Page 45 of The Mortal Queen

“Let go of me!” Aisling squirmed beneath him, but it was fruitless. His grip was impenetrable, one arm around her waist and the other pressed against the bark of the rowan, closer than Aisling had been to any individual much less a male. So, she cursed the simmering of her skin, the fire coiling tightly within her abdomen.

“It’s never wise to release prey so panicked.” His breath hot against her skin.

“Prey suggests a hunt, My Lord, a comparison mortal women don’t take kindly to.” Aisling bared her teeth, wrapping her slick palms around her dagger’s haft, still strapped to her thigh.

“Because the opposite is often more accurate,” Lir said, eyes miraculously bright, even in the morning haze. He caught Aisling’s wrist before she could draw Iarbonel’s dagger from its scabbard, thwarting her attempts. Aisling cursed beneath her breath. She hadn’t planned on harming him. Simply threatening him enough to release her.

Aisling’s face flushed with anger.

“You blame the cornered creature for baring its fangs.”

Lir breathed another faint laugh. “I hardly think of you as a ‘cornered creature’ or prey for that matter. There’s more that runs in your blood than your people would credit you for.”

At last, Lir released her, her feet finding the earth inelegantly. He towered above her once more. The flashing of his eyes implied he’d acknowledged Aisling’s fae leathers for the first time, her chainmail, boots, and tunic a stark contrast to her usual floor-length gowns.

Aisling exhaled, still counting each of his breaths should he move too quickly, too violently. This time, Aisling would have the dagger poised to strike the fae king who filled her thoughts. Thoughts she foolishly attempted to burn over and over again. But always they regrew from the ash, sprouting and taking claim to her every passing whim. And now that he looked down at her, a tangible form to all her terrors, her blood burned. No longer simple words spoken around a fire.

“You speak as though you know my people,” Aisling bit.

“I’d wager I’ve known more mortals than yourself, princess. Enough to convince me you’re all the same.”

“And yet you don’t know me,” Aisling spat.

“I know enough,” he said, pupils dilated in a sage eclipse. No more was he the dream-spun stag sitting at the edge of her bed. The luminous king even in the shroud of evening. He was once again the wolf. Angry, formidable, ravenous.

“You’ve been tainted by an upbringing designed to breed hatred towards the Sidhe.”

“And I’d bind myself to an enemy a thousand times over for the sake of my clann and my kind. To keep them safe. As would you.” For Aisling was not the only one who’d sacrificed something. Lir too had bound himself to the mortal princess for the sake of the fair folk. Or at the very least, had resolved to behead a mortal princess to preserve his kin even ifit meant war.

Aisling steeled herself, hardening against all emotion lest she dwell on the fact that the fae king had borne every intention of severing her neck. And far worse, Aisling batted away the sympathy as quickly as it blossomed. There was no reason for her heart to ache at the thought of Lir’s past.

Briefly, his emerald eyes flickered with understanding before collapsing into that thick, impassable wall of contempt. That cool arrogance rippled through his every muscle as he leaned against a nearby tree.

“Your people are still in danger. As are mine,” Lir said, some of his amusement vanishing.

“You refer to the Unseelie, don’t you?” Aisling surmised, searching his expression for answers. She’d wondered endlessly about the Unseelie. About what Lir was possibly doing in the feywilds all this time. But none seemed willing to impart any information. Not Gilrel nor Galad nor the birds, and certainly not any of the other Aos Sí she’d encountered.

“Yes,” he confessed.

“And have I endangered Annwyn?” The question was one Aisling had mulled over often. For hadn’t it been intimated that Aisling’s mortal scent was attracting the Unseelie to Annwyn’s borders?

“The Unseelie are a threat regardless of your presence,” he said. “They’ve been worsening for some time.”

“That’s where you’ve been, isn’t it? Securing Annwyn’s perimeter?” Aisling asked in earnest.

Lir grinned. “Concerned for my welfare, princess?”

“Of course”—she held his eyes—“so long as it affects my own.” At this, Lir laughed, the sound caressing Aisling’s senses.

“Aye, securing Annwyn’s perimeter amongst other things,” he continued. “Dealing with the Unseelie is complex. They’re not a single race. They’re many with various lords, chiefs, matriarchs, and leaders. Ranging from pure beast to conscious, intelligent creatures. All chaotic, archaic, opposedto order and governed solely by hunger and need.”

“And what of your sovereignship? You’re their king are you not?” Aisling asked.

“Aye and we’ve managed to coexist for many centuries, constantly dancing on the precipice of conflict. For some time, they’ve questioned the leadership of the Sidhe and now that I’ve taken a mortal bride, they’ve grown angrier than ever before.”

Aisling wondered why he divulged so much. No members of the fae court, thus far, had deigned to reveal anything so specific to the mortal queen. But Aisling said nothing for fear he would stop. Perhaps fae lords grew lonely just as mortal kings became. She’d seen such loneliness spread within her own father. The way he carried his shoulders, the vacant look in his eyes that Clodagh could never warm. For monarchs were burdened by responsibilities the average man couldn’t fathom. And to carry such weight for centuries as did Lir…Aisling couldn’t imagine.

“Galad suggested my scent lures the Unseelie to Annwyn.”

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