Page 101 of Bound to the Fae King

Maybe Sigurd has something similar in mind for us, but he leads us away from the area we’ve been occupying and along a wide pathway through the festivity. Some spaces are left open for dancing, gathering, and games. Others are spotted with tables and chairs or other more elaborate resting places like the one Hawke and Mark occupied. Still other sections are full of tents, these with walls, presumably for when the fae have had their fill of partying and need a place to rest for the evening.

“It’s like a giant campsite,” I remark as we pass one.

“It is,” Sigurd agrees. “It’s a tradition that goes back generations. On this night, everyone is invited to celebrate their fill. Some will barely be able to stand by the time the morning light crests the mountains, and many cannot simply shift themselves home. Rather, it’s tradition to stay on the celebration grounds.”

“Even for royals?” I arch a brow at him.

He grins down at me. “Yes. Thankfully we have a tent all to ourselves this night.”

My cheeks heat. When I promised to stay with him tonight, to be his, I had no idea that meant in a tent, during a celebration no less.

“I hope it’s private,” I mutter.

Deep laughter rumbles in his chest. “I had the tent walls spelled.”

Of course he did.

“So presumptuous of you,” I say.

“Can I not be hopeful?” he teases, only adding to the moisture building between my legs.

We pass many other fae in our walk, but all of them give us respectful space. Many bow to their king. Many more whisper after we pass—at least, it’s whispers to my ears, but the various amused expressions that cross Sigurd’s face tell me he can hear much more.

“Do I want to know what they’re saying about me?” I ask.

“Good things,” he promises. “Most are more surprised at me.”

“Oh? And what would you normally be doing on this night?”

“Drinking,” he says plainly. “And retiring to my tent as soon as I reasonably can.”

That, I did not expect. He hasn’t touched a drop of anything tonight that I’ve seen. “You’re not drinking tonight.”

“No.” Sigurd halts, turning to face me. He cups my cheek, his fingertips ghosting across my skin in a way that makes all thoughts vanish. “I don’t want a drink to cloud even a moment of this night.”

I blink at him, waiting for him to close the distance between us and kiss me. I lean in—

He drops his hand and resumes our stroll. “Just ahead. This one is ours.”

I’m still regaining my senses as we approach what’s arguably one of the biggest tents I’ve seen this evening. It stands a respectful distance from the others—thank goodness, spells or not—and is surrounded by several guards with the eagle crest emblazoned on their breast plate.

A king takes no chances, not even during a celebration. At least no drunk revelers will be stumbling into our tent.

Ourtent.

The thought flows through me with a shiver as Sigurd acknowledges his guards and leads me inside. This tent puts the others I’ve glimpsed to shame. Rich carpets line the expansive floors. Sitting areas are arranged with chairs, low tables, and heaps of pillows. One table is laid with a display of various food items, whose scents make my mouth water, even if I can’t quite place what they are. Sigurd mentioned the fae sleep here during the festival, yet the sight of the massive bed still steals the air from my lungs. The mattress is low to the ground and piled with lush coverings and still more pillows. The absurdity of them all sparks a fit of giggles I can’t fully contain.

“Is it not to your liking?” Sigurd asks, drawing me closer.

“It’s—” Ridiculous. “It’s so much for just one night.”

He shrugs as if it’s nothing and releases me. But only a fool would call any of this modest.

Sigurd wanders toward the other object in the room that I couldn’t fail to see—a large copper tub that might as well be a hot tub for its sheer size. “In case you wanted to bathe or relax.”

A small tendril of steam floats up into the otherwise cool air. Maybe that’s why we had to stay and greet the fae for so long, so they could prepare this room.

There are no curtains around the tub, nothing to shield the bather from the rest of the room. A sprig of modesty tries to prod me into embarrassment, but then I remember why we’re here, what I promised, what Iwant. To say nothing of the way Sigurd made me feel when we stayed at his house above the lake.

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