Page 41 of The Witch Queen

“Something like that,” I say quickly and dryly as I gesture for him to try again, desperate to divert the attention away from me and my magic. But then I remember Admon’s words, his advice to let the Prince in, so I give him a small offering. “Focus on the aether in the leylines, channel it into either conduit, but then release it. As it dissipates, concentrate on what it feels like right as the aether leaves. That feeling, that exact moment, when you know the aether is there, but you aren’t channeling it, is what it feels like to sense the aether in the world around you.”

He closes his eyes. The surrounding light intensifies for a moment but then returns to normal. I see his brows furrow in concentration. Those mossy eyes open wide with shock, and I try not to think about how it makes his features soften. “Holy fucking aethers,” he whispers.

I smile. “What, did you think I was lying?”

“I thought there was a non-zero chance you were tricking me. How—how have I never known this? Why hasn’t this been written about?”

I shrug. “I can’t say for sure, but I suspect Thayaria has more aether than most places, even not concentrated in the leylines. So, it would be much more difficult to sense it elsewhere. I also think it takes a powerful channeler.”

“Are you saying you think I’m powerful, witchling?” he practically growls, taking a step toward me, eyes bright.

I roll my eyes, trying to cover the fact that my toes are curling in my boots. “Everyone knows you’re one of the strongest light channelers in a millennium, princeling. I’m just stating a fact.”

“Is that so?” His words are low and deep, and his eyes now shine with a hungry gleam. “Just so we’re clear, witchling.” He takes yet another step, and I’m unable to move, unable to tear my eyes from his. “I’m notone ofthe most powerful light channelers. I’mthemost powerful light channeler in recorded history, and the records in the Velmaran archive date back an eternity. None have been born with power like mine, and were you not born at the same time as me, I’d be considered the most powerful fae to ever live. Lucky for me, that title—and all the bullshit that comes with it—belongs to you.”

My back arches, my body bending in orbit around this powerful fae. The temptation to give into whatever sparks between us anytime we’re near one another is overwhelming, the desire to let those strong arms wrap around me almost overpowering my senses. But then I remember Mazus and Silene and all the reasons this cannothappen, so I take a step back, the distance between us a chasm.

“I’ve taught you a fun party trick, now you’re up. Show me your light tricks, ohShining Prince,” I say with a mocking tone to cut the tension.

His grin is practically feral this time, an expression I’ve never seen before, filled with heat and lust and primalneed.Before I even sense the aether moving around me—something that should be impossible with my power—he wraps my wrists in ropes of light and uses magic to pull them above my head. They’re firm, but gentle, and the light somehow caresses me while it binds me. He takes a step closer, and the ropes pull even tighter, raising my arms so high that my back arches and my breasts push out from my body, front and center as he takes me in. My breath catches, and the image of him using those ropes of light to pin me to my bed flashes, unbidden, in my mind. My core heats, and there’s a pulsing between my legs that I absolutely do not want to think about. I push the image away, but it returns as he slowly stalks closer to me, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Our surroundings are charged with magic, and one of us—I’m unsure who—has conjured the glowing mist again. This time, it’s thick, blocking out everything around us and making his eyes glow like two unholy green orbs through the haze.

He’s close enough now to lean down and murmur in my ear. “How’s that for a trick?” he asks, voice deep and sensual again. I swallow, my mouth dry and my lips parting as I shiver.

Feigning indifference that I absolutely do not feel, I shrug. “It’s okay.” Then I will the light to unwrap from my wrists and wrap around his own, pinning him in the same position. That pulsing between my thighs intensifies as I reverse the power dynamic. “Nothing I couldn’t do myself,” I whisper in his ear.

His pupils dilate and his jaw ticks, clearly enjoying this as much as I do. He dissolves the light pinning his arms above his head, never taking those now nearly black eyes from mine. He slowly leans in close, and the most intense and maddening smell wafts over me. Citrus, jasmine, and lemongrass. I close my eyes and inhale, and when I open them again, his body crowds mine, the large frame all I can see or sense from within the mist. The Prince of Light leans down and whispers in my ear, his hot breath tickling my neck. “Well, then, witchling, I will endeavor to show you atrickyou can’t perform on yourself.”

I try to hide my shiver at his innuendo, but he senses it. He leans in even closer to me, and our breath mingles. I can’t keep my gaze from his lips. They’re full and pink from the chilly northern air. It would be so easy to close the distance between us, to give in and let us get whateverthisis out of our systems. We’re completely alone out here, isolated from anyone or anything who might hear or see us. I relax into his body, letting his heat wrap around me. He inhales deeply, like he too is trying to breathe in my scent. His hand wraps around my waist and tugs me close, burning my skin, and I let out an involuntary gasp of air. He growls low in his throat as he leans into me, like he’s about to kiss me, and I want to let him. My mouth parts, my body heats—

And that is the catalyst I need to pull away.

“We should eat some lunch,” I say, breathless, untangling our limbs and feeling the lack of him next to me like a missing limb. I walk to my favorite flat boulder and open up the basket of food, trying to shake the way his touch made me feel. I repeat the facts that would make anything between us an impossibility. He’s engaged. He’s the son of an enemy who still haunts my dreams, who arranged for us to meet at the same time that the magic of my kingdom is declining. I’m using him to get what I need before I’ll have no choice but to find a solution to the fact that eventually he’ll go back to Velmara and could be compelled by Mazus with the aether-voice to reveal everything he’s learned in Thayaria. I’m sure kissing him isnotwhat Admon had in mind when he advised me to build a real alliance with Prince Hawthorne.

Taking the containers of stew out of the basket, I will them to heat, then pull out spoons and the remaining food. Hawthorne stares at me, confusion and what I think might be fear written across his expression for only a moment before he lets that mask slide back into place, where it belongs. He smirks as he sits across from me, like he’s been caught trying something he knows he shouldn’t do, and it angers me. It was probably all a play by him, a way to prove to me that even I’m a victim to the good looks he uses as a weapon. I must have looked so foolish, simpering and breathless by just the simple act of him getting close to me. I push down my embarrassment and let my annoyance and ire rise to the surface.

I hand him his food items with more aggression than necessary, and we eat in uncomfortable silence, though he continues to observe me like he can’t quite figure me out. When we finish the stew and bread packed for us, he finally speaks.

“What was my father like, during the war?” The question takes me aback, especially after what just transpired between us. Now it’s my turn to study him closely, trying to determine the motivation for the question and if there’s a specific answer he’s seeking. Despite my behavior toward him the last few hours, I have to keep my guard up, though I willtryto use the opportunity to follow Admon’s advice and be more open than I would usually be.

“He was a formidable opponent. We lost. He won. I just happened to be able to kill or shove his entire army out of my kingdom before the consequences could set in.” The truth, nothing more. If he is Mazus’s spy, this information won’t reveal anything. If he’s not, the answer doesn’t give him anything the rest of the world doesn’t already know.

Hawthorne seems thoughtful, gaze fixed on his lap and brows furrowed. “What was he like before the war, when he was courting you?” Now I snort, trying to hold back laughter.

“Courting me? Is that the story in Velmara?”

“Yes,” he says slowly, confused. “That he was courting you, and you were close to marriage, but then one night you got extremely upset and lost control of your magic. The rest… well, I guess you know the rest.”

“That’s not exactly how I remember it,” I snap. He holds up his hands in surrender, and I take a deep breath before continuing, though it does little to calm the raging storm inside me. “I only met him once, before the war. The ‘courting’ you mention was a single ball. A single dance, really. He made his offer to my father that evening.” Hawthorne looks stunned, and I can’t help but laugh at his slack jaw and wide eyes. “There are many different sides to a story, princeling. But this is the truth. He greeted me, we danced, he made an offer to my father, who then asked me if I wanted to accept. I thought on it for a few days for propriety, but I had no interest in marrying a crusty old fae my best friend and I referred to as Mazus the Moldy.”

Hawthorne sprays water out of his mouth as he erupts in a deep belly laugh. After the laughter continues for several more seconds, I can’t help but join in, and soon we’re both leaking tears as we cackle. Then Hawthorne says, “Mazus the Moldy,” and we start the process all over again. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard, and for this long, and I have to ignore the tiny voice inside of me that whispers that I like the way our laughs sound together. I’m wheezing by the end, unable to catch my breath from the silent convulsions in my body.

“Witchling, you don’t know what you’ve done. I’m absolutely going to accidentally call him that in some Council meeting one day, and he’s going to murder me on the spot.”

“Maybe that’s my goal,” I say as I bump his shoulder with mine, and he beams.

“So, you met my father once, you said no to his marriage proposal. Was there even any display of uncontrollable magic by you? His so-called reason for launching a war against Thayaria.”

“Nope,” I say with a shrug, diverting my gaze from his. “It’s certainly not outside the realm of possibility that I could have lost control, because I was overwhelmed by my power back then. I had no idea what I was doing. But the only time I ever truly lost control was… well, when I chucked thousands of Velmarans out of Thayaria, killed even more, and erected a barrier of mist around the whole country.” I look down at my lap and pick at a thread on my leggings. The mood sobers.

---