Page 102 of Destined for the Fae King

“She”—the king points a finger at Katherine—“says she saw you out before dawn, and kissing my brother at that.”

Fucking hell. I let the accusation roll over me, trying to show no reaction.

“And here you are, his guard at your side,” the king adds.

Tharin, still kneeling, looks up. His form is rigid, hand still on the pommel of his sword. Holy hell, he wouldn’t defend me before the king, would he?

“Tell me, Mira,” Vasilius says. “How long as this little affair been going on?”

“Affair?” I gape. “We haven’t…” I shake my head. “His mark is not on me. You know that.”

Vasilius shoves to his feet. “What I know is that you are bound tome. Mine, until I decide otherwise.” He stalks toward me, staring me down like I’m an inch high. “You were the one who gave such an impassioned plea about wanting to become my bride, my queen.” A cruel smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He stops an armlength in front of me. Warmth pours off his skin, causing sweat to dew on mine. “Ironic that my brother didn’t want you to enter The Choosing then. Were all your words a lie, Mira? Had you chosen him even then?”

“No.” The urge to step back is so strong, but Avara is there, blocking me in. “No. I’d never met him then. I promise.”

“But you have now.” He leans in. “And you prefer him?”

My back arches in my attempt to put some distance between him, but all I seem to do is make myself unsteady, like prey baring its neck for a predator to strike.

“Funny. I can’t smell him on you, but I could smell your scent in his room, his bed no less.”

My stomach plummets. This isn’t an interrogation or questioning—it’s a trial, and I’m already damned. And if he’s been in Lysandir’s rooms…

“Where is Lysandir?” I find a kernel of courage deep inside and cling to it, begging it to fortify me.

“See,” Katherine snips. “She only cares about him, not you.”

Vasilius turns his head toward her so slowly that it raises the fine hairs along my arms. “Leave.”

“But my king—”

“Leave.” He flicks a hand toward Avara, and then she’s moving away from me over to the other young woman gaping at us.

“But I—”

“Have done more than enough,” Vasilius says. “Return her to her room while I deal with this.”

Katherine stammers again, looking affronted, but she barely gets the beginnings of another protest out before Avara grabs her arm and is gone.

Vasilius sighs and rubs his forehead. “Better. Now, where were we?”

“Where is Lysandir?” I ask again. I stand a little straighter. He dismissed his captain. The king doesn’t see me as a threat, but if he’s done something horrible to the man I love, I swear—

My brain trips over itself.

I love him. My mouth parts. My God, I really do.

“Come to some realization?” Mocking amusement shimmers in the king’s gaze.

I snap my mouth shut and all but snarl at him.

The bastard just grins wider. “You do care for him, it seems. How interesting. And frustrating. Does he know? He must, right?”

Vasilius waves a hand toward the flames burning in a wide column on the other side of the room. All at once they die away, and I let out a strangled scream at the sight beyond. Lysandir is there, kneeling on the ground, cream-colored shirt sticking to his skin, hair plastered to his face and back.

He looks at me, eyes wide and pleading. “Mira.”

I’m running toward him before I can think, but someone grabs my arm, jerking me back. I twist, slapping at the hand on my arm.

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