Page 21 of Thief of Dreams
"At least the view is nice." There's a moment of silence, and my gaze shoots to his, recognizing the faint smirk there. "I meant—"
"I know." He leans back in the chair, one wrist resting on his propped-up knee. "No woman can resist me."
I roll my eyes. "This one can."
"You do wonders for my ego."
"I'm sure you're more than capable of stroking it yourself."
Oh, gods. My mouth just won't stop. He laughs as I bury my face in my hands. "Are we still talking about my ego?"
"Yes."
"Forgive me for noticing, but for a court-raised lady, you're shockingly inept at flirtation and social niceties."
"Greenslieves is somewhat lacking in courtiers," I say weakly. And the lands of the Forbidden even more so. "To further show my ineptness, may I ask you a question?"
The prince pops the cork on the bottle of elderberry wine and gives me a magnanimous nod. "You may. Whether I answer it or not is up to me."
"Why now?" I demand, resting both elbows on the table as he fills my glass. "You've spent three thousand years locked away in this Other World, only to suddenly decide to Summon a bride? I won't believe three thousand is your lucky number. And if you were merely interested in scratching an itch, I'm sure there's an abundance of nubile fae women in this world."
"A costly answer. How about I trade you? A secret for a secret?"
It could be dangerous.
The fae cannot lie. While my wraithen half saves me from being held to the truth, if Keir is given any reason to suspect I'm not telling it, then the results could be deadly.
"As long as you go first," I murmur, sipping the wine.
"There's that issue of trust again."
"Something we both share," I point out.
He leans back in the chair, oozing grace. "I'm not searching for a bride. I'm searching for my mate."
I nearly spit the wine across the table.
The Great Goddess of the Cauldron gifted her fae children with both a promise—and a curse. For every fae, there's another soul out there, waiting to be joined to theirs. A truemate. Another half.
Fae males are offered a glimpse of their future mate during their adult rites. A spelled object will show them a clue of their mate's identity if the Goddess of the Cauldron is kind enough. It may take a century—or dozens—to find their other half, but fae males are territorial and possessive, and they never stop looking.
But if the other half of your soul dies, then you'll spend eternity wandering and feeling restless.
As I hack and cough, I can't help noticing the amused smile he fails to hide. He's enjoying this lack of decorum—or perhaps, enjoying the fact he's shocked me.
"Mother of Mercy," I mutter, burying my face in the napkin. "You're serious?"
"I looked into the Cauldron many, many years ago, and while I wasn't shown her face, I was shown the constellations in the sky that would herald her appearance." He points to the comet on the horizon. "The time is nigh. I have waited thousands of years for this moment."
"And now you need to work out which one of us it is."
"I had my seneschal consult the seer. Certain bloodlines showed promise according to the astrological signs of their births."
Thank the Goddess.
My birth date won't be on that list.
"Don't breathe a word of that to the others, or there'll be more blood in the hallways." To be wed to this dark lord offers a wealth of opportunities, but to realize you could be his mate? "Unless… unless someone has already started. You don't think the Wyrdwolf had anything to do with this?"
