Page 13 of The Mortal Queen

The air was thick, flammable as the silence stretched between them, only Cathan’s song easing the tension in Lir’s shoulders. The smoke morphed into the form of beautiful creatures below the shadow of the mountain, falling to their knees and writhing in pain as something was taken from them. As they were cursed.

Finally, Rian continued, “An entire kingdom doomed to a damned legacy. But before that, it’s said”—Rian hesitated, eyes flicking towards the fae king—“it’s said, she had one last vision. A prophecy she shared with her only son.”

Aisling turned to the knight then, her eyes wide. Was Rian implying Ina carried and birthed Bres’s son? Aisling opened her mouth, curiosity itching to know what the fortune had been, but she stopped herself short. Lir’s expression spoke for itself. Those sage eyes brewing with some intemperate storm. A muscle flashed across his jaw as he stood and walked away. Silent.

Rian said nothing, merely clapping when Cathan finished his song, the world spinning back into motion, momentarily swelled by the tune. But Aisling watched Lir over her shoulder, disappearing into the night, his right hand clutching one of his twin blades. Blades she never saw him without.

Lir entered their tent a handful of hours before dawn, collapsing into the bed beside Aisling and waking the mortal queen. Aisling said nothing, somehow managing to fall back asleep on her edge of the mattress, listening to his breathing slow into slumber itself. Every one of his breaths reminded Aisling of winds weaving through the trees.

CHAPTER V

The next morning, they continued their trek across the continent, forming their fae parade once more. The wilderness was veiled with morning fog, cobwebs of dew draped across Aisling’s poorly tied braid. She’d never needed to wind her own plait before, but the handmaiden who’d aided the queen the morning after her wedding had travelled separately. To her surprise, Aisling didn’t mind. She enjoyed the privacy of dressing herself, especially since Lir was never in their bed come morning. Somehow, even when he’d gone to bed hours after she, the fae king managed to wake before her and begin organizing his men for the journey. Aisling knew it was, in part, because he was a king, always responsible for one problem or another. But Aisling also knew it was because of her. For the sake of the union, Lir would pretend. Pretend that the union between the mortal and the Aos Sí was normal, good, effective in uniting the races. He needed to lead by example. Otherwise, it would all be for naught. But in private, he didn’t need to pretend. He didn’t need to spend a moment more than necessary with Aisling. That much had become clear.

“I’ve brought you breakfast,mo Lúra,” Galad said, handing her a brown sack. Aisling reached across the space betweentheir stags and peered within. A simple pairing of bread and cheese.

“Thank you,” she said, shocked the fae knight had thought of her. Lir had left food for her, resting at the foot of their bed before she woke. She’d devoured it quickly, hungrier than she’d ever felt before. Not to mention, she was in no place to refuse an unwarranted kindness when such hospitalities were far and few between.

“So, what does the mortal princess think of the world outside her stone walls?” Galad asked, grinning wolfishly. Aisling wondered if the Aos Sí had ever laid eyes on Tilren before, if he knew which walls had certainly sheltered her for her entire life.

“It’s compelling—enticing,” she said honestly. “I can imagine it being hard to go back to living without so many stars lighting the night sky.”

“And our kind? What do you think of us?” Galad grinned mischievously, boasting his own set of pointed canines. Aisling’s eyes flitted towards Lir, surveying the lip of an approaching pine forest.

“The Aos Sí?” Aisling asked, more as a means of stalling than genuine curiosity. But she’d already forgotten what Lir had called their kind.Sidhe, she reminded herself.

“Is that what the mortals call us?” the rider mused, a playful expression challenging Aisling’s stony one. Aisling opened her mouth to respond but was quickly interrupted.

“Galad,tá aois éigil da mhaith lirn go freilick!” Lir called from up ahead.

“Excuse me,mo Lúra.” Galad bowed his head before kicking his beast and breaking from the cavalcade at the command of his king. The two of them spoke till the rest of the fae knights closed the distance, pointing between the trees. Lir and Galad’s stags grew restless, stomping the dirt beneath their hooves, madly pacing within the shadow of the pines. Aisling could sense their nerves, the fear tighteningthe coils of their muscles, charging their hooves. Pangs of unease radiating from them like a sour smell she could feel, hear, and see.

Aisling had witnessed horses behave this way before, even the masterfully trained Tilrish destriers. But only ever in the presence of a forest, reason enough for her riding instructor to ban the princess from nearing the woodland’s edge on horseback or otherwise. A law that made Aisling all the more eager to venture through the trees.

Once they’d finished their conversation, Galad nodded to Lir and returned to the procession slowly approaching, weaving through the knights till he arrived at Aisling’s side once more.

“Mo Lúra,” Galad addressed her. “Lir has requested you share his mount while we cut through the woods.” Aisling glanced at the forest ahead, an agrestal fortress of pine and oak and feral creatures, innocently swaying in the northern winds.

“Are these woods dangerous?” Aisling asked, but Galad didn’t stop to respond, reaching for her reins and pulling her towards the fae king.

“All forests are dangerous,” Galad replied at last, bringing Aisling’s mount to a stop. But wasn’t this Lir’s kingdom? His domain? Aisling kept her questions to herself.

Lir leapt from his own stag to aid Aisling in her dismount. He ignored her offered hand, instead reaching for her waist and lifting her effortlessly to the ground. In another moment, Aisling was atop the fae king’s stag. Lir mounted behind Aisling, wrapping his arms around her till his hands found the steed’s reins, slender hands tangled in those tribal tattoos that glimmered even in the shade. She was frightened of him still, clenching her jaw, willing herself to quit the trembling that accompanied the fae king’s nearness. Would the fearever dissipate?

He said nothing to her.

Aisling did her best to ignore the press of his body behind her, the smell of him, of pine needles. Of the earth freshly soaked with rain, as he clicked his tongue and the stag obeyed.

The procession tightened its formation, cautiously entering the forest behind the fae king and their new mortal queen.

As if entering a new world, the pressure of the air thickened. The sun dimmed, cloaked by thick canopies and the smell of damp wood carried in by the morning breeze. A wind that slipped through the labyrinth of greenwood and challenged the cacophony of crunching leaves beneath the stags’ hooves. And as these ancient, primordial trees whispered groggily, awoken from their slumber with the groans of a tree trunk swaying in the wind, Aisling couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

The stags nervously whinnied, prancing in place. But what could inspire such fear in the Aos Sí and their mounts? Surely it was not a pack of wolves or a den of bears. The fair folk could do away with such creatures weaponless and continue unscathed.

Nemed had warned Aisling, his tuath, and all the Isles of Rinn Dúin about the forests, the mountains, the wilderness, lest they be captured by the Aos Sí. In her father’s stories, this wicked race was the monster lurking beyond their civilized walls. So, what struck caution and fear in the ancient beasts she now accompanied?

“Is something wrong?” Aisling asked Lir.

The fae king studied their surroundings, peering between the great oaks, his breath as steady, as still as a beast of prey, skulking across the forest floor. He considered for a moment.

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