Page 34 of Kiss the Filthiest King

He hands me one. I take it gratefully.

“I’m tempted to say nothing at all for the time being.”

“That would be a spectacular waste,” he snorts.

I’m surprised. “I thought you’d be all for it.”

One sip and I gasp, shocked by the taste of what I just drank. It’s notwine. That would be like calling a drink from the fountain of youth simply water. I’ve never tasted anything as delicious, and the way it instantly warms me, spreading joy and calmness to my belly is…dangerous.

Addictive.

Like everything else here.

“You ought to be careful with your words,” Loch tells me. “But unlike almost everyone else here, you canlie. Even our mortals have too much fae blood for it. You wouldn’t have to be particularly good for it to work.”

“Why would your mortals have too much fae blood?” I wonder, fighting the effects of the wine that make me want to dance and sing and…do other things.

“Extramarital sex, mostly,” he deadpans. “Most mortal lines have at least one fae ancestor here.”

I decide not to mention the bounty hunter that came from me said she thought I had a fae ancestor, too.

“Our species can reproduce?”

Now his grin is wicked. “Indeed. Some would say it’s the main use of mortals to the folk. You’ll likely be courted with that in mind.”

Oh. I look around, catching all those eyes on me again. “Ick.”

“Not fond of children?” he inquires.

“Not fond of being anyone’s broodmare.”

It’s not like they’re looking at me for me. They are likely analyzing my hips and deciding they’re wide enough to push out spawn, like it’s the middle ages.

“Don’t let anyone get you alone or they might convince you that’s you’re greatest desire.”

I’ve learnedthatlesson as well. I don’t tell him my socks and panties are inside out, but I find myself squeezing the leather pouch full of herbs in my pocket.

I’m the lone deer in a den of lions, and I can’t ever let myself forget it.

16

ALMOST MINE

Ryther

I take to the shadows silently, entering through a side door, and not making my presence known as I remain near a column, provided with wine and entertainment, but of course, they find me. I never have to make a spectacle of myself to be sought out.

My circle is small, but powerful. The lord of flies and powrie king, Grimgol, and his lover Beagan, a selkie boy with more blood on his hands than our fourth companion, whose red cap is still wet. They are the most trusted amongst the unseelie lords, as only a fool would place his coin on the guild ruling the mortal court of silver, the solitary fae at the head of the court of night, or worse yet, Junis, lord of winter.

We devise our own entertainment while waiting for my little queenspawn. Beagan gives three names assembled here, and we have to decide who we'd bed, court, or drown. I've never been one for drowning—far too messy for those of us who don't happen to transform into bloodthirsty horses—but Beagan lets us substitute that one for straight murder.

"Loch, Caenan, and the mortal girl they're standing with."

"Rachel," I supply. "And I'd drown that one." I don't hesitate. "I'd bed Loch and wedCaenan."

"You raised the boy; it's a little like wedding yourself." Grimgol snorts. "I'd bed the mortal, kill Loch, and wedCaenan, too."

"Boring," Beagan announces. "That's the logical course. No one hasn't been tempted to murder Loch at one point or another, and mortals are made to be bedded. Caenan is so very dull, he'd make the most suitable bride. I say kill him, marry the human, and bed Loch. There."

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