Page 53 of A Bargain with the Fae King

Sixty years. Riven’s father died sixty years ago.

My lunch turns leaden in my stomach.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Galen’s at my other side, looking me over frantically for injuries.

My mouth opens and closes. Words are thick on my tongue and won’t come out. When they finally croak to the surface, all that comes out is, “Sixty years?”

Sylvie and Galen freeze on either side of me as they stare at one another. Solona’s eyes widen. Her head bobs ever so slowly up and down. The dawning realization threatens to crush me.

My legs find their strength again. Sylvie lets me go and fiddles with the end of her ponytail. Galen shifts uncomfortably on his feet.

A question screams in my mind to be asked, but I dread it. Everything in me rallies against it, but I have to know. “How old is Riven?”

Heavy silence hangs between us all.

Answer me. Someone.

Sylvie’s face is etched with pity. Galen fidgets and looks away. I find Solona, who looks at me as if watching a young child who is trying to learn their alphabet and getting half of the letters wrong.

“Eighty-two. Still very young for a king,” she adds, as if somehow that helps.

Maybe it does. If you’re a fae.

All I can see is the ground beneath my feet. Eighty-two. So old. Obviously not in fae years, but it is for humans. For many of us, it’s a lifetime. And Solona called him young.

I want to laugh, to cry. Hysteria burns up my throat and sends my legs shaking again.

“We age like humans in the beginning,” Sylvie begins. She’s trying to help, to explain the concepts my mind struggles to absorb. “But once we reach maturity, and our magic blooms, the aging process slows rapidly for us. The stronger our magic, the slower we age.”

The extra information doesn’t help the confusing thoughts running through my head. I kissed someone more than three times my own age. Lusted after him. Shared a bed and tub with him. A male who I would have sworn just a minute ago was in his late twenties, early thirties at the most.

A gentle hand rests on my shoulder. I force myself to look up at Solona.

Pity shines in her eyes now too. “I’m sorry I upset you. It was not my intention.”

A small laugh slips out. “It’s…a surprise.”

Understatement of the year.

What can I possibly say when I see him again?I promised to be your consort, but damn, you’re freaking old, and that would have been so helpful to know before we made that little bargain.

Hell, here I’ve been making out with a guy old enough to be my grandfather. Another humorless laugh bursts free.

Great. Just great.

Chapter 17

Shifting,Ilearn,isnot a simple thing. While one can potentially shift anywhere, shifting to a random location is very taxing. Further, the greater the distance, the more energy it takes. Honing oneself to a particular location reduces the effort, as does the use of enchanted spaces called honing points. Sylvie tries explaining how exactly they hone themselves and the complicated, many months, process of creating a honing point, but my head starts to throb after just a few minutes. The intricacies of fae magic are better left to my imagination—for now.

One point is clear, not every fae can shift, even with the use of honing points. And then there are the wards, a whole different mess of fae magic.

Though Riven’s wards have weakened significantly with their failing magic, they’re still enough to prevent some fae from other courts from shifting through them and make it much more taxing for the strongest of them like Sigurd. So, members of the Court of Air will meet us at the border and travel the traditional way to Arbrean. Walking through, apparently, is easy now that the wards are weak.

Between Riven and Sigurd’s borders lays a narrow strip of land that still belongs to the Wild Tribes of the Unseelie. Thoughbelongsmight not be the best word where that land is concerned. Based on Riven’s description, it’s more of a neutral zone than anything else. The bulk of Wild Tribe land lies further east of the territories of Forest and Air.

Much of his personal guard, key staff members and advisors, and some of the nobility who had been in the throne room that first day—my absolutefavoritepeople—will join us in Arbrean. Best to greet visitors with a large host.

“What’s wrong?” Riven’s soft caress stirs up butterflies within me. The good kind and the awkward ones that can’t seem to figure out which way to go with their injured wings.

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