Page 34 of The Savage Queen

“What a privilege you wield: to draw upon Sidhe strength while encumbered by only one of our weaknesses. For here you stand, lying between your teeth.”

The ease of his posture stiffened with frustration. A deadly, lethal sort of poise that made frigid the breath they shared.

Aisling steeled herself, praying to the godsforsaken Forge none saw her swallow before speaking.

“It’s no lie. I’ve not laid eyes on him since he betrayed the union between man and Aos Sí. A fact of which I’m sure you’re well aware.”

Fionn stood from his throne, his Sidhe guards rigid as he swept down the stairs. He wore no shirt, no tunic, no blouse. Only a translucent robe of sparkling black, exposing his muscled abdomen and arms painted with fae markings. His trousers belted at his hips.

Aisling’s breath caught in her throat as he approached, the vast height of him quickly becoming more apparent. He smelledof frost. Of wet wood and rivers frozen by winter’s overzealous touch.

At last, he slowed to a halt, tilting his head to meet her.

“Bring them in,” he said, but not to Aisling. The wolves nodded their heads, exiting briefly through the arched doorways on either side of the chamber.

Aisling clenched her jaw. A torrent of emotion whirling violently within her at the prospect of her brothers having been harmed. Hoping Dagfin was safe.

Starn, Iarbonel, Fergus, and Annind limped into the room, shoved roughly about by the wolves that escorted them.

Annind winced, his complexion somehow paler than it’d been the last time Aisling saw him. Hands and ankles shackled with chains of enchanted ice.

They oriented themselves as they emerged from whatever dungeons the fae king no doubt kept them in, finding Aisling standing before Fionn. The difference was obvious. While they’d been imprisoned, Aisling wore a gown as lustrous as an opal and had been given a private audience with the fae king.

Starn’s expression was all fire, twisted with rage and frustration. Indeed, Starn was accustomed to being the respected sibling: the one amongst them acclaimed, admired, and gifted luxury whilst Aisling was nothing more than a pawn designed to be slid across a board by the hands of lairds, chieftains, and kings. But not in the fae world.

None of Aisling’s brothers reached for her. None shouted her name nor fretted over her well-being. They only hung their heads and sneered, enduring the moment.

Instinctively, Aisling stepped past Fionn, starting for her brothers, but the fae king caught her wrist and pulled her back.

“Not so fast,mo Lúra. We had a deal.”

Aisling jerked her arm, but it was no use. The fae king was seemingly made of Oxheim stone and as powerful as the crags it built.

For a fragment of a second, Aisling considered summoning thedraiocht. But not only did Greum’s voice echo inside her mind that her power would be futile here, she also knew it unwise to be so reckless in the face of her captor. Not to mention, she felt the same witchery that’d dulled her magic in the presence of the fear gorta strangling herdraiochteven now. A pale comparison to herdraiocht’s usual might. She was trapped in this ice fortress and at the mercy of its lord. Dread seeped beneath her flesh at the thought. She did her best to stifle the panic fluttering inside her chest. They were outnumbered, overpowered, and caught when vulnerable. If she wished to free herself and Dagfin, then she must be cunning.

And as if reading her thoughts, Fionn continued, “I heard what you did aboard the mortal ship. Burning alive handfuls of mortals to save the breath of those you cherish most. Both attractive and impressive. You’re ruthless, powerful, and great, Aisling. Everything necessary to be queen. But if you even so much as conjure a spark whilst in my presence, you’ll suffer the consequences.”

Aisling seethed, rolling her neck from side to side to keep her anger at bay. But it was Dagfin and Killian being shoved into the throne room that diverted her temper.

Starn scowled at the sight of bothFaeraks, stripped of their weapons.

Dagfin’s eyes were circled with blue, and his posture slumped. The ghost of the warrior he’d been not long ago. Still, tempests brewed behind his dark lashes, sparking with renewed electricity the moment he recognized Aisling, held by Fionn.

“Aisling—” he said without thinking, quickly struck in the gut by the butt of a sword from a nearby Sidhe.

Aisling dug her nails into her palms.

“So hostile, Your Lordship. Is this how you treat all your guests?” Aisling asked.

Fionn’s expression brightened, seemingly eager to banter with Aisling. “TheFaerak has been…troublesome. But once we deprived him of his Ocras, he became vastly more manageable.”

There was silence as Dagfin collected himself, rising from the shimmering floors with blood dripping from his bottom lip.

“You care for theFaerak, don’t you?” Fionn said abruptly. “You composed yourself quite well until he entered. I’d wondered which one of all these princes you preferred.”

Aisling could feel his pale eyes studying her, stripping her of all and anything he could glean. A tingle of frost electrifying her nerves each time his eyes fixed upon her own.

“Although I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected this.” Fionn licked his lips. “What would theDamh Bánsay?”

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