Page 52 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

I can feel Jaro and Drystan getting closer. They must be travelling fast, because they’re somehow closer than Caed and getting nearer every second. I keep expecting them to jump through the door at any moment, and I tell Kitarni as much.

“There is one subject we should discuss before they get here,” Kitarni hedges, shooting a glance at the redcap as if to check he’s really asleep. “Your fertility cycle.”

I bite my lip. “I never had one.”

I knew about them, of course. Clair used to moan and gripe about hers every month. Yet mine… never came. I always put it down to stress and my illness, but now…

“Fae females don’t have a monthly cycle like humans,” Kitarni explains, abandoning her book with all of its maps of Faerie. “Every few years we go into fever.”

“That… doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s nothing to be feared,” Kitarni soothes. “You’ll enjoy every second of it, but you need to be prepared. You will want to fuck. Constantly.” I wince at her crude language, but she carries on. “Your body will put out a scent that will drive males insane with wanting you. Most mated fae hole up in their house for the week and don’t leave until it’s over. It’s the only time when you can conceive a child, but that’s incredibly rare. Fae do not conceive often. The Goddess keeps our numbers few to balance our long lives.”

She pauses, letting the idea sink in before she drops her next bombshell. “I am telling you this because your first fever should hit soon.”

“Soon?”

“It varies, but you’re over twenty-five, which is the age of maturity. Most females have their first fever within the year.”

My whole body goes tense, but a traitorous part of me, low in my abdomen, unfurls with excitement. Lore shifts, pressing his face further into my lap, and I bite my lip. I’m quickly learning that the male has no personal boundaries—even in his sleep.

“Most unmated females spend the week in seclusion in their nearest temple. There are spells and guards to keep out unwanted males. Or they can find themselves a willing partner to ride it out. For a Nicnevin, the choice is normally simple, as you’re born knowing who your fated mates are. A Nicnevin’s first fever is usually celebrated with feasts and street parties. But I recognise you’ve been raised with human ideals. If you’re not comfortable with the idea or ready to consider sex with your males, then I will do whatever it takes to get you to a temple.”

She pauses. “Considering how powerful your Guard is… it would be safer for them to also take a sleeping potion to avoid the effects. It’s a harmless concoction, and I’m certain they would drink it if that was what you wanted. Many powerful fae who struggle with their courtship do.”

I should not be as curious about the fever as I am. I definitely should not be pressing my thighs together, remembering Jaro’s bare chest. My mind—debauched as it apparently is—summons the image of Drystan lying on a bed. Beneath me. Naked.

My core clenches.

Lore groans.

I freeze, counting his breaths.

Still asleep. Phew.

And after the fever, there’s the risk that I could bear a child. My mind swims with the image of a sweet little baby with Jaro’s features, or Lore’s white hair.

I’ve just met them.

I shouldn’t find that so appealing.

“Do I have time to consider it?”

Kitarni frowns. “A few months, maybe less. I get a rough sense of these things about you, but the ones who will know for certain are your mates. In the days before, they’ll be incredibly territorial.”

I brush my fingers over my mouth. I’ve never even kissed a man—let alone a fae.

Can I say I really object to the idea, though?

No. My gut, no matter how apprehensive, isn’t recoiling in disgust like it was at the idea of marrying Colbert.

“And what if they don’t want me?” I ask, looking down at Lore’s head. “Will this fever just force them to desire me?”

Kitarni giggles. “My lady, there is no way that they don’t want you. They’re your Guard. Your souls are fated for one another.”

“And that never goes wrong?” I press. “No one ever hates their fated mate? Drystan barely tolerates me. I can hardly imagine he’ll be happy to jump into my bed because my scent made him.”

Kitarni sobers, shaking her head. “Fated mates are sacred gifts of the Goddess. The Guard even more so. No Nicnevin has ever rejected hers—I’m not certain you even could, given how tightly the Call binds you together. Do you not find your males attractive?”

---