Page 96 of The Witch Queen

“Laurel,” he breathes, “you weretwentyyears old, young even by human standards. Still a child by fae standards. Fate, or the gods, or a prophecy—whatever determines these things—blessed you with an indescribable amount of power and very little guidance in how to use it. Your parents had been murdered, your best friend on the verge of death. You should not—cannot—blame yourself for this, yet I’ve seen the guilt you wear for the months that I’ve been here. I see the fear you have of your own power. You may play dress up as the villain my father created, but you are no more villain than I am. Even if the mist is responsible for the flower declining,it’s not your fault.If anyone is to blame, it’s my father.”

I know I need to continue, need to tell himall of it, but I’m shaking with fear. Once he knows this last secret, I’m sure he’ll walk away from me, walk away from the mating bond.

“There’s more.” My words are the smallest whisper, so quiet I’m not sure I’ve even said them aloud. He only squeezes my hands. My breaths are coming quickly now, and I realize I’m panting with anxiety as the tears flow freely. “My magic…” I start, struggling to say more. I pause to pick at my fingernails, at a loss how to explain something that only my parents and Admon ever knew. “My magic is different,” I finally say, and Thorne laughs.

“That much is obvious, witchling,” he coos, and for once the nickname makes me wince, too close to the truth. I take a deep, steadying breath, letting Thorne’s scent wrap around me and provide the comfort I need to continue, even if he may not be here when I’m done telling him.

“Channelers need a conduit for the aether. Water, plants, air, metal.Light. When a fae performs magic without the use of one of those conduits, we classify it as witchcraft. Spells fueled by the aether in blood,” I explain. He nods with a look of confusion. He knows all of this already.I’m stalling.“I’m no blood mage, Thorne. I swear that to you.” My lips tremble, and I look to the sky, seeking anywhere to look but his eyes. “But my magic is just asperverse. I don’t need a conduit. Whatever I will, whatever I desire, can simply happen, as long as aether is present. I try to limit my magic in front of others and only perform what could be done through conduits, but sometimes I slip. Like the poofing trick you’ve seen so many times. If I wanted to, I could stop the heart of every magical creature around me with a single thought, could freeze their limbs so they can’t move. I could will the aether that creates the world to simply cease.” I try to huff out a laugh, but the noise is hollow. “If witchcraft is practicing magic without a conduit, then I am indeed thewitchyour father has made me out to be. My magic is vile and perverse.Corrupt. At least blood mages need blood to perform magic. At least they have boundaries around what they can perform. I have no such limits. I’m anabomination.” The words shudder out of me for the first time in my entire life, my deepest secret and most honest truth, and I brace myself for his rejection.

Thorne stands and walks to the edge of the balcony, bringing me with him. He scoops me into his arms, then leaps off the second story to the ground below, using his fae strength to soften the landing. I yelp, and he chuckles, but says nothing. Murky confusion makes my thoughts slow. Is he going to take me somewhere to kill me, rid the world of my vile magic? The voice that sounds like my parent’s whispers that this is what they always warned me about.If you tell anyone about your power, they’ll kill you, Laurel. Youmustkeep it a secret, always.

He cradles me against him, and I let him, not wanting to let go of the moment. I’m sure that everything’s about to come crashing down in the worst possible way. He picks his way down the stone path, back to my mother’s clearing. The sun has fully set now, and the stars are blurry spheres in the sky, mist blocking their piercing light. The moon emerges from behind a cloud, and I let out an involuntary gasp. It’s a rare blood moon. The last one to shine over Thayaria occurred on the date of my birth. The light has an eerie red glow as Thorne carries me through the ring of azaleas and across the glade.

When we reach the middle, he sets me down on my feet. Nerves wrack my body, and I fight down the urge to run away.If this is my end, then it’s one I deserve.Thorne drops to his knees before me. Everything goes silent around us, like the stars and moon, cicadas and owls, hold their breath in anticipation of Thorne’s next words. Mist gathers thickly around us, so that all I can see is Thorne kneeling at my feet. I’m not sure whether I’m creating the mist or whether it’s a natural phenomenon, but it casts everything in a reddish hue. I’m holding my breath, not ready for Thorne to speak, and yet desperate to hear his deep voice.

“Laurel Elestren, Queen of Thayaria, Mate of My Aether-Heart,” he murmurs reverently, still kneeling in front of me. “You’re the furthest thing from an abomination I could ever imagine. Both of my hearts ache to hear you say such things about yourself. Ouractionsdefine our character, Laurel, and for three hundred years you’ve done everything you can to protect your people, even painting yourself a villain to the rest of the world to keep curious minds from trying to enter the mist for fear of you. You make hard choices every single day that protect your soul from corruption, unlike my father, who is the real abomination. Your magic does not define you, and it certainly doesn’t make me desire you any less. Fuck, Laurel, your power is sexy as hell.” Tears flow down my cheeks again, though I’m not sure they ever stopped. I drop to my knees, matching his pose. Taking his face in my hands, I bring my lips to his, softly, trying to convey so much with that one kiss. It’s wet from my tears, slow and soothing. When we pull away, he wipes my cheeks delicately and smooths down my hair, then laughs. “I have to tell you, witchling, your secret wasn’t all that secret. I’d already guessed it,” he teases with a wink, and I smack him across the chest. “Maybe not thefullextent, but I knew you could control magic without a conduit.” I give him a shy smile and he pulls me into him, holding me close before coaxing me to sit on the ground, legs tucked underneath me. The hum of cicadas returns. Owls hoot, and the mist clears. I laugh loudly, and soon Thorne joins me.

“Why are we laughing?” I ask, and he shrugs, the moment so similar to the first time we admitted secrets to one another that it sends goosebumps up my arms.

“Because we’re deranged, both of us.” That makes me laugh even harder. Thorne suddenly goes serious. “Since we’re trading secrets, I have one more to tell you.” I wait for him to continue, nervous about what he’ll reveal. “I haven’t told you this, but it’s only because you’ve been so secretive and defensive about your magic. I swear. I wasn’t trying to hide anything of myself from you.” Thorne takes a deep breath. “I think my father is anactualblood mage. That’s the secret I believe my mother discovered about him, and how he killed her so easily. When I came here, I had my own plans… I wanted to get close to you to discover how blood magic worked, to uncover a way to stop my father. That was my real motivation for wanting to become allies. And I—I thought I could seduce the information out of you.” He gives me a sheepish look, though there’s fear and anticipation in his eyes.

I still. The news should make me question Thorne immediately, should make me question the relationship we’ve slowly built these last months. And aethers,of courseMazus is a blood mage. It makes so much sense. But I’m surprised to find that the information doesn’t change anything about how I feel about Thorne. I trust him, implicitly, and I’m not exactly sure when that change occurred. I open my mouth to tell him that, but he continues on, words frantic, like he might lose me if he doesn’t get everything out.

“Please believe that very early on I realized you weren’t a blood mage. I think my desire to be close to you was neverreallyabout discovering more about your magic, though I used that as an excuse for myself initially. The moment I met you, I was desperate to see you again, to get to know you. AndaethersLaurel, you seducedme.There was not a single moment that I was in control of my reaction to you.” His eyes are beseeching, and I decide to put him out of his misery.

“I believe you,” I say quietly, and he offers a slow and tentative smile, squeezing my hand tightly. “But let’s promise to each other now, no more secrets.” The words are a vow I don’t fully understand. Thorne nods somberly and reaches out his hand.

“No more secrets.” He shakes my hand, like we’re sealing a deal. Suddenly, the source of my magic—my aether-heart—grows hot and bright. I clutch my chest, gaze locked on Thorne’s concerned eyes. “Laurel,” he yells, wrapping me in his arms tightly before pushing my shoulders back slightly so he can examine my face. “What’s wrong?” Panic laces his voice, but I can only laugh. His brows furrow in confusion and fear, hands stilling on my shoulders.

“Thorne,” I whisper. “I think—I know—I just accepted you as my mate. I can feel you, in here.” I point to my chest. “My aether-heart is usually chaotic, but your presence is…soothing.It feels calm, like it’s wrapped in a soft, glowing blanket.” Thorne’s eyes brighten, and now tears build in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” The question is so tentative, somehow conveying understanding if my answer is no. I swallow, nerves and butterflies and fear and a thousand other emotions running through me.You could lie.I could wait a little longer, really examine whatever’s changed deep inside of me. I could plot and scheme and control every aspect of telling him about us. Admon still hasn’t found anything useful that might tell us about what it could mean. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but then I pause. Every moment between us flashes across my mind. Every cup of tea he’s made, every time he’s opened himself up to me, every time the heat between us has felt unbearable. Fingers brushing across the lightning bolt necklace he gave me, my smile is so wide it practically hurts as I nod my head.

“I’m sure.” The barely held back tears gathering in his eyes lose their battle and stream down his face. Strong arms wrap me around my middle, hauling me to my feet and then squeezing even tighter when we’re standing. My own tears leak slowly down my cheeks as Thorne caresses my back and then my hair. He finally releases me from the hug, though his big, warm hands wrap around mine as he stares into the center of me, all the way down into my aether-heart.

“My Queen,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head, my forehead, my eyelids, my lips. “My mate.MyLaurel.”

Laurel

The witch and the fae fell madly in love, despite all the warnings about what might happen if they gave in to the bond fate made for them. The Mages, that ancient sect of ichor-worshipping fae, were displeased by the power the witch and the fae could command once they were united. It launched a war that would change the very fabric of the world for millennia.

Unknown Story, Unknown Origin

I aerstep us back to the suite at the estate, and a feral energy consumes us both. His hands explore every inch of my body as he kisses me with a fierceness that makes me moan, a low and humming noise from the back of my throat. The sound causes him to take my face in his hands and angle me to deepen the kiss. I don’t know where one of us begins and the other ends, our bodies are so intertwined with one another.

“Laurel,” he groans between kisses. I only pull him closer, unwilling to break the current of energy thrumming between us. After months of holding back, Ifinallyallow myself to touch him, unrestricted, and I can’t stop now that I’ve opened that flood of need. My hands explore every hard line of his muscles, noticing the way he flexes under my touch. He pulls back from me and gives me one of those classic Thorne grins, dimple exposed, and I can’t keep my lips from kissing that tantalizing spot where his cheek hollows out. His resulting moan is reverent, and his hands take their time as they smooth up and down the curve of my waist.

When his hands finally still, they grip my hips firmly, not hurting but giving me the delicious feel that I’mpossessedby him. I hum my satisfaction against his mouth, and he only grips me tighter, fingers digging into my love handles. I need to see more of him, need to explore every inch of his hard body.

Tentatively, I grab the bottom of his tunic and break our kiss to look up at him, a question in my eyes. The burning inferno that is his expression tells me I can do whatever I want, but I wait for him to nod. I slowly inch his shirt up his chest, hungrily taking in his tanned and toned stomach. When I reach his collarbone, he takes his hands off me for the briefest of moments to rip the shirt from his body, but I whimper at the loss of his touch. His resulting smirk tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking and that helikesit. He drinks me in hungrily with his eyes.

“Your turn, witchling. Take off your clothes.” The primal demand in his voice makes my skin prickle and my thighs clench together, but we haven’t spent months delighting in the game of catch and release with one another for me to give in so easily. I give him my best haughty expression, pure mirth in my eyes.

“I don’t take orders fromprinces.I’m aQueen.” His eyes darken with need.

“You wicked little thing,” he says slowly as his lips spread wide in a grin. “Witchling,pleasetake off your clothes.” I shiver at the way he sayswitchling, deep in his throat. But I only shrug, like I’m considering his request. He grips my waist again and hauls me to him, devouring my mouth with another breathtaking kiss. When he breaks the kiss and I whimper, he gives me a challenging look that says he thinks he’s won this round, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction. At least not without a little more torture.

“I am feeling rather warm.” I give him my best impression of a flirty Thorne wink, and it makes him chuckle as he cups his hands on my ass. I untangle myself from him, then slowly ease my leggings down, then my undergarments, never taking my eyes from his. My agonizing pace is intended to taunt him, and it works, if his feathering jaw is any sign. My tunic is long and covers most of my delicate parts, which makes Thorne growl in frustration. He tries to pick up the lacy fabric of my undergarments, but I will them out of existence the moment his hands clasp around them, earning me another growl.

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