Page 77 of The Mortal Queen

The fae lord grinned, dimples framing his broad beam.

“Follow me.”

“Are we close?” Aisling’s boots crunched the quilts of snow, stumbling to keep Lir’s pace.

“Almost.”

“And what of everyone else?” Aisling asked.

Lir glanced at her over his shoulder, the corner of his lips curling in the slightest. “They’ll continue setting up camp.”

Aisling steeled herself against both her nerves and the cold. Perhaps he was leading her to her own execution. Where the alder roots could taste her blood once the puddles had seeped into the frozen earth.

“Where are we going?”

Lir’s lips spread into a smile that stole the mortal queen’s breath.

“Here,” he said, guiding Aisling towards a row of trees. A wall of needles and chocolate bark. So, Lir peeled back the curtains of frosted pine and nudged Aisling forward till they emerged on the other side.

Nestled between the slick bellies of two neighboring mountains, were hot springs, countless individual cerulean pools spilling over until all gargled the same steaming waters. Snow clung to the steep walls of rock, ice beaded the forest’s limbs, branches that hung loomed over the springs in chandeliers of needles and icicles and snow.

Breathless, Aisling’s eyes grew wide with wonder. This was a palace. A fortress sculpted by the wild, every morsel ofverglas carved by nature’s immaculate hands.

“Can you swim?” Lir brushed past her, boots stirring up clouds of snow

“Yes,” Aisling replied, considering the milky waters by the brim of the springs. Waters that rippled with the drops of melting ice, showering from the alders above. “There’s a lake beside Castle Neimedh. Where my brothers and I were taught to swim.” And Dagfin, but Aisling refused herself the permission to speak his name aloud.

“Good,” Lir said, shucking off his boots. “You reek.”

Aisling scowled, eyes darting between the waters and the fae warrior on her left. Her pulse pounding through the rivers in her ears, unsure whether she should be angry or terrified at the prospect of Lir intimating they enter these springs together. Regardless, the thought of bathing herself was too tempting to withhold from her consideration entirely.

“Are there…Is it safe?” Aisling asked, inching nearer.

“There are no Unseelie in these waters if that’s what concerns you,” Lir said, already pulling off his bandolier, his axes, and his outer jacket. And before the mortal queen could avert her eyes, she glimpsed the cut image that’d graced her at both theSnaidhmand in her dream, all save the wings she was more than curious to witness for herself.

Aisling stilled, her expression reddening till she lit like an ember amidst the landscape of white and hunter green. And in response, Lir bore his fangs wickedly, the corners of his lips twitching up.

“Relax, princess,” Lir said, unbuckling his belt. “I anticipated your mortal prudishness.”

“Modesty,” Aisling choked.

Lir gestured towards her leathers. “Enter with your clothes on, if you wish. The camp is near enough.”

“And yourself?” Aisling asked, deigning to meet his eyes. For now, all he wore were his trousers, lowly, indecently hanging from his narrow hips. Enough tosummon her stomach up her throat.

“I’ll keep my trousers on,” Lir said, climbing down the rocks and into the pool. The waters seeped into the fabric of his pants and the steam danced around his perfectly muscled abdomen, near veiling him from Aisling’s vantage point. A small mercy.

“Unless you prefer otherwise.” The fae king flashed another wolfish grin, gleaming despite the mist. Aisling glowered in return, clenching her fists at her sides. Unfortunately, Lir was right. Aisling did reek, smelled of the fomorians and blood and dirt and stag and sweat. Even her long, dark hair was knotted and matted in its braid, loosely falling around her face.

The mortal queen swallowed, shaking her head. She couldn’t enter fully clothed. Not only would they weigh her down, but it was an admission that she bore any nerves, embarrassment, hesitancy around a creature she deigned to reveal any weaknesses to.

So, Aisling stubbornly slipped off her outer jacket and draped it over a nearby boulder. She removed her belt, her leather corset, then her boots, unraveling her hair from its plait. Lir watched as she undressed until only her trousers and blouse remained, eyes darkening. His regard warmed every inch of her flesh.

And there was a moment, a passing temptation, to remove everything. All her clothing till she stood bare before him. To see if she could wield the same sultry power as the merrow. An unprecedented urge that went against the world she’d been raised in. An impulse that became difficult to stifle.

The mortal queen lowered herself down the slick edge. After a few missteps, Aisling submerged herself in the pool. She gasped at the heat of the waters, near scalding against her frozen, dirty skin. But after a moment, the sensation was pure bliss, waters soaking and untangling her nest of hair.

She scrubbed her skin, clawing beneath her sleeves andthe legs of her pants to reach every inch of herself. Nevertheless, it would take days, weeks, months before the stench of their travels fully left her. Was this how Lir always smelled of the woods? Of the hours after a storm, of wet leaves, of pine needles?

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