Page 53 of The Mortal Queen

“I have no other stories. Only those experiences shared with my brothers.”

“You must miss them,” he said.

Aisling considered changing the subject. She’d already shared her own name, but to share those of her family, to exchange memories of them with the fae king, felt like a betrayal. Like a jewel she hoarded lest it fall and break, shattering whatever recollection she still bore.

On the other hand, she wished to speak life to the memories, to keep them alive and well. For each day, her upbringing in Castle Neimedh felt more and more like a passing dream.

“Aye, I do. I often wonder what they’d think of all of this. Of the Aos Sí, of Annwyn. Of everything.”

“What are they like?” Lir continued, his voice so low only Aisling could hear. Another whisper amongst the forest’s lazy drawl of groaning trees, ruffling canopies, and the skittering of those nocturnal creatures on the woodland floor.

The mortal queen’s heart panged with an ache-like longing. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of her family for longer than a moment. For longer than a passing thought. Not since she’d wept every last tear she thought her body capable of producing those first few weeks. And now that she let down those barriers, the dam began washing through, flooding the mortal queen with the days of her childhood past.

“Iarbonel is the kindest. He taught me how to hold my dagger.” Aisling smiled to herself. “Annind is the most intelligent, knows every morsel of history on this continent and beyond. Fergus, on the other hand, is as thin as a rail yet perpetually insatiable. He’d struggle with the food here.” Aisling swallowed the stone in her throat. “AndStarn, the eldest, is the fiercest. The only one my father allows to accompany him, work with him. The direct heir to his throne.” Aisling gnawed on the inside of her cheek.

“And yourself?” Lir continued. “Where does the princess find her place?”

Aisling frowned. “I’d often hoped to be the strongest, besting my brothers with a blade. Hoped to be the wisest, a well of guidance for the North when I came of age. Hoped to be the most disciplined, reaping the fruits of such self-mastery. But alas, I coveted that which wasn’t meant for me; often weak, often foolish, often impulsive and disobedient, I was rather creative with my lies, stealthy when I cheated at our games, unteachable when it came to the law, my clann’s savage daughter.”

“You say it as though it’s shameful.”

Aisling considered. “I was a misfit. My only salvation, the love of my tuath and the Neimedh legacy.”

For several moments, Lir was silent. Aisling’s own voice echoed inside her mind until at last he spoke.

“The skin of a lamb will never flatter a wolf.”

Aisling glowered, shaking her head. “You misread me. I am no wolf. My blood is rich in iron, my heart pledged to mortality, my will loyal to the North.”

“Are those the qualities that enchanted the princeling?” Amidst the darkness, Aisling couldn’t see Lir’s grin but she could hear it, the self-satisfied inflection he awarded his words.

The mortal queen hesitated. What could she say about Dagfin? The mere mention of the Roktan prince brought fire to her lungs.

“Why don’tyouhumor me with a fanciful tale? I myself am growing quite bored of these questions.”

“Because your blatant refusal to answer a simple question now has me interested,” he said, growing more amused. How strong were fae senses? Could they hear better? See betterthan mortals? For the forest was now stained in ink and Aisling was certain he couldn’t witness her flush nor measure the pace of her heart.

“The king of the greenwood is interested in the mortal prince of Roktling? Dagfin will be quite flattered when I have a chance to te?—”

“So, the princeling’s name is Dagfin,” Lir surmised, and Aisling clamped her mouth shut. “Let me guess, he proposed then chronicled his undying love in a poorly written mortal ballad.”

“You’re wrong,” Aisling scoffed, toying with Saoirse’s mane between her fingers. “He never proposed but we were to be married.”

Lir jerked his head back then recovered. “That explains his indignation last we met.”

“I can assure you that had nothing to do with myself.”

“And everything to do with my race?”

“Aye, as does your loathing of our kind.”

“I can assure you, princess, my loathing cannot be fully blamed on race alone.”

“Neither can mine,” Aisling simmered, her posture stiffening.

“And what do you loathe about me?” he asked, pulling her back towards him with a gentle press of her waist as they ambled down a steep slope.

“To begin, your bloodthirst.”

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