Page 23 of A War of Three Kings

“Naomi.” Aldrin’s next words fall upon the room and shatter us all. “I don’t think you bedded a fae.”

Chapter 6

Keira

Ican’t stop staring at my arms. Each freckle has turned crimson and gold, glowing like a fire rages beneath them.

It isn’t me. These markings aren’t mine, and I want them off. A deep, maddening urge to scratch them out of my flesh consumes me.

My hair drapes over my shoulders, those same burning whipcords as my father’s that move and rage and change from yellow to red to orange.

I am too afraid to move, in case I am burned by the fire.

This isn’t me. It is some other ethereal woman, and I want my body back. My breaths catch in my chest and my throat feels like it is closing up. I struggle to drag in air, despite how my chest heaves.

I reach a hand up to my ears as bile rises in my stomach, but I don’t have the courage to touch them.

“Is it—are they—” The words die on my lips.

“They are peaked like mine,” Aldrin murmurs back, regret simmering in his eyes. He scared me as well as my father.

“Make it stop! Put it back!” I cry.

His eyebrows pinch. “Is it so horrible to be fae?”

“I want to bemyselfagain.”

Aldrin shakes his head. “I’m sorry it was revealed to you in this way.”

I feel as if a bucket of ice-cold water has drenched me. When I look down at my hands, my flesh is back to normal. I let out a shaky breath.

I force myself to glance up at my father. He stares and stares into his reflection in a silver platter my mother holds before him, her other hand on his arm and her body held close to his side.

“How can you look at me like this?” he says to her.

“I promised I would be at your side, no matter what came our way,” she whispers back. “Have you forgotten?”

I don’t know how she touches him when he looks like a demon from the Otherworld, but there is only grim determination on her face. She was trained in a household of such extreme internal politics that she has an incredible ability to mentally pivot.

“Will you stop listening to your mother’s poison now, Edmund?” My mother’s soft words carry.

“Mother. Who exactly was my birth father?” he growls, turning fiery eyes on my grandmother. “Is he this fae monster you have mentioned so many times but won’t tell me about?”

My grandmother holds her face in her hands, then sweeps her fingers across her temples. She looks so small and bony, curled up in that huge armchair.

“You look almost exactly like him. I never expected to see his face again.” Her voice cracks and my heart breaks hearing it. “Edmund—can you return to the face I have always known and loved? It will take time for me to get used to seeinghimwhen I look at you. Is that a horribly selfish thing for me to ask?”

“I don’t know how,” my father says softly.

“Aldrin, please,” I whisper. “I know they haven’t treated you right, but please do this one thing for me.”

Aldrin nods. The air distorts around my father, his skin slowly returning to its usual creamy color, scattered with freckles. The tendrils of his hair still, no longer a raging inferno, and each flame ebbs out until they are back to their familiar array of red, orange and blond strands.

My mother lets out a long sigh of relief and throws herself into Father’s arms. His eyes are unfocused with shock, but after a few moments, he wraps her in a tight embrace.

Aldrin sits heavily in his chair. His skin has paled and the shadows beneath his eyes have deepened.

“Are you okay?” I peer into his face.

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