Page 104 of The Witch Queen

Iron is poisonous to fae. Without quick action, an iron wound can fester and make even the strongest fae very ill. Deep cuts or prolonged exposure will kill. It takes incredible amounts of aether to heal an iron wound. Healers treating those inflicted by iron should expect weeks of depleting their power stores to aid their patient.

A Practical Guide to Magical Healing

We’re in the greenhouse at Thorne’s request. He’s been experimenting with his light the last several weeks to see if it will influence the exotic plants here, exploring some hunch he’s yet to tell me about. As we walk around the room, he points out every plant in painstaking detail, not missing one tiny leaf that may have changed with his magic. As it turns out, the plants have thrived under his radiant tutelage. At least four that have never flowered before now display bright, unique blossoms, and even more have grown larger or brighter. It’s like they needed his power to fully mature.

When Thorne brought me in here, his eyes filled with pure joy, my heart—both of my hearts—had squeezed tightly. Despite the bone deep ache I’ve felt since the moment Carex informed me that Nemesia had been captured at the port in Echosa, Thorne somehow makes me smile. Since I’ve accepted the mating bond, my magic feels lighter, easier to carry. Myaether-heart,the source of my magic, is soothed in a way I didn’t know was possible, a way I didn’t know I needed. I’m steady and grounded with Thorne by my side, despite everything closing in on me right now.

We still haven’t made any progress in finding the rebels after their disappearance from the throne room, nor have Silene and Fionn been able to contact them. It’s like the rebellion has completely disappeared from Thayaria. Not to mention, Nemesia’s reaction to the accusation that she was the mole isn’t sitting right with me. She looked utterly lost and confused in those cells, devastated when I accused her of being a traitor. Silene’s suggestion that the letter we found was intended for me but intercepted by the rebels has replayed in my mind at least a dozen times.

I’ve only visited her once since we brought her to the palace cells in the two weeks she’s been imprisoned. I’d had to tap deep into the cold and heartless Witch Queen persona to stop myself from aerstepping her away from the cells and into my sitting room, where we could pretend everything was back to the way it was before she left for Velmara. I ordered her to be left alone and well cared for, not able to bring myself to have her tortured for information. I saw a cut that had festered on her arm, and sent healers to mend her, but otherwise have kept my distance, despite my near constant worrying about her. Nothing makes sense to me anymoreexceptThorne, and the irony of that is laughable.

“Where have you gone, witchling?” Thorne’s soft and amused voice breaks me out of my spiraling, and I look up at him with a soft and sad smile.

“Just thinking about Nemesia.” It’s all I can say aloud without breaking down, but he understands. Thorne wraps me tightly in his arms and places a kiss atop my head. Tears gather in my eyes. “What if I got it wrong, and I’ve left my best friend, my only family, to rot?”

“Then we’ll fix it. If she isn’t the mole, then she’s still the same Nemesia you know, and the two of you have a bond strong enough to survive this.”

“I think I should move her out of the cells,” I whisper, afraid to admit what feels like weakness in me. “She can still have guards posted in a low-level room, but I can’t bear the idea of leaving her down there any longer, even if she is the mole. The Council will be in outrage though.”

Thorne chuckles and pushes me away from him slightly so he can look into my eyes, his warm hands placed solidly on my shoulders. “Laurel, you are their Queen. You rule by committee most of the time, and that’s admirable beyond belief, but you shouldn’t shy away from making the decisions you feel are right out of fear of their reaction. Trust your instinct. And if any of them push back, I’ll spear them through with light and drown them on dry land.” He gives me an unholy smirk, filled with the promise of violence I know he’s capable of.

I laugh aloud. “Look at us now. I’m the charming courtier trying to make everyone like me, and you’re the menacing brute force who will kill any who opposes you. Our roles have reversed.”

“What can I say, spending time with the Witch Queen has changed me.” His wink makes my thighs clench. I love it when his flirtation turns wholly on me. I bite my lip, and he growls, pulling me close again. “If you keep looking at me like that, I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” he whispers in my ear, nipping it with his teeth. The move sends shivers down my spine.

“Maybe that’s what I want,” I coo in a husky voice, arching my back to press my breasts closer to his broad chest. He trails his finger down the column of my neck.

“If I recall,” he murmurs, “you were just complaining yesterday that I’m ruining all your favorite garments with my impatience to get you naked.”

He’s right. Since I accepted the mating bond, our need for one another has been uncontrollable. We can barely spend any time alone without ripping off our clothes, no regard for where we are. Silene’s been the one to handle getting out the word to the Council that she and Thorne’s betrothal was a sham, whispering it into the right ears. It’s a cover we desperately needed with how much additional time we’ve been spending together, often in compromising positions. Yesterday, we were nearly discovered naked in the Council chamber while waiting for advisors to arrive for a meeting. Thankfully, Silene once again saved the day, having the foresight to speak loudly to Admon before they walked in together, buying us enough time to dress. While I’m sure my advisors have their suspicions about us, I certainly don’t want to confirm them via accidental nudity.

Evenings are a different story. Regardless of whose bed we’re in, gone is the savage and wild lust. Instead, Thorne makes love to me gently, slowly. We explore one another, our sighs filled with emotions we haven’t yet expressed. I tell him stories of my life, and he offers his own. And when we finally fall asleep, it’s in each other’s arms. I’m the happiest I can ever remember being, despite the Nemesia-shaped hole that consumes me when I’m not with him.

I mock pout, and Thorne’s pupils dilate. “Why can’t you simply unlace my gown or pull the skirt up, instead of ripping open the front of whatever I’m wearing?” I ask him with a smirk. He returns it with his own, then peppers kisses over my collarbone and neck.

“Because. If I’m going to fuck you. Witchling. I need it to be with your breasts. Cupped. In my palms,” he says between kisses. I moan.

“Let’s try it, just this once,” I breathe out, then lift my skirt to my hips. To entice him, I wrap one exposed thigh around his waist. He takes the bait, lifting me fully, and I wrap the other leg around him as he carries me to a worktable in the back corner. Plants cover the table, but in a blink, they disappear and reappear in neat lines several feet away. Something prickles in the back of my mind, but I push it aside, lost in my lust for Thorne. He sets me down gently, tucking my skirt out of the way before he unbuttons his own trousers. My already wet center pulses, and I can’t pull my eyes away from his cock.

“Like what you see?” His voice is low and gravelly, and it sends electricity shooting through my veins. I only nod, unable to speak. “Keep those eyes where they are. I want you to watch as I push into you.” I do as he commands, practically coming undone as his length slides into me. Fully seated, he slowly pulls back out, and we both watch as our bodies come together. He slams into me, and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

“Thorne,” I sigh, and he growls, hands coming to my breasts and kneading them through the fabric of the gown. He lets out a frustrated sound.

“This is the only time I will ever agree to this,” he pants. “We’ll get you infinite gowns. We’ll order a dozen replicas of each one.”

I let out a laugh that quickly turns to a moan when he conjures light to touch my clit in soft strokes. The surrounding air becomes almost unbearably humid, water dripping down my back. Thorne lights up the steam in the air around us, surrounding our bodies in a soft glow. My own body hasn’t radiated light since the first night we came together, but one or both of us is always letting our magic out unbidden when lust overtakes us. The plants suddenly seem to glow on their own, and my eyes widen. I meet Thorne’s gaze, and he seems as incredulous as I am as he continues his even rhythm of thrusts. The greenhouse has transformed into a lush and tropical oasis, light and water dancing around us as we reach our climaxes. With a mutual roar, we crest that wave together. Our panting slowly evens out, though Thorne keeps his forehead pressed to mine as he caresses my hair and places kisses atop my head.

Slowly, so slowly, he pulls out of me. I stand and adjust my dress.

“If our clothes stay mostly on, we can do that a lot more often, princeling,” I say with a wicked grin.

“Still not worth it,” he murmurs, squeezing my nipple teasingly. The sensation lights me up with need all over again.

“What is it with you and my breasts?”

“Are you kidding? Isn’t it obvious?” When I shake my head, he laughs in delight, cupping them both through the dress again. “Your breasts, Laurel, are exquisite. Have you never noticed how different you are from other females? They’re slim and lithe. No curves or breasts to speak of. I love everything about your body.” He growls the last sentence, and my toes curl. Of course I’ve noticed how different I am. How could I not? But to hear Thornepraisethat difference, to find it attractive… The desire to run from this feeling is strong, but I push it down, deciding to sit with the feelings of delight and fear andsomething else, however uncomfortable. I survey the greenhouse. Misty steam has fogged up the glass panels that make up the dome. Even if someone walked in here, I’m not sure how much of us they’d even be able to see. Soft light glows around us, though I can somehow sense that Thorne is no longer controlling the light. The plants also glow with a luminescent shimmer. “Your magic is incredible, Laurel,” Thorne remarks, but my brows furrow, finally having the clarity of mind to process the magic we see.

“This isn’t me,” I say slowly, and now Thorne’s brows scrunch together.

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