Page 136 of The Savage Queen

This was Lir’s throne room. Images of Bres were depicted in the mosaics, in the sculptures, his dedication to Ina made tangible in the hundreds of owls that flew amidst the canopies, hooting at Aisling’s arrival.

Aisling approached the throne, her every footstep echoing amidst the silence.

There was magic here, ripe and thick. Pressing down upon her head as though submerged beneath several layers of the ocean.

This is ours, Racat—the shape of herdraiocht—said inside her.We will ruleeverything.

Aisling traced the arms of the throne with the tips of her fingers and whatdraiochtlurked here thrummed through her. Every hair on her body stood to attention.

Once the throne of her enemy, the nightmare muse of blood-soaked legends. Now, the throne she craved. Wanted, and would no longer feel guilty for desiring.

Desire stoked all power. Desire made her limitless. Made everything she’d ever wanted within grasp if she wanted it enough to take it.

Aisling paused, allowing the magic to flow through her. Until she heard him at the threshold.

Lir wanted her to know he was there, otherwise, Aisling never would’ve gleaned the soft press of his boots atop the marble floors. Like a wolf pads across the forest floor.

She turned, meeting his eyes, overtaken as she’d been at theSnaidhm.

“I wish to be alone,” she said, forcing the words as calm and resolute as she could manage. But they broke regardless, exposing the emotion inherent within.

“You’ve avoided me since we departed Iod,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets as he approached, stopping only when they stood at opposing ends of the hall.

“It was intentional.”

“I gleaned that.”

“Then be gone.”

A muscle flickered across Lir’s jaw, his sage eyes growing shadows.

“I want to know how you’re healing.”

Against her own volition, Aisling glanced down at her abdomen. She’d healed almost fully from Starn’s iron blade but the considerable amount of blood she’d lost had taken its toll. For the next several weeks, her body would be recovering, harnessing back its strength.

“In time, there’ll scarcely be a scar. That’s what Gilrel tells me.”

Lir’s shoulders slackened, taking another silent step forward.

“What happened at Lofgren’s Rise?—”

“If you’ve come seeking my gratitude for sparing my life in place of seizing the curse breaker before you knew I was bound to yourdragún, then look no further,” Aisling bit. “You’ll find no such thanks here.”

Lir shook his head, brows drawing together in either anger or sadness, Aisling couldn’t tell. Only that the emotion traveled deep within him, rising to the surface.

“You think that’s why I’ve come?”

“Why have you come?” Aisling said, turning to face him fully. “Why do you insist on haunting me?”

“Hauntingyou?” Lir’s expression contorted, eyes flecked with torment. “The image of you, the sound of you, the smell of you, wakes me in the night and its possession does not falter in daylight. I’ve tried to rid myself of your spells time and time again, to cut them from my heart by blade of iron if I must andstillyou sink your fangs into my soul.” Every word sharp with frustration, with anger, chilling Aisling’s blood.

“Your name stalks my thoughts even in battle,” he continued, the room growing darker. “Whilst my name on your lips is a curse I cannot banish, cannot break, cannot muster the strength to wish it gone. Instead, I need it. Need you and I despise you for it.”

Aisling blinked, damning the tears that fell down her cheeks as he continued to approach. Defeating the distance between them.

“And so, there is no trust between us,” Aisling said, louder than she’d anticipated.

“But there can be.” Lir walked up the steps of the dais, nearing both the throne and Aisling.

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