Page 116 of The Savage Queen

Aisling stepped to the side, another spirit taking her hand and dipping her. And as soon as their clasp unlatched, Lir found her, catching her and bringing her back to him. Chest to chest, forced to gaze up and into his eyes.

The music heated. The beating of animal skins growing louder. The pipe smoke thickening.

“How long must we dance like this?” Aisling asked, more breathless than she anticipated.

“Till we reach the other threshold.”

The other end of the ballroom was still a lengthy distance away. Their pace slow and gradual as they danced from line to line. And at the far wall, another door materialized behind the folds of ballooning gowns and sparkling armor.

“We could race for it,” Aisling said, impatient.

“Not unless you wish to disrupt their dance and tear the veil. The two of us against a legion of war-bred spirits.”

Aisling swallowed, reminded of the weapons that hung from their wispy belts, the fangs glistening behind parted lips, and the savage sparkle that grew more hollow, hungrier by the moment.

Lir slid his hands to her waist, pressing her closer. The tips of his fingers grazing her bare thigh where the slit of her dress parted.

Aisling hesitated.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, the air suddenly stifling, her palm instinctively finding his chest and holding him at bay.

“Dancing,” he whispered, the fire in his breath sending chills down Aisling’s spine.

Aisling forced herself to look around. Indeed, the pace of the song had grown slower, headier, as the celebration dissolved into something more primal. Losing the elegance and grace-like patterns of the earlier dance for something far more savage.

Aisling dithered, fighting Lir’s enchantment cast only by touch. By the gale soft brush of his fingers against her bare skin, the sensation of his abdomen flush against her own, moving to the rhythm of the song. The caress of his every breath against her throat as he bent his head beside her neck. Afraid she couldn’t find her way out of his spells if she dared enter one.

You will perish in a world of your own making. An axe in your heart.

“Dance,ellwyn,” he said against her ear. The eyes of countless spirits wandering back to Aisling as she stalled. Their ancient expressions studying Aisling for the first time. Nostrils flaring at whatever scent Lir’s own couldn’t mask.

At last, Aisling wrapped her arms around Lir’s neck, moving against his body. This was the closest they’d ever been with one another without the intent to slit the other’s throat. Yet, this wasa duel all the same. A dare with mortal stakes. So, Aisling didn’t look up at his expression, but she could feel the easy arrogance of his smile. One inspired by bloody victories and ruthless triumphs. His hands finding her waist and pressing her closer still. Till she could feel every hard edge of his body, his forge-blessed muscle, smell the forest as though doused in its incense.

“Prophecy says we’ll destroy this realm,” Aisling said, enveloped by the smell of him. “Centuries of war, ruin, and death. This realm will crumble.”

She wasn’t certain why she said it. Only that every touch, every meeting of the eyes, every breath they shared was cursed by the omen. Compelled Aisling to remember if only to dissuade her from ever touching him a second time, a third time, a fourth. To sever the thread between them.

Lir tangled his fingers through her hair, breathing against her neck, breaking away only to tip her chin toward him.

“So be it,” he said.

Aisling shivered, fully bespelled by his verdant eyes as they drowned in her own. Unapologetically, they flicked to her mouth.

“What is there to rule if everything becomes ash?” she asked, as he traced the length of her arm with one hand, finding her own and tangling his fingers between hers. The press of his palm against her own excruciating.

Then, once more, his hands found her thighs, but this time, his grip deepened. His touch possessive. The torture made unbearable as they continued to spin to the music.

He ignored her question in favor of another.

“Would you believe me if I told you I wanted more?” he purred against her ear.

Aisling ran her fingers down his arms, exploring the contours of his shoulders, his biceps, his forearms as they, in response, tensed and flexed to clutch her more tightly. No doubt bruisingwhat mortal flesh remained. Yet she didn’t care. She’d craved this, and wondered what Lir felt like against her own bare flesh. What it would feel like for him to want her, even if this were all pretend. A means to deceive ghosts and their ravenous appetites but nothing more.

“I’d be a fool to believe anything you said.”

“You’re well aware I can’t lie.”

“So, you’ve mastered trickery.”

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