still wary of this man, but so far, this littletête-à-têtefeels like a consultation. He's not the first to come to me, desperate for a solution to cure a one-sided obsession. Male Fae—especially powerful leaders—suck at accepting rejection. They keep chasing the object of their fantasies until they get what they want. Or until they get gutted, metaphorically or not.
“I couldn’t carve a forbidden arrow to make this girl fall in love with you even if I wanted to,” I tell him honestly.
“Why not?”
“Many reasons, but mostly because it would destroy her. Love is a tricky disease, Warden Rayne. You can’t infect someone who’s already sick.”
“What about me? Could you cure this love I suffer?” he negotiates.
“Not without destroying you, too. I’ve tried to carve my arrows just right to free the most unhappy Fae from the ailment of unrequited love, but alas, the ones who responded to the treatment became immune to love altogether.”
“So my choices are to continue to love someone who doesn’t love me back or forget how to love altogether?”
I nod. “If I tried to cure you, you might never love again.”
He exhales loudly, then sets his cup on the table. “There’s a ball tomorrow night. You’ll be my companion for the evening. Maybe if Tatiana sees the most beautiful woman in the worlds by my side, she’ll think twice about rejecting me again.” Alaric gives a low whistle, and one of his wolves runs out of the study. “I’ll have Brel escort you to your room so you can rest and recuperate. I’d love it if you could join us for dinner later tonight.”
It’s not an invitation, but a command, and I nod. “What about Seth?”
The corners of his mouth quirk. “Let him stew in his own filth for a while.”
Chapter 24
The Worm, the Raven, and the Lorn
DEVI
Brel escorts me to a guest bedroom with an arched window overlooking the sea. A bench with plaid pillows is perched on the windowsill and allows for one person to lie down and admire the violent scenery. Thick checkered glass warps the view of lightning zigzagging through the purple-streaked sky.
“Is it always like this?” I ask, in awe of a world where the sun never shines and the thunder never stops.
“Oh no. It’s usually much worse,” the sprite says without entering the room. “His Highness expects you to dine with him tonight. I drew you a bath, and there’s a dress for you in the wardrobe. I’ll be back at seven sharp.”
She closes the door, and the click of the lock raises goosebumps on my arms.
The air is dryer in spite of the close proximity to the outside. I suspect this room is part of the old royal apartments, so its walls must be lined with stronger magic than the rest of the citadel.
Rows of dusty books are stacked below the bench. There’s a thick fur on the bed, a fire in the hearth, and a steaming copper tub, but this room lacks true warmth. A wardrobe towers along the back wall. I open it, and sure enough, a cocktail dress is hanging there. The big chest in front of the bed is full of spare linens, and the hand mirror on the bedside table is small enough to ensure no Fae could fit through it.
Percy flies out of his hiding place and inspects the room. “I don’t like it here,” he declares.
“It’s a fancy prison, nothing more.” I dump my backpack to the ground and stop in front of the hearth for a beat, letting the heat of the flames kiss my skin.
Percy lands on the bench of the reading nook and braces his hands on his hips. “I’ll check on Seth first, then try to learn more about our hosts.”
Faelings can pass through glass or let others do the same. Unfortunately, there are only cutting rocks and angry waters below my window, so there’s no question of me escaping with him, but he can slip through the citadel unnoticed and find out what happened to Seth. He might even eavesdrop on our host, his staff, and his brothers.
“And I’ll make myself pretty,” I say, unbuttoning my tunic.
The mud from our climb, the cold rain, and the dust from the road stick to my skin. Grime and humidity have crept under my nails, inside my clothes, and into my very pores. I sink my hand into the tub and hum at how delicious the warm water feels.
“Not too pretty. I’m wary of these men,diamantay,” Percy breathes, flying over to the bed.
I retrieve the hidden blade tucked under the tunic’s sash and slip it under the nearest pillow. The silver heart on the pommel catches the firelight for a second before it disappears from view.
“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Percy adds.
“I should be safe enough here, but same can’t be said for you.” I rest my index finger on his shoulder and give it a heartfelt pat. “Beware of the wind and rain. Your wings aren’t made to withstand a monsoon, and the weather here is an enemy in itself.”
