Page 117 of Destined for the Fae King

“Yes. And you are all free to stay here however long you like. Forever, if that’s your choice. With any power I have, I will make sure that your families cannot demand you returned nor will you be forced to wed a fae noble. Your choices in all things will be your own.”

“Oh, Mira!” Adeline runs forward and wraps me a hug, nearly ripping me away from Lysandir and knocking the breath from my lungs with her fierce embrace. Beyond her, Grace nearly jumps into Alex’s arms as the two meet in a kiss. Some of the others look a little surprised, to say the least.

But Cora just crosses her arms, grins, and mouths,All hail the queen.

Adeline finally releases me and returns to the other women, who muse over the revelations I just presented.

“I hope I didn’t misstep,” I whisper to Lysandir. “I don’t really know if I have any authority…” Something I probably should have considered before, especially since I’m not actually queen. Yet.

But he just wraps an arm around me and pulls me close. “You will have all the authority you want, and I believe you will use it well, as you just have.”

“I don’t know. Some of the gifted families may be upset by this.” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, already contemplating the nasty messages we’re sure to receive.

Lysandir shrugs. “Let them be upset, then. But I think they’ll come around. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like they’ve become almost as dependent on us as we have on them.”

“You have no idea,” I grumble.

It’s a happy moment in a horrible morning. Hopefully, it’s the promise of change, of good things coming with the dawn.

Chapter 45

Not long after ourreunion in the capital, Lysandir sets off to return to the border and rebuild the wards that the Unseelie King was able to destroy. Elaine ordered letters written up to be sent to the human world informing them of all that transpired in the night. I don’t envy anyone on the receiving end of those letters. I can’t imagine any of them will be happy, except maybe my uncle. Assuming they include mention of me, which I’m not entirely sure they will. The dowager suggested I write to my family myself, but no matter how long I sit here and stare at the blank page in front of me, the words aren’t coming.

Hi Mom. You were right, I guess. I was destined to become queen after all. Sorry it’s your worst nightmare come true.

I wince and throw the pen down in frustration. Maybe if they were the ones Lysandir had gotten me they’d help me find the right thing to say, but they’re not. Retrieving our things is low priority, as it should be. And though I sit in Lysandir’s quarters, at his desk, his pens are all boring ones with black ink. Suppose we’ll have to change that.

But maybe the reason I can’t find the words is because I haven’t been able to sort it all out myself. Just over a day ago I was beingdragged before the king, my sins laid bare. Now? That king is dead, and the man I love has vowed to place me on the throne beside him. Just thinking about it makes me want to laugh and cry in equal measure, and none of it feels real. Especially since Lysandir has not returned.

The sun has fallen, and logically, I know I should sleep. A full night’s rest might be just what I need to sort out my thoughts and emotions. However, it feels impossible to rest when Lysandir is not here and I don’t know what’s happening to him. The ring around my neck is warm—a good sign, but last night showed just how quickly things can change.

I grab the pen again, determined to writesomething, when magic shivers across my skin. The moment it does, I drop the pen and leap from the chair, whirling toward the source of the feeling.

The sight of Lysandir leaning heavily on Tharin, both sagging in their armor, makes my heart stutter-step.

“What happened?” I race across the room toward them.

“Mira,” Lysandir whispers my name.

“No need to panic,” Tharin says at the same time. “He’s just exhausted.”

Lysandir’s head lolls as Tharin lays him on the sofa. Worry races through me despite Tharin’s assurances. Lysandir may be healthy, but he sure doesn’t look it.

“Help me remove his armor,” Tharin says. “I’d call for someone else to assist, but Lysandir generally prefers his privacy.”

“It’s fine,” I say and set to helping him remove it piece by piece.

Tharin tsks as he works. “Burned straight through his magic in his determination to get the wards repaired. It’s always a hard job, and this was…different.”

“How so?” I ask.

His lips thin as if he thinks better of it, but then he continues, “The Unseelie King cut our wards to pieces at the spot they broke through. It was quick. Brutal and efficient. So much different than the first time the king cut through our wards to create a breach.”

Shit. That’s even worse than I thought. “What’s to stop him from breaking through somewhere else.”

The grim look he gives me says more than enough. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

“And that’s why we need our king to rest and get back on his feet as soon as possible. Good thing he has you to help with that.” He gets his king down to just his underwear and then hoists Lysandir’s unconscious form into his arms and carries him to the bed.

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