Page 63 of The Witch Queen

“Not even a little. I told you, he’s afraid of my magic. Afraid of me. I can’t be with someone like that.”

“Good, witchling. You deserve someone who will worship you, who thinks your magic is just one of dozens of things they find incredible about you. Don’t settle for anything less.” The heat in his gaze lights me up inside, and I even catch myself studying my skin, wondering if I might be actually glowing. I’m not, but the spark inside of me doesn’t go out. For once, I step closer to Thorne, not the other way around, and I think I hear a low noise in the back of his throat.

“Laurel,” he breathes my name like a prayer, like a lifeline in the dark. His eyes are searching, darting across my face with all the fae senses he’s honed over centuries. Before I know what’s happening, his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me into him, and I don’t protest.

“Thorne,” is all I manage to whisper out. Somehow, he moves us up against the wall of the terrace, placing one arm above me so that all I can see ishim.His tall and muscular frame is so much more pronounced this way, crowding my space and towering over me. It’s dark outside, but the light floating our way from the ballroom makes his features glow in a hazy brilliance.

He dips his head so our foreheads are touching, mirroring the movement Carex had forced on me only minutes ago. But this time, I welcome it. Slowly, gently, like I’m a wild animal that might spook if he’s not careful, Thorne brings his hand up to caress my face. His hand is massive, practically cradling my entire head in his palm. His thumb strokes over my lips, and an involuntary moan, so quiet I could almost miss it, escapes me. Or maybe it was him? I’m unsure, too wrapped up in his heated gaze.

His head leans down, and time stops. He’s going to kiss me. Iwanthim to kiss me. I think. But maybe I don’t? I’m so unsure, still so tangled in knots when it comes to him. His reputation, his betrothal, the way he winks and simpers with every female around him. His kingdom. Hisfather.I should stop this, but I don’t. When I feel his hard body press against my own, my resolve falters. Would it be so bad to give in to the attraction? Just for one night. So what if I’m just another conquest of the Shining Prince? I’m sure it would be electrifying, sure his experience makes him a skilled lover. Surely one time wouldn’t hurt anything.

My own body leans in, and I’m going to meet his lips with mine, going to—

“Laurel? Hawthorne? What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” We jump away from one another as Silene’s bouncing form prances over to us, breaking whatever spell we’d been under. I should feel relief, but as I turn my back on Thorne, all I feel is yearning need.

Nemesia

The fae tell many stories about the origin of our world. One of the most popular usually follows this structure: our once united world was torn apart long ago by a terrible and immense display of power. When all seemed lost in the Great War, the witches sealed away the darkness. Kingdoms disappeared, and families lost their loved ones to the other side of the world. The act cost the witches more than their lives, and the world as we know it was born from their sacrifice.

The Legends of the Fae, Volume II

There’s a knock on my door, and I groan. It’s the Winter Solstice, and I fully intended to keep my own kingdom’s traditions by not doing anything today. I close my eyes, content to ignore whoever it is. The knock sounds again, more insistent in its pounding.

“Coming,” I yell at whoever’s disturbing me. When I open the door, a servant stands there holding a box wrapped in gold paper with a gold bow on top. She bows.

“His Majesty King Mazus wished me to deliver this Solstice gift to you.” Her eyes dart around as if Mazus will appear at any moment. Taking the giant gift, I thank her before shutting the door and lugging it to my desk. There’s a note attached to the bow on top.

Dear General Nestern,

You may not be aware, but it is tradition to exchange gifts on the Winter Solstice here in Velmara. As I had promised you a selection of books from my personal collection, I thought presenting them as a gift on this holiday seemed appropriate. Please accept these rather interesting tomes as an extension of the friendship I so wish for Velmara and Thayaria. Happy Solstice!

His Royal Majesty, King Mazus, Golden King of Velmara

I roll my eyes despite my excitement and eagerly unwrap the package to find four books inside. Scanning the titles, I’m surprised by what I find.The Secrets and Stories of Velmara, Blood Magic Through the Ages,The History of the Aether,and a book title in Old Fae. I think it loosely translates toThe Legends of the Fae.Why would Mazus send me these books? Once again, his motivations are unclear, and it brings an uneasy feeling to my gut. Under any other circumstances, thisgiftwould be the best I’d ever received. But anything I discover in these books will serve Mazus’s aims, and that can’t be a good thing.

I scan the book titles again, lost in thought. My attention snags on the book on blood magic, and I open it, scanning the table of contents. It appears to be structured chronologically, detailing what various scholars thought about blood magic at different points of history. Sighing, I close the volume. Maybe the gift isn’t as helpful as I thought.

Over the months I’ve been here, my frustration with the archives has been slowly growing. Every book seems to be an anthology or review ofotherliterature, but those primary research texts don’t exist anymore. I have to trust that what I’m reading is an accurate summary of those earlier works, and when you’re dealing with history this ancient, so much can get lost in translation or through the bias of the scholar reviewing the literature. Every day I wake up, do a bit of training in the underground cavern Mazus made available to me, then head to the archives, where I sit for hours and hours reading anthologies of other research. My life unfortunately consists of very little outside of that—I’m relentless in my desire to find information to help Laurel and Thayaria.

After my dinner with Mazus several weeks ago, I shifted my research to the history of leylines as he had suggested, though the same challenge remained. Based on the breadth of writings available in the archives, I’ve confirmed what I already suspected—leylines reflect the magic of our world, and the presence of thayar flowers in Thayaria is because of the numerous leylines that cross the kingdom. The thayar flower seems to be directly related to the magic of our world. I’ve also ascertained that several leylines used to cross the Nivan Desert but disappeared inexplicably. This explains why thayar flowers used to be present in Velmara but disappeared when the leylines did. These revelations are concerning for many reasons, not least of which is that it could indicate the magic coursing through Thayaria is declining. That the decline in thayar blooms is the symptom, not the cause. The history is ancient, dating back thousands and thousands of years, so it’s hard to decipher what’s real and what is only speculation. Several texts even used different names for the kingdoms of our realm. I’ve yet to work out which name corresponds to which modern kingdom name.

My eyes catch again on the book in Old Fae, and hope rises in my chest that this might be a primary or original work of research. I open the dusty and massive volume, eyes blurring at the tiny characters.This is going to be challenging.I pull out a sheet of parchment to use as a scratch pad while I translate. The table of contents reveals that the book is structured around various topics, from the origins of the fae to ancient religion. A section on mates catches my attention, and I furrow my brows, flipping to that part.

I can translate about every fifth word and groan at my rusty translation skills. I’ll need to get an Old Fae dictionary from the archives, which means I have to leave my room on the Winter Solstice. Laurel would be outraged. We spend nearly every Solstice together, holed up in one of our chambers reading and eating sweets, refusing to leave or even change out of our night clothes.

A thought crosses my mind, turning around my sour mood. The Velmarans celebrate this holiday as well, which means the librarians won’t be working today, and I might be able to slip in and have the archives completely to myself. Mazus didn’t set any parameters about when I wasn’t allowed there—he had grantedfull access.

After dressing quickly, I make my way through the deserted castle to the wing dedicated to the archives. When I arrive, the doors are shut, and I worry they’ve been locked for the holiday. With a gentle push, however, they glide open easily. The massive entryway is eerily quiet compared to the usual noise of at least a dozen librarians walking about to direct patrons to the right section. The high ceilings are capped by a massive stained-glass dome that covers the entryway, letting in soft light that paints the marble floor in hues of red, yellow, and green. As I walk across the floor, my steps echo in the cavernous space.

Turning down the corridor that leads to the language section, I scan the paintings on the walls that I’ve never had the luxury to observe before, too caught up in my research to wander. There are depictions of the rolling golden plains of Velmara, and surprisingly, a painting of what must be Thayaria with its verdant and mountainous landscape. I check all the other artwork, but no other kingdom is represented, though there are several more paintings of Thayaria.

Lost in thought about what that could mean, and remembering Lobelia’s strange comment at the Forum about returning Velmara and Thayaria to allies as they once were, I crash right into another person.

“I’m so sorry,” Genevieve says from where I’ve knocked her to the ground. I offer my hand to help her up, and her soft skin momentarily distracts me from my whirling mind.

“No, no, it was completely my fault. I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going.” She grins, and it lights up her whole face.

“We’re both at fault then, because my nose was in a book,” she says as she bends to pick up the book she dropped when I smacked into her.

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