Page 73 of Bound to the Fae King

Ijumptomyfeet, and every inch of me stiffens. I’m not ready. I’m not—

Sigurd appears not two feet from us. He’s dressed like a warrior in black armor with hints of silver and blue, an eagle emblazoned upon its front. His long hair is mussed and damp, possibly from sweat, but all I can smell is a whiff of pine and citrus that makes the fire within me burn in an entirely different way.

My eagle—hiseagle—flies across the room to perch on his arm.

The movement snaps me out of the trance I fell into at his sudden appearance. “You’re the fucking eagle!”

Moria collapses on her bed in a fit of laughter.

Thanks a lot.

Sigurd’s lips twitch. “I thought you said pretty girls didn’t have filthy mouths?”

“You-you.” My nails dig into my palms. “You deserve every filthy, disgusting thing my lips can conjure.”

“Yes, I think I might. Good thing I quite like your filthy mouth.” A feral grin breaks free. He lifts his arm, and the eagle flies away, swooping out the window.

“How dare you? All those times I talked to you, confided in you!” My chest shakes, and I can’t look at him. I’d rather be anywhere else.

His dark form nears, and I back away, but an arm around my waist stops me. “You were lonely. Hurting. I wanted to be there for you.”

“But the things I said.” Half of them or more were complaints about him. The mistakes he’d made, the horrible things he’d done, how much of an idiot he was.

One finger grazes the side of my jaw until it settles under my chin. Slowly, he forces my gaze up, taking his time, letting me take in every inch of the powerful warrior before me. His chest rises and falls, and when at last I reach his face, it bleeds with emotion.

“You told me what I needed to hear,” he says, “even when I didn’t want to hear it.”

I could drown in his blue eyes. Dive in and die a happy death below their surface. It’d be so easy. I don’t push him away as he tugs me close or as his fingers slide along my cheek, stirring up goosebumps across my skin and a warm, melty feeling low in my core.

A sudden cough cracks the tension between us.

Moria leans back on her arms atop her bed, a secretive grin spread across her face. “Perhaps you two would like to continue this discussion somewhere else? Like, not in my bedroom?”

Sigurd scowls. “I’ll talk to you about this—”

“Later”—she waves one slender hand—“yeah, yeah. You can thank me then too.”

“Wren?” His hand flexes on my back, asking a question so much bigger than my name.

If I don’t want to go, he’ll leave me here. He’ll leave me alone for the rest of my stay if I want it. It’s clear enough in the solemn lines creasing his pristine face. But I’ve learned about more than poisons in the short time since he left.

“Yes,” I say.

My response still hangs in the air when the world around us bends and warps. I cling to him, to the metal armor formed around his chest and arms. My focus narrows to its design—etched to look like wings. It centers me, stops the world trying to twist me inside out as we shift to whatever place he has in mind.

I begin to worry we’re trapped in some fae in-between when finally, a new scene shimmers into view. It takes my breath away. Crystalline waters stretch out around us, catching the afternoon sun and reflecting it up—

I scramble back until I bump against Sigurd, who pulls me tight.

We’re feet above the lake, the drop-off not far away.

“My lake home.” Sigurd’s voice slides down my cheek like a caress. So close. So…everything.

“It’s stunning.” Truly, there aren’t words. Fresh air. Green trees. The lake itself. I haven’t even seen the house, but the view alone is the thing of dreams.

“And safe. This little isle floats above the lake.”

Floats?A gasp lodges in my throat.

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