Page 58 of A Bargain with the Fae King

Thanks for the help.

Finally, Riven turns to me.

What should I do?I try to ask without words.

Just when I think he might reject the gift on my behalf, he steps aside with a casual shrug of indifference. Though it’s impossible to miss the twitch in his jaw as Sigurd steps past him.

The King of Air grins like a champion. Pure mirth twinkles in his crystal blue eyes as he approaches, and it takes everything I have not to look away.

“Captain.” Sigurd nods to Ambrose before taking my free hand in his.

My stomach knots. The urge to pull away is almost too much to bear. Without Ambrose at my side, I surely would have, but his grip is absolute. Sigurd raises my hand to his lips, placing a gentlemanly kiss on its back. However, the smoldering look in his eyes is anything but chaste.

He says so much without speaking, and I can’t help the flush racing across my face.

Sigurd releases my hand and holds out the flower as an offering. But an offering of what? Rejecting it and increasing the bad blood between these two courts is out of the question. I won’t have that on my conscience too.

“Thank you.” It’s all I can do to hide the quiver of my voice before taking the gift.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure.”

His wicked grin has Ambrose’s grip tightening almost painfully on my hand.

A moment later, Sigurd returns to Riven, stretching his hands over his head like an athlete preparing for his race. “So, when shall we start?”

Work on the wards starts immediately.

The swirls and mounds I’d noticed on the ground at the border were a honing point. Even with the honing point’s assistance and the skill of two fae kings, the process is a long one.

I watch them work at the first honing point for a while. Riven and Sigurd sit a few feet apart on the oddly patterned ground in a sort of trance as the magic flows from them into the border wards. A ring of guards, or rather two rings since neither king trusts the other, surrounds them on all sides, lest the Unseelie come back. Their mutual dislike and wariness of the wild, dark fae seems to be the only thing they can agree on.

Sitting and waiting around sucks. It sucks so damn much. Enough that I literally have to find something to do—anything—to keep my mind off May, off the awkwardness with Riven, and the disastrous gift from Sigurd.

A whole, ridiculous tent city has sprung up in minutes like a fancy renaissance fair. The fae lack no luxury, even at the edge of the Court of the Forest. I’ll give it to them—they travel in style, at least when two kings are involved. But the rose Sigurd gave me taunts me every moment I spend inside my tent, and someone is bound to notice if I throw it away. Sitting inside like the good little human they all want me to be is out of the question, but I’m not about to run off and ruin things again.

Instead, I find a better use for my time.

“Like this?” I ask.

“Almost.” Galen adjusts my stance, pursing his lips and squinting at me as if I’m some work of art he’s in the process of crafting. “There. Much better.”

“Now, watch my movements and block my punch,” Sylvie says.

I stare her down like a hawk, waiting for the slightest movement. Her right leg slides back ever so slightly to brace herself. I raise my right arm in return, just in time to halt the punch flying my way. Skin smacks before she pulls the punch. A full force one would have knocked me to the ground. Maybe broken something. Fae are hella strong. Who knew they’d beengentlewith me this whole time?

“Excellent. Now you’re getting it,” Galen says.

My one success of the morning? Convincing Sylvie and Galen to teach me how to fight.

We started with self-defense. Galen decided I needed to learn how to block a punch before learning to throw one. Had I known even a little bit of this two days ago, I might have been able to save May. It’s a stretch, but the thought of being better prepared to save and protect her keeps my thoughts from crushing me with despair.

“Reset and go again,” Galen says. He’s proclaimed himself my instructor.

The scent of wet pine fills my lungs as I inhale and adjust my stance. Three successful blocks later, Ambrose strides from the dense fog clinging to the forest around us.

“They’re still not done?” I ask, our lesson put on hold.

“No.” He rubs at the stubble on his jaw. “Should be soon though.”

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