An Embrace of Citrus & Snow (Fallen for a Fae #1)

22. Bo

Chapter twenty-two

Bo

Points to Faerie; it replaced his clothes. They were waiting, neatly folded, when he and Ever woke up. New clothes. Flowers everywhere. Even a glass of fucking water by the bed.

As aftercare went, Faerie could do worse.

“So,” Bo said, studying the new jeans. Subtle patterns of oak leaves and flowers were embroidered along the waistband, same as the crown he was still somehow wearing. Anytime he took it off, it just manifested again. “I’m pretty sure we fucked Faerie. Got fucked by Faerie?”

Ever sat up, plucking a ripe orange from one of the low branches above the couch where they’d slept. And yeah, magical threesome fruit was fucking weird, but also, Bo was hungry. And as Ever’s sharp teeth cut through the glowing rind, the smell of honey and magic filled the air.

“I confess, I have no idea,” Ever murmured. Calm, even as his feelings rang through Bo, caution threaded with guilt and affection and confusion. “I’ve never heard of Faerie reacting so. If couplings always resulted in such an outpouring of power, I suspect even Velriks would seek a lover.”

Bo snickered, pulling on first jeans, then shirt. “The scandal.”

“Quite.”

Bo really ought to have been panicking. He knew that. This felt like one of those things people freaked out over. But instead, there was a lazy, sated quiet. They’d woken up curled together, warm and comfortable, and the new clothes fit like the old ones.

So, he shrugged, sitting back beside Ever to pull on his shoes.

“I feel like I should be trying to crawl out of my skin,” Bo admitted. An orange blossom drifted from an overhanging tree in looping spirals, the petals gleaming like jewels when it settled on Bo’s shoulder. “Like, I’ll definitely probably freak the fuck out a little later. Orange?”

Ever handed him an orange obligingly. Peeled, the wanton. “I– When that occurs, what…”

“Oh, you’ll need to pet my hair. Tell me you think I look good even when I’m not wrapped in vines.” Bo popped a fruit segment into his mouth and managed not to make a sound over the burst of honey and chilled, tart orange.

From the look on Ever’s face, though, he definitely made an expression.

Ever closed the scant space between them and reached down, taking Bo’s free hand in his, tugging him closer and kissing Bo’s knuckles with soft lips.

“Bo,” Ever said, mouth still warm and near. “I cannot fault Faerie for its infatuation. But my adoration for you is wholly my own.”

Bo grinned, squeezing Ever’s hand in turn. Not so much eager as hungry. Not lust. Just … wanting more of that almost smile, of the mellow, light lilt of his voice. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ve known less joy in three centuries than I’ve shared with you in three days. I’ll gladly worship you wrapped in vines and just as readily on hotel sheets.” Ever’s freckles darkened when he blushed. Fucking charming. “Or wherever else you might permit me.”

“You’ve got me feeling all sorts of ways, kelpie.” Bo tugged back, took Ever’s hand to kiss his knuckles in turn. “All of them good. I like you too. Enjoy. Adore. Whatever the fuck else. Sheets or moss or any weird stuff between the two.”

And yes. Yeah, that was what he wanted: Ever’s slight, warm smile, all shy and pleased.

“I am most fortunate in my devotions, in that case.” Another smile, small and all for Bo.

“You don’t gotta worship me. I don’t need to be the summer anything all the time. Or, fuck, even most of the time.”

The oak crown in Bo’s hair rustled pointedly.

“He said not all the time,” Ever observed to the air. Then, like he was apologizing for an excitable pet, “Truly, Faerie doesn’t usually behave like this.”

“Maybe it’s really fond of oranges and snowmelt,” Bo suggested, still grinning. There were definitely worse things than an unfathomable power deciding it didn’t want you crushed into very small pieces. Especially when you were living inside it .

Ever turned his hand in Bo’s and reached to rest those fingers under Bo’s chin. The warm, soft brush quietly electric even through Bo’s languid contentment.

“You spoil me, sweet.” Ever’s thumb brushed over his lips, pausing at the tilted-up corner of Bo’s smile. “May I kiss you?”

“How very forward,” Bo murmured with another lopsided flash of a smile. “Fuck yeah, Ever. Kiss me. I want to taste you.”

Closer still, and a rush of pleasure and satisfaction through the bond. Ever’s lips pressed carefully to Bo’s, chaste except for the way his breath hitched.

“You do bring out the worst in me,” Ever breathed without moving back. “An irresistible influence.”

Bo grinned all the more, watching Ever, basking in the warm glow of his affection and pleasure and comfort.

Infatuation. That’s what the fuck it was.

Fuck knew, Bo was more than okay with it. With the kiss, too.

“It’s true. Me and my terribly crass human temptations.”

Ridiculous kelpie. Silly fucking human.

A soft, laughing voice somewhere beyond the wall of citrus trees kept Bo from saying more. Ever went rigid, then stood, pulling Bo up beside him.

A door appeared on the other side of the room, nestled between two trees. A tall goddamn door.

It looked fucking solid, made of dark wood oiled bright, with a large copper doorknob. The door looked old ; it had a rounded top half and little carvings around the edges. Fires? Fireplaces?

No time to study it; the door opening, and Bo couldn’t help but tense. The woman who stepped through was … large. The door made sense, kind of large. A tall goddamn door for a fucking towering fae.

Stunning, definitely. Leana, it had to be Leana, was smiling and round from her loose, bright red curls to her toes. But at nearly eight fucking feet, not even the warm ember-orange flicker of her luminous eyes, her spark-flecked, sun-kissed skin, or the matron dress and apron could stifle the initial reaction of oh fuck, she’s tall .

“What a curious citrus grove, showing up so unexpectedly,” she said in a sweet, mellow voice that filled the room. She sounded familiar. Bo couldn’t place where. “While I can’t say it’s the decor I’d have chosen, it’s certainly one of my more unique guest rooms, now.”

Even as she spoke, a bed twisted into existence in one corner, covered in a thick patchwork quilt. A dresser. A mirror. And still, it was an orange grove: ripe fruit and green leaves.

Her smile dimpled. Bo’s skin crawled.

Ever’s breath caught. Like clockwork, that trickle of shame and guilt, there whenever another fae saw them together. Fuck. Ever stepped forward, inclining his head in respect, once again putting himself between Bo and the new fae, his hands locked behind his back, shoulders rigid and jaw set.

“My thanks for your hospitality.” Ever said stiffly. Politely. “I assure you the grove is Faerie’s whims. Our needs were more than met by the room as provided.”

A man who alternatingly clings and freezes.

Later.

“Please, join me,” Leana said, her voice curled at the edges with amusement. “Re-introductions are always more enjoyable with refreshments.”

Bo snagged Ever’s holly crown, left it and his own hanging like the ripe fruit, a kind of acknowledgement. And with that, they went inside like a little trail of ducklings. Leana, Ever, Bo, and the click of the door closing behind them. The scent of oranges, magic, and sex disappeared, replaced by freshly baked bread, spiced drinks, and something bubbling away over a large fire.

It looked like every fantasy cottage, the same way the Council area looked like every stereotypical glade. High ceilings with dried herbs hanging from the rafters, a long table taking up the middle of the room, topped with vegetables and half-finished sketches. At one end, a well-loved kettle waited, three cups and a tray of snacks beside it. The table and counters (and a larder , for fuck’s sake) had all been carved from the same dark wood as the door, made homey with cushions, handmade towels, and small fat ottomans just far enough from the fire to not catch.

Leana lived in a fucking fairy tale witch’s hut.

“This is amazing ,” Bo said, head tipped back to take it all in. “If I were a cat, this is where I’d want to live.”

Sure, he should say something about hospitality, how great the other room was, to reassure both her and Ever that he wasn’t an incompetent asshole. Bo didn’t fucking care. He meant what he said, and he hadn’t even sworn. Manners .

The fae paused. She kept silent for a moment, long enough for Bo to glance over–up–at her again despite himself .

“You’re very kind. Bo, yes? I’m Leana.” She studied Bo, gaze keen, then turned her attention back to Ever. “I offer you and yours bread and salt, Everil. Please, sit–”

“Ma!” A muffled voice called from beyond an open doorway. “Do they want pie?”

Bo managed not to snicker. Leana’s lips twitched as she gestured to the three chairs and asked, “Do either of you want pie?”

“It’s apple!”

“It’s apple,” she repeated dutifully.

Ever sat during the back and forth, perched just as stiffly as he’d stood.

“Please,” Ever said, managing to sound like he could have, at one point, meant it for real.

“Pie sounds great.” Bo took the seat across from Ever. The table wasn’t so large that he couldn’t nudge the kelpie’s foot under it. Ever didn’t nudge back. At least he didn’t pull away.

“Awesome!” said the kid. And they were a kid, unless voices cracked for fae on the regular outside of puberty. “Just a sec.”

“It was generous of you to allow us some time to rest.” Ever sat up straighter, somehow.

It was stupid to get tied up over Ever’s shame and self-loathing. Bo’d felt those from him since the get-go; it wasn’t like they were new. And Bo wasn’t the kind of guy to worry about someone hating him after fucking.

But, fuck. Ever’s one-eighty hurt. Made it clear how different things were with literally any other fae in the room.

Fuck, not the time for a post-fucking high crash.

“My understanding is Aisling’s youngest son has an interesting sense of humor,” Leana said, pleasant and casual in a way Bo didn’t like. His eyebrows arched. She filled Bo’s cup as she spoke: hot chocolate and caramel and salt. “Declan. He’s clever, like his mother. Sometimes, one needs a respite after ‘clever.’ Especially when a trial is involved.”

“He’s weird.” The drink tasted even better than it looked. Jesus. “But yeah. It was needed. The respite, not the mindscrew.”

“Such is the way of trials,” Ever murmured.

Leana’s smile for Ever, all calm welcome, gave Bo pause, even as she poured something distinctly not hot chocolate into Ever’s cup. From the same pot.

“I’m loath to believe our young Declan to be the sort to mislead anyone about my intentions,” Leana continued, pouring herself a drink, now. Honey mead, from the smell. Steel there, behind the warmth of her words. “If he insinuated the hospitality I extended was insincere, you’d be well done to tell me sooner rather than later.”

Bo blinked, confused. He threw Ever a look, brows furrowed at the white-knuckled kelpie. “I’m not following.”

Ever’s feelings became more , every inch of him so tense it was a wonder he didn’t vibrate. A spike of panic and desperation roiled between them, so strong that the shame was almost an afterthought.

“You’re asking whether he suggested the time you granted was part of your trial for us?” Ever asked, face and voice blank.

Oh. Fuck. Hot drinks. A tall fae in an apron. And, if Bo read the room right, an implicit death threat aimed at Declan if they answered wrong.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

“He told us you were the next judge,” Bo said, which wasn’t a lie. Just not the whole truth.

“As Bo says,” Ever agreed with a small nod. “We were told you felt there was merit in discussing what we’d experienced, which we did. I believe we accepted the reprieve in the spirit you intended. We ate. Slept.”

“I see,” Leana said, which wasn’t an answer at all.

A boy with turquoise skin and a mass of silver hair appeared with pie and forks and smiles. He didn’t hang around; just popped in, shy as the dawn, delivered the plates, kissed Leana on the cheek, and disappeared before Bo could so much as blink.

“He yours?” Bo asked, glancing at the kitchen door.

“Yes. My House frequently takes in foundlings. Human and fae alike.” Leana settled in the large seat at the head of the table, glancing from Bo to Ever. The knife in her voice was sheathed again. “As for the topic at hand, good. Given the circumstances, I feared you were led to believe I had some very peculiar expectations.”

Bo, his face full of pie, arched his eyebrows. He nudged Ever’s unresponsive foot gently under the table as he swallowed, half apology, half heads up before the dumb human spoke again. Something was fucking with his kelpie, and Bo didn’t know what else to do .

Ever wasn’t fucking talking .

“Declan said it was away from outside eyes and magic,” Bo admitted after another mouthful of (fucking delicious) pie. “I figured that meant it couldn’t be part of the trial. ”

“It wasn’t going to be,” she said. Bo’s heartbeat skipped, then raced. Ever froze, his cup halfway to his lips. “But I can hardly put either of you through another trial after that particular display.”

Bo pushed his foot harder to Ever’s, and Ever finally pressed back. He kept the pressure up even when Bo opened his fucking mouth, ‘ that particular display’ rankling, and said, “We fucked, so no more trial?”

There went his lack of swearing out of respect.

“My dear,” Leana said, confusion writ between her pretty brows. “I have an orchard newly sprouted on my ancestral lands. Lands passed to me by my grandparents, and theirs before them, since the first Houses were formed. It will not leave. I had to barter with Faerie itself to create the door long enough for you to exit, and it barred a few of my boys entirely when I sent them to fetch you.”

Ever hissed at her puzzled words. Or gasped. Some pained, helpless inhale.

Despair, harshly bitten back. Panic. Protectiveness. Anger and self-loathing.

Bo’s gaze snapped toward him, eyes wide with alarm.

“Faerie,” Ever said, calm as gravestones, “has taken a special interest in Bo. It acknowledged him as a Summer King. I had believed the old magics to be a metaphor, and midsummer is well past. It wasn’t my intention to impinge on your sovereignty.”

The mug in Ever’s hand shattered. Ever flinched like someone’d hit him and stared down at the mess of tea and shards, unblinking, the table and his feelings so fucking messy .

Bo was on his feet before he was even aware of it. By the time he’d rounded the table, most the tea and the shards were gone. It left Ever staring at his empty hands, Bo hovering awkwardly near him.

“ You didn’t do anything,” Bo said fiercely, gripping Ever’s shoulder. Holly leaves appeared again, a glossy half-crown in Ever’s dark hair. Bo didn’t need to see himself to know the sudden rustle about his own ears was from oak leaves. “It’s Faerie . Like you said. And I’m not the only one it acknowledged.”

Bo prodded gently at Ever’s crown in demonstration, a thorn poking him for his trouble. He scowled, but it hadn’t broken the skin. Hadn’t even left a mark. Ever glanced up at him, shivering and still. Somehow, both at the same time.

“What Faerie acknowledged,” Leana interjected, offering Ever a cloth that the kelpie balled up in a tight grip, “is your bond, among other things. It takes more than a play at ritual to mark Faerie as you did, especially when not midsummer or Yule. I didn’t mean to alarm you, dear. I thought you knew. ”

Ever twisted the cloth in both hands, just under the table. He only stopped when Bo squeezed his shoulder, looking up with dark, hopeless eyes.

“My oath that I didn’t,” Ever said, at last. He shook his head, a thread of helplessness filtering through the bond. “I had no reason to believe our … actions would have such weight. Bo isn’t my first bond. Faerie never showed an interest with the last. Nor have I heard of it happening with others.”

Leana listened in silence, her expression politely attentive. She poured a cup of cider for herself and another cup of tea for Ever. It smelled like sugar and citrus. Fucking creepy, in Bo’s humble, unbiased opinion. She didn’t so much as glance at the crowns they wore nor at Bo’s hand when he stroked Ever’s shoulder with his thumb.

“If I may be so bold, your former bond doesn’t strike me as the sort to invoke the old ways as you must have.” A touch of reproach there, but only a little. “The new generation considers them ‘untoward.’ Something unseemly created only to appease a certain type of fae. Few willingly spill their own blood, or that of their bond, as I’m sure you can understand.”

“And God forbid there be an interpretation that includes sex instead of blood?” Bo asked dryly, leaning against Ever’s unmoving shoulder. He met Leana’s glance with a flat look of his own and was rewarded with a smile, the one without dimples or crow’s feet. “But I’m a human.”

“You’re a kelpie's bond.” Leana shook her head, all graceful softness. A gentle dismissal of silly children. “Humans have always held a role in Faerie, whatever the modern sorts might claim.”

“Bo is blameless in this,” Ever said, louder now. “I might have cause to know the import of the old magics. But he could not.”

“Fuck that,” Bo snapped. No way Ever was going to claim Bo’d not played his part. It’d been a fantastic part.

An orange blossom no larger than Bo’s thumbnail unfurled from the rim of Leana’s teacup, shimmering and crystalline. Leana looked down at it and smiled.

“There is no blame in this. You don’t live as long as I have without knowing what must be saved and what must be culled,” Leana said, glancing up at the two of them. She lifted her hands, palm up and fingers spread. “I’m honor bound to acknowledge your bond as valid, even if Faerie hadn’t claimed you in my kitchen.”

“What would happen if you didn’t? Acknowledge us, I mean. ”

“Other than betraying the trust put in me as a judge chosen for this trial?” She smiled at Bo, that warm, inviting smile that offered a hearthside bed and a swift, merciless death. “I risk losing my lands, starting with that orange grove. There are few things more dangerous, Bo, than to look Faerie in the eye and say, ‘You chose wrong.’ ”