Page 71 of Destined for the Fae King

“That’s why you didn’t want me here that first night.” I stop pacing as the pieces I’d been missing for so long fill themselves in. “You didn’t want me to enter the competition because then I couldn’t win it and become your brother’s queen.”

“Yes,” he admits. “I even considered throwing you over my shoulder, shifting to the doorway to your world, and tossing you back through. But that would have only made my brother suspicious. If he was aware that I knew the winner of the competition, he would have demanded it from me and chosen you on the spot.My mother would have been appeased, and he wouldn’t have had to go through all of this.” He gestures around.

Dear God. And I’d have gone through with it too. To please my uncle, to secure a fruitful future for my family. His vision would have come true that night. I return to the sofa and plop down next to Lysandir. The weight of inevitability tries to shove me down through the cushions.

Lysandir cups my face in his palm, turning it toward him. “A smarter male may have stayed away from you. What good could come from falling harder for a woman he could never truly have?” He leans in, his forehead nearly touching mine. “But I couldn’t. I’d been waiting for you, yearning for you, and even knowing the pain that lay ahead, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to be near you now, before you become his.”

“Lysandir.” I all but crumple against him, throwing my arms around his neck and laying my head against his chest. His arms come around me, so comforting and sure. His heart races, his pulse echoing through my body. I could stay like this forever and be content, I think.

How on earth am I supposed to marry his brother when I feel like this? And his brother will expect heirs… I shudder and hug Lysandir tighter. There’s no way. It just can’t be possible. I won’t let it be. A sob nearly breaks free. I bite my lip—hard—to hold it back.

When I’ve wrestled my emotions under control, I pull back. Not far, just enough to look up at him, to cup his cheek as he had mine, to stare into his eyes and know with a certainty that the words I’m about to speak are true. “We will change fate. Because I pick you. I choose you. I am yours.”

Lysandir leans in until his breath ghosts across my lips. “And I’ve been yours longer than you can imagine.”

My soft gasp never leaves my lips before his crash into mine. Their soft warmth is the only feeling in the world, the only thing that matters. My eyes slam shut, and I lean into him, savoring the electric spark that dances across my skin. In the garden, his kiss was tentative at first, then more ravenous. But neither compared to this one. It’s a volcano compared to a match. It’s passion like I’ve never known.

His palm cups the back of my neck before sliding down my body, making its way my backside. He lifts me, and I go. And thank goodness the skirt of the dress is wide enough to let me move with him, to settle in a straddle across his thighs. I’d have torn the damn thing without regret, if not. Lysandir groans against my lips as I settle atop him. The sound only makes my chest burn hotter and sends a flood of moisture pooling between my legs.

Lysandir teases the seam of my lips with his tongue, and I open for him. He sweeps inside, deepening the kiss. He embraces me like a man starved. But I suppose he has been. If I’d seen him years ago, if I’d known for so long he would be mine, I would never have had the restraint to hold back like he has.

Part of me wishes he wouldn’t have, but the other is thankful. I got to know him first, to build something between us, to want him. If he’d told me straight off that I was his, I wouldn’t have believed it. It might have snuffed out any flame before it could begin.

His fingers tangle in the hair at the base of my skull, holding me close. Our kiss turns less fevered, more languid, and somehow even deeper. There are layers of fabric between our bodies, but I still can’t miss the hardness between his legs or the rapid pulse that hammers against his ribs. I want to feel it, all of it, every inch of him. I rock my hips, unable to hold still. Maybe it’s traitorous, kissing the prince when I’m bound into vying for the king’s hand, but I don’t care. Nothing has ever felt more right, more perfect.I can’t imagine finding this to lose it or how it must feel for him to have waited so long only to have fate threaten to steal his happiness before he could claim even a taste of it.

Lysandir gently tugs my hair as he breaks from our kiss.

“Mira,” he groans.

His eyes have been closed, and when they open, a bright glow pours out to illuminate the area around us in crimson light. That glow, that sign of strong emotion in powerful fae, lets me know just how much our kiss affected him—if the rest of him wasn’t proof enough. As the glow dims, I catch sight of his dark, hooded gaze, his kiss-reddened lips. One of my hands has tangled in the silken strands of his crimson hair, mussing it.

“I…” He utters some fae curse I’m unfamiliar with. “I want…”

“Me too.”

But we can’t. Damn fae marks and sense of smell. It’s already going to be a problem. If Vasilius gets anywhere close to me, he’ll undoubtedly smell his brother’s scent and not just a passing whiff that could be easily explained.

That knowledge doesn’t stop the wanting though.

His expression shifts, sorrow leaking into the desire. He sucks in a long breath then shudders. “Fuck,” he blurts. “I can smell you.”

Impossibly, my body flushes hotter. Pretty sure he doesn’t mean my shampoo. I try to squeeze my legs together but only manage to wiggle in his lap and rub against his erection. He groans, his head falling back.

Not helping, Mira.

Reluctantly, I slide from his lap and step away. A few minutes longer in his lap, feeling his heat under me, and I might have done something incredibly stupid. I brush out my skirts, searching for wrinkles, anything to keep from rushing back and kissing him again.

Lysandir rakes his hand through his hair as he stares at me. “How am I supposed to keep from touching you? From kissing you?”

I halt in my efforts and stare at him, feeling every bit of the agony in his gaze.

“From pulling you into my arms every time I see you?” he finishes.

“I know.” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. “I think I understand why Tharin called me a curse.”

Lysandir sighs. “He’ll be angry with me about tonight.”

“You two are close?” I venture.

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