Page 122 of A War of Three Kings

I bat his hand away. “I understand that, Aldrin. But surely you think all this bloodshed is avoidable when I fully intend on returning to your realm with you and fighting for your throne. That in being your queen, I will have no need of this kingdom or my ability to walk freely in it.”

Aldrin leans back in his seat, arms behind his head, as a huge, cocky smile transforms his features. Those amber eyes, sparkling with devious light, don’t leave me once.

“What?” I say, feeling self-conscious.“What?”

“I love it when you talk about being my queen. For the longest time, I didn’t think you would choose it.”

I grip his shoulders and lean in so close our noses almost touch. “Well, you better get used to it. I want to be at your side, always. I don’t care for a crown or title. I only want you. If you are adamant about this foolhardy mission of saving two realms single-handedly, I want to be there every step of the way.”

“Foolhardy?” His eyebrows shoot up. “If I recall correctly, you were just as determined as I. So much so that you almost married a monster.”

I can’t help the cringe that runs through me, or the turmoil of emotions that chase it. I look away, but Aldrin grips my chin and forces me to look back.

“Never thank me for my utter, all-consuming devotion to you. Expect it. Expect nothing less.” He kisses the top of my head and wraps his arms around me tightly, pressing me into his chest. “Even if it means devastating realms for you. Destroying kingdoms. Killing men and women who were forced to raise their swords against you by a mad king.”

I turn and look up at him. “What happened to avoiding unnecessary bloodshed? Isn’t that why you never wanted a civil war in your court?”

“That was before I lost you. I have never experienced such desolation as when you walked through that portal. I will not know it again.” He sighs as I stare at him like he has grown a second head. “I will not willingly force a war on my people, but I will no longer back away from it if that is the only option. Titania will break my realm if she is not removed from power. Some evils are unavoidable, like the war we now fight.”

“Do you itch to get back? To fight the battle to save your people?” I brush away a strand of dark hair that has fallen into his face, my fingers dancing lightly across his cheek and jaw.

Aldrin’s eyebrows pinch. “My people need more than a battle for the throne and a change in power to be saved. It will take years, decades, maybe even centuries, to correct the corruption that is killing our lands. A year or two in this realm won’t make a difference. Not when Cyprien has reported that the situation hasn’t worsened. The faeneedus to win this war. For humans to migrate to our lands and hopefully birth fae children. It is near impossible for high fae to reproduce among ourselves with the magic dying.”

“And there aren’t enough high fae to channel their magic into the lands to save it?” I ask.

“Not enoughwillinghigh fae,” Aldrin grumbles. “It would mean living in the forests, mountains and meadows, instead of the comfortable cities.”

A silence falls over us as I listen to the steady beat of his heart and enjoy the warmth and safety of the cocoon his body and cloak form around me.

The festival of Mabon is in full swing around us. The voices of soldiers singing, accompanied by flutes and pipes, float to us from multiple different groups, melding into one instead of clashing. Where bonfires rage with flames licking high above the wickermen, people hold hands in rings and dance around the offerings. Their laughter is a salve to my soul.

It almost makes me forget all the bloodshed of the last battle, a month ago now.

News reached us that the bands of warriors and hunters we sent out to protect the villages to the east of Windkeep Stronghold were so successful, they killed all of Lord Desmond’s brutal warbands.

We haven’t heard anything from the South since our army forced them out of the North, but Lord Desmond is surely mustering support for our next clash. It has given us enough time to repair this fortress that protects the North from the rest of the kingdom. A feat that would have been impossible without the fae.

Stone was dragged up from the roots of the mountains by the Spring Court high fae. Some was shaped into blocks to repair the battlements and parapets, but the walls were left as the jagged, unshaped sheets of slate that were pulled from the earth and forced into place. Instead of mortar, dragons and fire sprites melted the stone to magma, fusing blocks and sheets together.

Watching the fae and dragons work together to raise the blocks into the air with a system of ropes was incredible.

The iron gate is completely gone, and in its place, thick trunks and branches of mature trees close the passage into the North. It reminds me so much of their Watchtower Trees. Only a person with immense spring or autumn magic could open that gate. It is a temporary fix until the threat of war has passed.

My thoughts are dragged back to the present as the bonfire before us whooshes higher with an audible rush of air. Aldrin calls out a greeting to the fire sprite that feeds the flames before it moves on. I become captivated by a group of huge fire sprites that meander through the revelries, touching the bonfires that fizzled out before truly catching and reigniting them with vigor. It is fascinating how their footsteps leave the dried grass unscathed, yet they could burn a forest to the ground if they chose to.

Aldrin’s grip around my hips tightens. “Theyreallylike this festival.”

“What?” I turn to him.

“The fire sprites,” he replies. “They love burning things. Fueling a flame to see how high it can grow. This is a ceremony centered around fire.”

“I never thought of it that way,” I say, but a dragon swooping overhead snatches my attention. It lights up the final, largest wickerman. The column of its fiery plasma breath illuminates the dark sky with blinding blue light. I have to blink multiple times before the aura it leaves on my visual field disappears. A cheer erupts from the soldiers it passes over, many raising their mugs of alcoholic cider to the sky.

My heart expands rapidly at the sight of humans and high fae mingling freely, laughing and dancing together, playing card games or music. The one benefit of fighting a battle as allies is that it swiftly brings down barriers between people. If a soldier can trust another to have their back in a slaughter, they can form a bond that is hard to break.

Caitlin plonks down on the log beside us, handing me a mug of cider. Her face is flushed prettily from dancing and a huge smile curls her lips. “Drink for me,” she says. “The druids insist I can only have the non-alcoholic cider for children because of the babe.”

A heartbeat later my father joins us, deep in discussion with Cyprien, Drake and Klara. The three take nearby tree stumps for seats.

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