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

27. Everil

Chapter twenty-seven

Everil

Everil’s fingers danced lightly over white and black keys, turning silence to song. Nimai had been tense since Veroni and Kesk’s party the day prior. Quiet, though not snappish. Affectionate, if anything. In some ways, that was worse.

The piano was a way of occupying himself that Nimai could neither object to nor interrupt with conversation and touch. It didn’t matter that the notes sounded dull. Everil wasn’t playing for the music.

Focus on the notes. Think of nothing else and–

A wave of anguish roiled through him. Mixed with it, consuming it, emotions Everil knew all too well. Self-loathing and guilt, a churning miasma of pain. Everil’s hands curled into fists, setting off a chorus of complaint from the piano.

“Finished, my love?” Nimai asked.

Everil didn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t do more than suffocate in Bo’s regret and despair. An orange grove, the fruit left to rot on the vine. A hive of dead bees.

Bo had been angry since Everil abandoned him. Defiant at times. Hurt at others. But always angry. There was no anger in the bond now. Where Bo had burned, all bitterness and acid, now the taste of him was flat and fading.

A resounding thud: the piano bench falling to the floor. He was standing, ready to run, without knowing where he was meant to run to. He would find him. He had to find him.

“Everil.” Nimai’s voice was hard with warning. “Control yourself.”

“Where is he?” Everil asked, the words frost licked and growled. “Where’s Bo? ”

“How am I to know?” Nimai asked, hand cutting the air in a sharp, dismissive gesture. “I’m not in the habit of keeping tabs on all your little indiscretions. Now sit. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The habit was there. Flinch. Apologize. Try to do better. Everil was a series of disappointments, and Nimai always knew best.

Regret. Despair. Surrender.

Everil growled.

“You’re in the habit of killing them. Where is he?”

“And we had an agreement to keep that from happening. You were to behave . Do you really want to be responsible for what will happen if you don’t? Again?”

Everil couldn’t tower the way Nimai did when he discarded his glamour. But he could stand, teeth bared and stallion shadowed, the way Nimai hated.

Despairdespairdespair.

“We agreed he wouldn’t be harmed.” He wanted to grab Nimai by the neck and shake the truth from him. He wanted to cringe and apologize. His words came out pleading. “He’s hurt. Someone is hurting him.”

“And you’re so sure it isn’t you?” There was a coiling purr to Nimai’s words. A near gentleness to the way he took Everil’s arm. “My wild horse, as I recall, you didn’t part from him on the best of terms. And now he’s forced to endure a bond to someone he loathes, with all the pain that entails. No wonder he’s unhappy. The kindest action you could take is breaking it. Then he’ll be free, and you can move on. Haven’t you tormented poor Oberon enough?”

“Don’t use that name.” The words were soft. Quiet.

“Pardon?” The overwhelming taste of cinnamon and clove.

“Bo. His name is Bo.” Still quiet. Difficult to speak at all, with Nimai so close.

It was always his fault; that was true. This, too, might be his fault.

“I’m not going to debate with you over the name of one of your filthy little toys. Really, Everil, it’s disgusting what you get up to.”

“Summer yields to his Holly King.” Bo’s words had been a benediction. And Faerie itself had exalted in their union.

Everil jerked his arm from Nimai’s grip, taking a step back. “He may well loathe me. He has that right. But he’s hurt , and I’m going to him.”

Nimai laughed, and the sound was warm and comfortable as a roaring fire. “Are you now? And how do you intend to do that? It’s not as if Kesk will open his territory to you. ”

Kesk. Bo was still with Kesk and Veroni.

“You swore to return him unharmed.”

“And he will be. The man’s proving unusually stubborn. Clinging to memories he’s best freed from. But if he’s as upset as you seem to believe, I suspect the problem has resolved itself.”

Surrender.

Everil gathered his power around him, stepping past Nimai. If he had to issue a challenge, kill the Monarchs’ heirs with all that meant, he would.

“This is pathetic,” Nimai snapped. “You’re embarrassing me . Over what? Some foul-mouthed little human who allowed you to disgrace yourself with him?”

“Bo is my bond.” Oak and holly. Ropes of ivy and an altar thick with moss. “And my consort. You’re nothing but an oathbreaker.”

A berry fell from Everil’s hair. This one brilliant red. Dying leaves twisted into a fresh crown, sharp edges digging in. His blood was red, too.

The ground shifted beneath his feet, bleached wood giving way to white marble. Faerie, opening the way.

“Leave, and I kill him,” Nimai snarled, reaching again for Everil’s arm.

“And how would that be crueler?” Everil glanced back over his shoulder and met Nimai’s furious gaze. “Eat a bag of spiked dicks. My bond needs me.”

From wood to marble. From marble to vines. Faerie shifted with dizzying speed as Everil rushed forward.

And there was Bo. Sitting in the corner of a white room, dull-eyed and still. Breathing, each exhale clouding the air, but not moving, his body wrapped in dying vines. A gross inversion of his sacrifice.

Everil ran to him, dropping to his knees at Bo’s side. He dragged the man into his arms, unmindful of any damage to the dying ivy, though he kept his touch gentle. His skin and soul sang in relief, just to have Bo close again, but Everil didn’t care.

All that mattered was Bo.

“Bo. Sweet. My Bo.” The words came out frantic. “My soulbond. I’m here. I’m here, sweet Bo. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what they intended. ”

“You came for me?” Bo’s voice was rough with disuse. But he threw his arms around Everil, held onto him like he would never let go. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t– He said you– I’m sorry.”

Everil wrapped himself around Bo, as possessive as the vines he’d supplanted. They needed to leave. Nimai was likely already informing Kesk of Everil’s trespass. Where could they go? Where was safe?

“I’d wondered why the fruit went sharp.”

Yes. There. There was one place to run to. Everil stood with Bo in his arms. Kissed his hair and breathed him in. His Bo, shaken but whole. Still recognizing him.

“You’re safe, sweet Bo,” he murmured as Faerie once again gave way for him, vines turning to moss. “No one will touch your mind.”

A guest room, elegantly appointed, with walls of dying citrus. Leana might object to their intrusion, but within the shelter of their citrus grove, Everil suspected even she would have difficulty harming Bo.

Still carrying Bo, Everil sat on the bed. Held him as tightly as he dared, while the branches that curtained them turned from brown to green, the smell of rot giving way to the brightness of citrus.

“Stay? Please stay?” Bo clutched at him, his emotions a tangle of desperation and hurt and relief. “You– I know you made a deal. Just don’t leave yet?”

Rage rose like a current in Everil’s blood as he stroked his soulbond’s hair. At Nimai. At Kesk and Veroni. At himself. Everyone but Bo.

Fierce, irrepressible Bo, broken voiced and holding on like Everil might disappear if he let go.

Days, since he’d made his bargain with Nimai. Days during which Bo was meant to be safe, unharmed, with his family. Days Bo had spent in the hands of enemies while they attempted to strip his mind. The mind of a man who had already survived one such twisting, rebuilt himself from the wreckage of belief.

“ Please , Ever.”

The last time Bo had begged in this room, it’d been with pleasure and glory. Now– Everil very much feared he would be sick.

Or kill someone.

Or kill someone and then be sick .

“I’ve no intention of going anywhere.” He pulled Bo closer still, for all there was no distance between them. “Never again. The deal is broken. You were harmed. I won’t leave you, sweet Bo.”

They’d hide in one of Talia’s pocket universes if they must. Talia, who was meant to be with Bo. He would need to find her. Soon.

Bo first.

“Okay,” Bo spoke the words against Everil’s neck, his breath shaky. “Okay. Good.”

Good, but it wasn’t. Bo’s emotions remained muted: a grayscale palette. Relief, yes. But also a knot of regret and disbelief.

Everil needed to apologize. Any words he considered seemed unworthy. Selfish. Where was the line between explanation and excuse? But he wouldn’t hide in his own shame, not this time.

“I handled our separation poorly.” Everil ran his fingers through Bo’s hair, then down his arm, and back again. “I’m not accustomed to my thoughts being welcome, and I feared angering you further. I should have told you that I intended to return to you if you wished it. That I wished, more than anything, to remain with you. I should have confessed that I love you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen to you. I never should have left, but in the leaving, I could have at least offered hope. I am sorry, Bo.”

His voice shook by the end. Bo might not forgive him. Not want him. It would be his right. And still, Everil would love him. How could he not?

“Kesk said I broke you.” The regret still there, citrus gone to vinegar. But Bo reached up as he spoke, tangling his fingers in Everil’s hair.

“Kesk doesn’t know me so well as he thinks.”

Bo didn’t seem to hear him, caught in that regret. That guilt.

“It felt like it was everything I’d told myself wouldn’t happen did, and like I– Like you’d go off with Nimai, be proper, and– And not want– And I got caught up in my own hurt and was fucking terrible to you.”

Everil wanted to object. He didn’t want Bo to feel guilty. He had deserved the man’s outburst. He had been wrong. Everil was always wrong.

But…

He had believed Bo. Taken every word to heart, where they’d dug in and festered, leaked poison that turned the world gray.

Bo’s grip on Everil’s hair was sweet and steady, even as his sentences tumbled and his voice shook .

“I thought the last thing you’d remember was me saying all that shit and not telling you I forgive you and I’m sorry and I love you too.”

“You had a right to your anger. I treated you ill. But–” The words hurt. But it was a clean pain, welcome after the dull ache of hopelessness. “I’ve always been a disappointment. I’m accustomed to being so. But I … believed I could be more than that to you. And then we came to Faerie. I brought you here, knowing I was placing you in danger, because I couldn’t bear to part from you. I told myself that if I only tried, said the right words, behaved, it might be enough to protect you. But it wasn’t. Of course, it wasn’t. All I managed was to give you, also, reason to despise me. I–” He swallowed hard, took a shaking breath. “I don’t know how to handle becoming a disappointment to you.”

Bo pulled back, his fingers still tangled in Everil’s hair. Rough hands, bloodslick from the holly cuts Faerie’s crown had made, cupped Everil’s face. Warm. He was warm, and he was real, and he was looking up at Everil with such fierce, unmistakable love.

“You are not a disappointment,” Bo said, all cracked ferocity. “Never. Not to me. Not once. What happened, sure. But never you. Not Ever, the person. I swear it. Faerie strike me down if I lie.”

“But I–”

“ Never . I spat out what I was afraid of. You being ashamed or wanting something proper. The bullshit about least resistance. I was fucking pissed. But I shouldn’t have thrown any of that garbage at you. Not that. Not like that. You aren’t a disappointment.

“ Ever,” Bo’s thumbs ran along Everil’s cheekbones, rough and so, so sweet. All Everil could taste was honey. “You’re a revelation. I’m sorry. I really fucking am.”

His Bo. His fierce, profane, and terrifyingly generous Bo, whom he loved and who loved him in turn.

“I’m never sure what to say to your kindnesses.” Everil turned his head against Bo’s hand, pressing his lips to the man’s palm. “But I’m grateful for them. I’ve spent too many centuries in shame. In trying, yes, to be what’s deemed proper. But you, Bo, you’re my King of Oak. My soulbond and my consort. That, I feel no shame in. And I’m coming to realize that I cannot please the world, but I can please myself. I would be yours, and keep you as mine, and find a way to fight this.”

“The world can go fuck itself,” Bo said, in a near whisper, leaning in to brush a kiss over Everil’s cheek. “Thank you for saving me, Ever. Then and now. My Holly King. Consort.” Bo relaxed in his arms, trailing kisses down to Everil’s lips. “Keep me as yours. I’ll keep you as mine. Love you. We can fucking fight this. I’m surprised Talia hasn’t locked Nimai in a closet somewhere.”

Talia. Yes. The soft brush of Bo’s lips and the song of his voice saying, “Love you,” those were feelings to get lost in later. But they couldn’t hide away, here in their grove, forever. Their ward required them, and Nimai would need to be dealt with.

“As am I. I believed the both of you to be with your family. I made a number of poor assumptions. It’s no simple act to contain a Gate.” And to harm one, well, that they would be aware of. All of Faerie would be aware. “They’ve either blinded her with half-truths, or they have her in the care of one of her own kind. She’s inexperienced enough that the latter would be possible.”

He felt Bo bristle, still honey-sweet but angry at the suggestion that Talia might be held somewhere. And that, too, was reason to love him. His fierce loyalty to Talia; the way he celebrated her vibrance.

“Fuckface knows where she is or who she’s with,” he muttered. “He wouldn’t just let a Gate wander. We need to get our weird, undersocialized kid back, Ever.”

“As you say.” He allowed himself the indulgence of Bo’s lips, so close to his own. How he had missed this man. “Are you ready, sweet Bo? I suspect I know where to find … fuckface.”