Page 49 of The Savage Queen

“Aye, you’re brothers after all.”

Fionn considered, pressing the back of his middle and index finger to his lips.

“It’s a lengthy, tedious tale for another time.”

“We have time now,” Aisling insisted, taking another sip of her tea. “Especially if you’re intent on giving me everything and anything I covet.”

Fionn smiled, but it never met his eyes. At last, he lowered his hand, gripping the arms of his chair.

“Before Bres, Ina loved Delbaeth. My father. In that age, the concept ofcaeraswasn’t yet revealed, and so Ina and Delbaeth bore a child together.”

“You,” Aisling conjectured, glaring at the fae lord in a new light.

Fionn nodded his head.

“Despite this child, Ina succumbed to the allure of Bres during the start of the Wild Hunt: enemies at first, then traitorous lovers. A betrayal to Delbaeth and the rare son they’d forged together. So Delbaeth challenged Bres to a test. The winner would surrender their affections and accept Ina’s choice whichever and whoever that may be.”

“I’m guessing Bres won.”

“No,” Fionn said, wincing as though a bitter taste had just graced his tongue. “Bres cheated.”

Aisling swallowed a hot gulp of tea.

“Nevertheless, it hardly mattered. Ina ran away with Bres and met hers and her kingdom’s demise because of it.”

A war bred of envy, Aisling realized. But not because of the dragons. Because of love.

Fionn stood from his chair. Aisling watched as he approached, circling the table before holding out his hand in offer.

“Come, let me better acquaint you with Oighir.”

Coyly, Aisling accepted his hand, recognizing any opportunity to better explore the castle was an opportunity to better familiarize herself with her prison. One she’d burn if it weren’t for whatever icy shackles Fionn had wrapped around herdraiocht, quelling what might she bore. A question she hoarded, awaiting the most advantageous time to ask.

Fionn led her from the dining hall and into an arcade that wrapped around several turrets nestled beside clouds as thick as cotton.

Down below, the open areas of the castle bustled. Servants scurrying to prepare for Fionn’s test, sentinels posted at every entrance, and music plucked distantly by woodland bards.

“Together, you and I could rule the realm from Oighir,” he said. “You’ll be gifted wealth, opulence, power, and eternal affection.” Fionn brushed her shoulder with his own as they walked, prickling every one of Aisling’s nerves. “We’d descend the realm into everlasting winter.”

Fionn waved his hand elegantly, and at the gesture, snow descended from the heavens in glittering flurries. Every bear statue roaring from their perches like gargoyles, every spindly turret, every silver sky bridge, every garland bleeding scarlet berries, became sugared and sparkling.

Fionn was trying to impress Aisling: this much she knew. And had she never met Lir, had never lived in Annwyn, perhaps this would’ve impressed her. But Aisling had already tasted Annwyn’s grisly, blood-soaked magic, its adventure, smelt the herbs of the forest, and bruised her feet dancing at aSnaidhm. Had felt fear, anger, joy, and pleasure. Had cried, laughed, danced, and reveled whilst a part of the fae king’s world: one glimmering, green, and savage. One she couldn’t forget so easily.

And as though summoned, Lir appeared around the corner.

From where Fionn and Aisling stood high up on an outdoor walkway, they peered down into a courtyard traced by cypresses and boasting a statue of Fionn reclined in his throne.

Gilrel, Galad, Filverel, and Peitho were with the Sidhe king of the greenwood.

Weapons in hand, they were sparring. Dealing brutal blows against one another as each lithely navigated their duel.

Lir, himself, was an armed shadow cutting through his opponents with wicked accuracy. Every movement was made with the next in mind, felling adversary after adversary as he’d done for centuries prior, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. Eventually, the courtyard was a portrait of defeat, Lir the sole victor, twirling his blades in his hands.

Aisling inhaled sharply, her knees suddenly weak. He wore no coat, no jacket, and no blouse despite the arctic air. Instead, he was sweating and bare-chested, his broad shoulders boasting every chiseled muscle in his back, his arms, and his narrow waist. Fae markings mocked Aisling’s attention as she studied them each as well, committing the wolf at his shoulder to memory, the runes along his forearms, the interlace where his trousers hung low?—

Aisling flicked her eyes away but it hardly mattered. Lir had already caught her staring, grinning up at her from where he twirled his axes down below. Their eyes meeting, attentionpulled by the intangible cord between them till they were drawn together once more. The falling snow, the music, the world dissolving and blurring in their periphery.

“Aisling.” Aisling wasn’t certain how many times Fionn had spoken her name before his voice, at last, tore her from her stupor.

---