Page 41 of The Mortal Queen

“You underestimate yourself,mo Lúra. There is nothing the Lady Peitho despises more than a worthy opponent.” Gently, Gilrel swiveled Aisling on her heel till she faced the mirror.

The mortal queen stilled; she didn’t recognize her own reflection. Aisling had donned the guise of a warrior. The leather hugged her form, flattering what little muscle she brandished and lengthening her limbs. The chainmail padded her curves, hardening her countenance. Aisling looked as if she could swing a sword, raise a shield, defend herself.

“There’s no competition. She’s already lost.” For if Peitho still resented Aisling’s marriage to Lir, it mattered not. One couldn’t unseal the treaty Aisling and Lir had already sewn in blood and vows. Never mind the fact they hadn’t consummated the alliance, a secret Aisling pledged to protect. And ifthe southern princess chose to outright threaten their union, she threatened all of mankind. A threat not to be taken kindly by mortal clanns.

Gilrel weaved her paws through Aisling’s hair, braiding it tightly.

“And now,mo Lúra,you underestimate Peitho.”

This early in the morning, the training fields were empty. A long stretch of grass interspersed with round, shooting targets and dummies. Around its edges were the steep walls of the greenwood, standing as straight as sentinels.

Peitho sparred with three trooping females beneath Castle Annwyn’s edge. Five stags already saddled and huffing fat clouds into the misty mountain air beside them.

“I’m assuming you’ve never held a bow before?” Galad said, standing behind both Aisling and Gilrel. The knight had insisted he escort them lest Lir return and catch him neglecting his responsibilities.

“How difficult can it be?” Aisling replied, already starting towards Peitho and swallowing the nerves eager for her to return to the security of her quarters. She did this despite Peitho moving as lethally as she’d done the afternoon of theSnaidhm, defeating those who challenged her with relative ease.

And if her strength weren’t enough to inspire doubt, her beauty was; Peitho was autumn incarnate. Flaming hair, the twin spark to the vermillion of her feline eyes.

Peitho, however, wasn’t the only striking creature Aisling approached. One bore curls like ice, a jagged scar through her bottom lip. The other seemingly bathed in the southern sun and the last, forged by the supple, umber fingers of the forest’s streams. All four were much taller than Aisling, ever more obvious as each needed to tilt their heads to meet her gaze.

“Mo Lúra,” Peitho purred breathlessly, narrowing her eyes. “I was concerned you wouldn’t make it.”

“I wouldn’t neglect an invitation from the princess of Niltaor.”

“I only assumed because, since you’ve arrived, we’ve scarcely had the honor of passing you in the castle corridors or dining alongside Your Grace.” Peitho exchanged knowing glances with the others, still breathless from their activity.

Aisling smiled, considering her next words carefully lest she fall victim to Peitho’s silver tongue. After all, a lie risked being discovered, but the truth cost richly in embarrassment: to admit that her movement within the castle was limited. Indeed, the Aos Sí’s lack of trust trumped the only card she bore against Peitho: that she, a mortal, was queen of the fair folk and the fae princess before her was not. She couldn’t forfeit that advantage so easily.

“Mo Lúra, has been quite preoccupied with growing accustomed to our way of life since she arrived. Especially considering all the responsibility she’s undertaken while Lir’s been away,” Gilrel chimed, stepping into place beside Aisling.

The mortal queen stifled her shock, the gratitude rising in her chest, exhaling an inconspicuous sigh of relief. Before now, Aisling couldn’t have ever begun to imagine being indebted to Gilrel for her sharp tongue.

“So, it seems.” Peitho smirked. “Forgive me, I’ve been so rude,mo Lúra.These are my friends and soon to be yours: Blaine, Deidra, and Noirin.” The three fae bowed. “Each from territories in Niltaor, Vulra, and Saryn. As favorites of mine, they accompany me on all my”—she hesitated, eyes flashing with doubt—“political outings.”

Aisling nodded, understanding. Blaine, Deidra, and Noirin had likely been the fae selected to stand at Peitho’s side during her union with Lir.

“Do you know how to fight,mo Lúra?” Noirin asked, eyeing Iarbonel’s dagger strapped to Aisling’s thigh. A weapon of mortal making.

“I’ve had brief experience,” Aisling confessed, for it was useless to feign otherwise. She was clearly slimmer and smaller than the Aos Sí before her. She didn’t possess their chiseled limbs or stealth-like grace. But Noirin already knew that.

“Will she be able to participate today?” Deidra asked Peitho, as though Aisling weren’t perfectly capable of responding herself.

“I’m eager to learn,” Aisling interjected.

“Is it wise to teach a mortal, one who sleeps with the king, to fight?” Blaine asked, her expression twisted with obvious derision. “Should anything happen to her…or him, it would be our heads beneath the axe.”

“She already killed the trow, can already stomach the blow at the very least,” Deidre added quickly.

Aisling cringed at the mention of the trow, at times forgetting all of Annwyn had witnessed her slay the beast at Lir’s command.

“Are you suggesting Lir couldn’t defend himself against his owncaera?” Galad piped.

“Most males cannot,” Peitho bit, no longer interested in hiding the venom of her tone.

Unamused, Galad gestured towards the stags. “Let’s begin if we ever wish to finish.”

“Eager to be done with this verbal sparring and onto more physical means of casting blows, Galad?” Noirin grinned.

---