Page 30 of A Kiss From a Faerie King

“Is this what you dreamed it would be like? To paint with never-ending colors?” he asked softly, waving a claw toward the room. He seemed to hold himself still in anticipation of my answer.

There were no words to describe this wonder. No words seemed appropriate to thank him, so I merely pressed my lips to his cheek and gave his hand a squeeze.

It was all a blur as I sat down in front of the easel. Emrys asked me what I wanted to paint first, and after a moment, I thought of my answer.

In my mind, I saw a river—great and roaring—while above it, the sun began to set, casting the world in dark purples and warm pinks. I told Emrys of my vision and gasped when he wiggled his fingers. Just beyond my easel, I watched the stone wall adorned with the stained glass transform into my sunset scene. It was real enough that I swore I could feel the mist from the water.

I didn’t dare ask how it was possible because I already knew. Magic. Such wonderful, splendid magic.

Emrys used his powers to help me paint vision after vision. From my family’s estate—cast in dark colors and rainclouds—to Emrys’s palace—warm and golden. I don’t know how much time had passed before I stopped. My fingers ached from holding the brush, and my back was feeling tight.

My faerie king had watched me contently from his place on the stool beside me. He didn’t offer critiques of my novice art skills. In fact, he praised my color choices, causing my face to tingle throughout the afternoon. A few sprites had breezed in, tangling in my hair and smearing the paints on my palette before Emrys ran them off when they started whispering riddles about the prophecy.

I welcomed their company, but my king seemed to be in no mood to share my attention.

That had sent a pleasant thrill through me. I loved his unbridled attention—the heat in his gaze. I even enjoyed the chaos and frenzy of his world. It was intoxicating being surrounded by so much life and magic. Emrys himself was intoxicating.

After my paintings were left to dry on the wooden tables, Emrys fed me meat and cheese until my strength was renewed. My eyelids felt heavy for a moment before he helped me from the painting studio, down the hallway, and through another set of doors.

Behind which sat the kitchen of my dreams.

Spacious and open, the stove and oven are made of white stone, and the counters are carved from golden quartz. The fires were already roaring by the time we entered, and my eyes snagged on the workbench in the center of the room. It was stacked full of ingredients for every type of pie.

Candied fruits and melted chocolate were set next to roasted chicken and vegetables, depending on whether I wanted to make a sweet or savory pie. There were fresh crust rolled out and hundreds of pie dishes to bake my creations in.

That is where I have spent this whole evening.

With Emrys by my side, we roll out the dough before more is magically made for the next pie. We place it gently in the dish before filling it with whatever concoction I’m feeling. Emrys uses his claws to pinch the sides, while I use excess dough to create a design on top.

I’ve just fasted the wildflower-shaped dough over the top of my glossy blackberry pie when a buzzing sound goes off. With a wave of his claw, the oven doors open for Emrys, and the latest batch of pies fly out on a sweet-smelling cloud. They land with a soft thud on the counter to cool while our new batch replaces them.

They smell delicious, but the king and I have eaten so many slices over the past few hours that I can’t possibly ingest anymore. I told Emrys it felt wasteful, but he assured me these pies would be offered to his hungry subjects in the meadow.

I glance down at the pies fresh from the oven. The chicken pie bubbles up through the lattice top. Its rich gravy containing carrots and celery makes my mouth water despite my fullness.

Emrys’s soft steps echo behind me while his claws dig softly into my waist. I sigh and snuggle back into his body. Have I ever felt this content? This safe? Everything I’ve ever dreamed of, he’s brought to me. All day, he’s catered to my every whim, listened to my every word, and given me something I haven’t had in a long time.

Happiness.

More odd still is I feel like I know the faerie king. Something in my heart tells me that I do. Throughout our time together, we’ve talked and shared stories. I revealed more of my time living under my father’s thumb, and Emrys made several offers to bring me his head as well. Again, I told him it wasn’t necessary.

Just being able to confess to my mistreatment had me feeling lighter.

A closeness has formed between us. One that makes me feel as though we’ve spent lifetimes together, and I should embrace these feelings. My soul belongs to him—or at least it wants to.

How can I feel this way after only a day?

Albeit one full day. My body is bone tired. It’s lived a dozen lives between swimming this morning to putting these final pies in the oven. A yawn sneaks up on me as I watch the sun through the glass window finally begin to dip and darken.

Gently, Emrys’s claws go to the tie at my back. Once the smock is loose, he slips it over my head and turns me in his arms. Using his thumb, he gently wipes some flour from my cheek. I smile up at him, the small gesture feeling extremely intimate.

“Did you enjoy today?” His voice is rough with desire.

“Yes,” I say, wrapping my hands around his neck and molding my body to his. “Doesn’t it feel like we’ve spent weeks together?”

Emrys chuckles, and his hands skim up my sides. My thighs clench together as more heat licks up my spine. The longer I stare into his eyes, the more truth spills passed my lips and pools on the floor between us.

“I want you,” I sigh. “I want to give myself to you.”

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