Page 28 of Kiss the Filthiest King

Every part of me wants this, wants him again, already. Always.

I wouldn’t say it’s entirely new, but my desire is stronger, just as wild as my rage.

“If we must,” I tease, lifting my hips to meet him.

I—we—have so much to sort out. Ourselves, the things inside us, my brother, the woman who made him sacrifice himself—if she’s alive—Junis, the stupid crown they want on my head…the one I need to wear to be safe.

We’re spent, my body aching in all the right places, and thoroughly used, when I finally make myself ask, “What was it? What you did to Rachel. She’s not enslaved to you, is she?”

“Mortals are slave to all the folk, for the asking,” he retorts. “It was compulsion—my will influenced her body. Talking is the easiest way, but some folk can do it with a look, a touch. It doesn’t work long-term; I can’t give her orders she’ll follow forever the way Junis could to you after your deal, but she’ll have to obey unless she’s protected against it. That magic comes to us as naturally as breathing, even as children. It’s woven into our being.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I could do it?”

“You have done it, albeit unknowingly. You even did it to the folk in my camp with your voice. As expected of a gorgeous little queenspawn, you’re above average in all things.”

I have to stew on that for a moment. Remember the many times I didn’t want to do something, and ended up either looking, or smiling, or talking about something else. Whoever I was talking to immediately forgot what they were about to ask, almost every time.

And when I sing…when I play…I know I can captivate an audience. I put it down to my skills. Maybe it was something else. Another kind of skill.

“You said there are protections against it.”

He sighs. “I said she should go.”

Though we’re in agreement, my sister is stubborn; and besides, after what happened to my parents, I’m loath to send her away.

“Tell me,” I insist.

“She can wear some of her clothes inside out. Socks, panties, a top. There are herbs she can carry. Holding iron also works. Running water will stop most fae magic—though it’s not easy to hold on to that. It’s not easy to hold on to anything. What if someone ripped her socks, took her herbs, stole her iron? The only true defense she has is absence.”

“Absence did not help my parents,” I snap. “Or her fiancé. They still came for her.”

“They knew where to look, and she had no protection.” He has an answer to everything.

But the bottom line is, I don’t truly wish send her away if she wishes to stay. Maybe he scared her enough that she’ll be prepared to go, but knowing my sister? That’s unlikely.

* * *

Istare down at the patch of turned earth and I feel nothing. A numbness I embrace, because it’s better than alternative. Anger, fear, despair, all these are right underneath, close to the surface. This could have been me. This should have been me; a corpse buried underground.

Part of me wonders if my parents had a funeral plan. Maybe they’d chosen a cemetery, a tombstone, flowers. Instead, they’re buried in a world they didn’t even realize existed, with only their two daughters and strangers to mourn them, all of whom I’ve only met days ago though it feels like years. Centuries.

And one of those strangers killed them.

I’m grateful for that mercy, I really am. Knowing they didn’t feel the torture inflicted on them is a comfort. But part of me wants to scream, demand we rewrite history and save them. Why, if those who profess to be on my side are so powerful, couldn’t they just save two humans?

I wonder if it was just more convenient to let them die. If their lives weren’t worth enough. Couldn’t Ryther’s shadows just grasp them, push them out of the way?

The annoying knowledge of arcane magic I’ve acquired tells me that a mortal spine would have cracked under the pressure. That one single twist of any of my enemies’ wrists would have been enough to break my parents’ necks. That humans are fragile and easily breakable. Not made for this world.

My sister’s hand feels like iron under my fingers. All this applies to her, too. She’s a liability.

And yet, there are mortals in Ilvaris. They can live here, so long as they’re protected. So long as they know the rules. No spell can touch her now, with her panties inside out and her herbs, not to mention the two hundred pounds of muscle I’ve assigned as her guard.

Caenan will take care of her, won’t he? I glance back at the solemn fae, still dressed in his reinforced leather gear, seemingly ready to launch himself in front of any approaching threat.

It’s rather funny, when I think of it. Out of all of us, he’s the tallest, largest, bulkiest. He’s also the weakest.

Ryther’s taken the Undoing; I don’t know what that means yet, but even before there was a divine presence underneath his skin, he was feared by all, ruling the entire unseelie shores with an iron fist.

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