Page 137 of The Savage Queen

Aisling shook her head, “We were born enemies, discoveredcaera, and we will eventually die by one another’s hand.”

“Because fate has chosen for us?”

“Because fate has deemed it so! Because I will perish with an axe in my heart!”

Quicker than Aisling could blink, Lir drew his right axe from his back.

Instinctively, Aisling’s fists lit with flame. She took a single step forward.

“Take my axe then,” he said, offering the blade where she stood several steps above him atop the dais.

Aisling opened her mouth to speak but no words left her lips. Speechless, she glared at the twinkling axe, considering it the way she had the night of their union.

“None but the fae king wield Hiraeth,” Aisling said, summarizing what she’d been told of the fae king’s weapons. Twin blades that were akin to limbs, forged for his hands alone, and the embodiment of Annwyn itself. Capable of crumbling the fae king’s world if destroyed. Blades Aisling had never seen Lir without. Even as he slept.

“It’s yours,” Lir said, his fangs reflecting the violet of her fires. “Yours to wield. Yours to destroy. Yours to burn. As am I.”

Aisling’s heart stuttered, her stomach twisting. Eyes glazed over with tears and red from exhaustion.

Slowly, Aisling raised her hand, wrapping her violet fingers around the axe.

The axe hissed, as though it bore a soul, writhing, squirming beneath the heat of herdraiocht. Swiftly, Aisling extinguished her fires, allowing the pure body of the weapon to flow through her. Ancient, primordial, and cast in the Forge, gifted by the gods to Bres himself, Aisling felt the life breath of the forest. Rain seeping through canopies, leaves falling to the earth, beasts skulking inside their shadows. Every groan and growl and roar the woodland sang, danced when it believed no one was watching.

And it was glorious.

Lir ascended till he stood atop the dais, forcing Aisling to look up and into his eyes. A window into the arcane woodland that surrounded them and grew through Castle Annwyn. Theportrait of every leaf, every grisly hunt, every riverbed, alive and breathing from the green of his eyes.

“You describe control. That isn’t love,” Aisling said.

“No, love is loss. Love is human. Be you mortal, be you fae, be you something in between, what I feel for you is something more. Something everlasting.” He bared his fangs. “I only ask you never uncurse me. Never fail to haunt me,” he said, holding her chin between his knuckle and thumb. “Never cease to possess me.”

Lir dipped his head, pressing his mouth to Aisling’s.

His kiss was deep, full, dizzying to Aisling’s mind as she allowed the pain to meld with her pleasure. Allowed the grief, her mourning, her torment to slip into whatever witchery the fae king bled into every touch of his lips. He, the taste of magic, of fae wine, and smoke in the woods. Fangs scraping against her lips the harder he kissed her, as though he’d begun and couldn’t pull himself back, up, and out of whatever oblivion they’d fallen into by allowing themselves this one kiss.

Aisling wasn’t certain when Lir’s axe fell onto the ground. When he laced his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head as he leaned further into her. Aisling knew it was wrong. Knew it was forbidden. The Lady’s prophecy echoing again and again in her mind. Whether it be the doom of the world or her own damnation, dealt by the edge of Lir’s axe. Every droplet of her blood screaming in protest each time he touched her let alone tasted her. Let alone tore open her chest and devoured her heart, savoring every bite like the beast Aisling once feared. Yet she couldn’t help but hope for a night filled with nightmares. Yearned for him, her body tightening, heating as he kissed her more deeply, as though in question. His lashes brushing against her cheeks.

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

Aisling pushed him away, straightening an arm between them. A fathomless distance, slackening the intangible cord.

Lir growled, flushed, pressing his lips into a straight line, appraising her. The green of his eyes shadowed with endless yearning.

So, Aisling pushed him farther and toward his throne.

Lir hesitated, confusion riddling his otherworldly expression. Till he reclined in his seat and Aisling moved atop him, straddling the fae king.

Lir shuddered. His expression shifting, darkening a shade deeper than the depths of the Forge. The curve of his lips prickling every nerve in Aisling’s body as his body hardened against her. Eyes sparkling as though lost in an enchantment of his own making.

His hands wrapped around her waist and brought her flush against himself. Eliciting a growl as bestial as the wolf starved all its life. His flesh hot, heart thudding against the runes carved over his chest. So, he held her jaw and brought her lips back to his, insatiable for another taste. His tongue slipping between her lips, lingering to taste the supple curve before entering entirely. An invitation for his hands to possessively wrap around her neck, reach for her waist, and bring her closer.

Aisling’s abdomen was set aflame. Not by thedraiocht, but something else entirely. Something more ancient; the sheen of a midnight sky, the cadence of a whisper, the juice of a freshly bitten berry. The cord between them agonizing as it frayed, grew taught, and pulled.

Aisling ran her fingers through Lir’s hair, panting against his lips when they broke apart, swiftly finding one another’s lips once more, sharing every breath lest the world rupture.

Lir grabbed Aisling’s hips, gripping them and pressing her harder against himself. Soaking the pulsing length of himhidden beneath his trousers, firm beneath her and aching enough to make him groan something deep and wicked in Rún.

Aisling tore off his jacket, needing to feel the cords in his arms as he moved her hips against him. Guided her into a rhythmic grinding that elicited something unholy in them both. Made Aisling fear she might literally ignite with flame and burn the whole of the world at the cost of whatever boundless pleasure the feeling of herself against him inspired.

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