Page 105 of A War of Three Kings

I don’t say anything.

My chest tightens until I cannot breathe.

“Aldrin?” she pushes. “Could…could we be mates? Is that not a thing true of the fae? That they have mates out there, living with the other half of their soul? That they can speak within each other’s minds?”

My hand stills on her back as my muscles turn rigid. “It is incredibly rare for a fae to find their soulmate. So rare it borders on myth.”

“Wouldn’t we know if we are mates?” Keira brushes the hair from my face. “Isn’t the bond revealed when they join their bodies?”

“There is more to it than that.” My heart rate kicks up at the hopeful look on her face. A different sort of pain slices through me. “Mates need to endure a true trial together for their bond to unlock.”

“I am so sorry, Aldrin.” Keira curls into my chest again.

I don’t know if she is apologizing for my injuries, the trials we have already been through together, or the fact that none have unlocked a mate bond between us. A small part of me asks if those trials were enough.

I lean down and kiss her hair, despite the sting from the motion. “What we have between us is enough. You will always be enough for me. We don’t need to put the pressure of a mate bond on it.”

Keira nods, her cheek pressed against my bare chest. We fall asleep wrapped around each other.

When I wake again, Keira is on the other side of the room, whispering with Cyprien while a druid unwinds the bandages from my head. I suck in a sharp breath when the fabric sticks to a small region of my wound and is ripped away, but most of the pain is gone.

The druid gasps at what he sees beneath the binding. He drops the bandage and rears back. I realize it is Keira’s brother caring for me.

“That hideous, is it?” I say with amusement.

“No. Quite the opposite.” Diarmuid quickly bundles up the fabric, a smile quirking his lips then fading away. “I knew the fae recover fast, but I wasn’t expecting…” He waves a hand over my face.

“He means half your face was missing the last time we all saw it.” Cyprien stalks over, inspecting me. “The humans didn’t believe me when I said it would grow back just as pretty.” Only Cyprien could make that sound like an insult. He turns to Diarmuid. “We fae onlyscar if our magic is suppressed during the entire recovery of a wound.”

Keira turns sharply to him. “But Hawthorne has a long scar down his face. How is that possible, unless?—”

Horror creeps over her features at the realization. Unless someone did it on purpose. Unless someone tormented and abused him. It is not my story to tell.

I gingerly run a hand over my face, the flesh smooth and intact except for a few long, scabbed gouges across my cheekbones and temple. My fingers linger there, then reach for my ear. Diarmuid grabs my wrist fast enough that I remember he is more fae than human.

“Don’t touch that yet. It is still…growing back. Regenerating? I don’t know the right term. I haven’t seen anything like it. The tissue is still very flimsy.” He swallows nervously, looking from me to Cyprien, as though wondering what sort of monsters they have let into their lands. “It looks like only the entry wounds of the shrapnel will scar.” He splints my ear, then packs up his tools and leaves the room.

Cyprien descends on me. He grabs me by the shoulders, fingers digging in painfully, and shakes me twice.

I swat his hands away. “Don’t you know I’m on my deathbed?”

“This isn’t a joke, Aldrin!” He grits his teeth. “You were on your deathbed a few days ago. If those humans didn’t pull that metal out of you, if their native magic hadn’t worked on you—” His vise-like hands clamp tighter on my shoulders. Part of me wonders if he wants to put them around my throat and finish the job. “I thought we were going to lose you. The Spring Court needs you to save her.I need you!”

Cyprien’s lips pull back in a snarl, but he removes his hands from me and balls them up into fists. Shakes overtake him, starting from his hands, moving up his arms, until they consume his entire body.

I sit up and pull him into an awkward hug.“I’m okay. Truly, I am. Thank you for saving my ass.”

Cyprien jolts, then drags himself away from me. “That’s the thing. I didn’t do anything. Again. I was on the other side of the army when those damned Explosion Brothers descended upon us with their muskets. Edmund pulled you onto his horse and galloped you all the way here. All I could do was run at his side. I should have been protecting your back. I should have been the one to save you.”

Pain ripples across his features. I don’t know how to fix his guilt—for not supporting me during my exile, for not being there when I was tortured in a human prison, and now this.

I force him to hold my eye. “You were busy fighting the enemy army to protect my woman. That is more than a man or a king could ask of you. This is not your battle, but you are here at my side anyway. Don’t get hung up on the small details.”

Cyprien swallows, then ducks his chin and pulls away so I cannot see his expression. My eyes glide to Keira, who watches us, hugging her middle.

“I thought your father would have relished an opportunity to be rid of me,”I say.

She laughs bitterly, and the sound is music to my ears. “I guess he has mastered the near-murderous rage that normally consumes him when he is around you. I would say his biggest weakness is his overindulgence of his daughters, and that he wouldn’t want your death to hurt me, but I think he actually likes you.”

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