Page 161 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
A knock sounded at the door. Her heart lifted expectantly, before she realised that she knew that knock—Beau.
“So, don’t get too mad at me—” he said as she opened the door.
“What did you do? Wait, I’m usually the one saying ‘don’t get mad’. Oh no. This must be serious—”
Beau held up his hands. “Relax,” he said, “no one’s in any danger.”
“Oh, excellent.”
He took a small brown bottle out of his breast pocket. “Dwarven tonic that guards against conception. Take before or after, within a twenty-four-hour window. As spells don’t work here.”
Aislinn stared at the bottle.
“Did I overstep?”
“No,” she said, taking the bottle, “you didn’t overstep.”
“Then—”
She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
“I’ve got your back,” he said, squeezing her middle. “Always. Now… have fun. But use the tonic. I’m not ready to be an uncle yet.”
Aislinn laughed. “And I amdefinitelynot ready to be a parent.”
Young parents were very unusual amongst the fae—most wouldn’t see a child in half a century or more unless they were trying particularly hard. Her own parents were considered young (not yet fifty when they’d conceived) although she understood it had been easier for them due to Juliana’s mortal fertility. Beau, apparently, had been a welcome Beltane accident.
Aislinn wanted a child at some point—but not now, even if the thought ofCaer’schild made her a little giddy, a plump little dark-haired child with rosebud lips and eyes a colour she couldn’t name.
She shook the thought away before the impracticalities could strike her.
Beau said goodnight, and whispered away down the hall.
Aislinn closed her door and placed the bottle on her nightstand, throwing herself down on the bed and drowning in the pillows. She felt nervous and giddy, insides quivering with the thought of what awaited her tonight, senses heightened and hazy.
Someone knocked on the door again.
“Yes?” she called out, expecting it to be Beau again with some final words of wisdom.
Caer walked into the room. He hovered in the threshold, Aislinn bolting up in bed. He was still damp from his bath, his freshly laundered shirt clinging to every glorious inch of him. He wasn’t even wearing a belt, his trousers hanging loosely at his hips.
“Hi,” he said. He glanced back towards the door. “May I—”
“Close it,” she instructed.
By the time the door had clicked shut, Aislinn had bolted over the room. Caer barely had time to turn before she’d thrown herself at him. Their mouths collided in a blast of heat that she felt down to her toes. Dizziness overwhelmed her, his kisses intoxicating. She wanted to climb into his mouth. Caer murmured something into her, but she couldn’t hear, her mind focusing on all the places she wanted to touch him.
He rolled her against the wall, panting hard, his hands working down her back, gathering at her spine. His chin glided against hers.
She pulled back, grinning. “You shaved.”
His cheeks heated, but her eyes were mostly captured by the dimple there, and the red, blurred quality of his parted lips. “It seemed appropriate.”
She skimmed her fingers over the impossibly smooth skin. “I quite like the stubble,” she admitted.
Caer groaned. “I’ve been told that it can be chafing if one kisses for too long.”
“Thinking ahead, are you?”
