Page 85 of Destined for the Fae King

“Maybe some coffee?” she offers. “That always helps you.”

“Sure.”

The moment she pulls the door open to leave, Tharin fills its frame, fist raised like he was about to knock.

“Oh? You again.” Fia gives him an appreciative once-over. “Do you need something?”

His lips quirk up a little in the corner as he stares at her. The look that passes between them makes me feel like an outsider intruding on a private moment. When didthathappen?

“I require Lady Mira,” he finally says. “I’ll return her to her room in a little bit.”

I barely hold back a sigh. What now?

Knowing better than to keep him waiting, I head toward the door, but he switches places with Fia and closes it behind him.

“We’re shifting?” I ask. “I thought that didn’t work here.”

“No,” he replies. “But I thought the back door might be more discrete.”

My brows pinch. “For what?”

“You’ll see.”

I follow him out the back door of my room and into the courtyard. Morning sunlight slants in at angle, painting the colorful foliage in soft light. A stone pathway weaves from the back door off into the array of strategically placed trees that tower at least two stories high. Dew clings to the grass on either side of the pathway, and I spot doors and windows leading to the rooms on either side of mine before the plant life and curvature of the building blocks my view of the rest.

The stone pathway leads to a central open area with many other paths branching off of it, presumably leading toward the other rooms. Smooth flagstones create a floor of sorts, short mossesand grass filling the narrow spaces between them. A massive glass flame occupies the very center of the space. It catches the sun, the bright colors of the glass shimmering. A few benches and seats are stationed around it, ready for people to gather and socialize.

“Kind of a weird setup,” I remark.

Tharin halts, and at first, I think we’ve reached our destination, but he seems to be assessing the paths, looking for another one. It’s then I notice the colorful stones inlaid at the beginning of each one, likely an indicator of where they lead.

He glances over one shoulder. His lips quirk up in the corner. “A former king commissioned this wing specifically,” he says. “He was quite fond of parties where people tended to end up in each other’s beds. Discretely”—he glances toward one path and then another—“or not so.”

There are some things I really don’t need to know. “You’re joking.”

My mind crafts a vision of fae giggling as they steal through the courtyard at night, heading for someone else’s room.

“Joking?” A strange look crosses his face. “Ah, you mean lying. No.” He smirks again. “In case you forgot, I can’t do that, much as I might wish to at times.”

I nearly groan. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Ah, but you did.”

He heads down another path, and I follow.

“Where are we going?” I ask again.

“I’d have thought a clever woman like you might have figured it out already. Or did you forget why it’s me guarding you?”

I skip a step, warmth rushing to my face. Lysandir.

Part of me cries out in joy. There’s no one I’ve yearned for more. But another part is terrified.

All too soon, we’re standing before another door. Tharin doesn’t even knock before it opens, and he’s there.

The Lysandir before me takes my breath away. Gone are the light, casual clothes he favors. Nor does he wear the grand ceremonial attire he’d worn at the balls. Instead, golden armor hugs his form, gleaming where the light strikes it.

My mouth drops open. I barely register Tharin saying, “I’ll wait outside.”

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