Destined for the Fae King (Courts of Faery #3)

Chapter 12

T hat evening, Bailey has her date with the king. Elaine visits with us for a little while, which involves a lot of the women trying to be on their best behavior and even a few very fake personalities coming out to play that fall away the moment she leaves. After that, the rest of us are all left to our own devices, which entails a whole lot of nothing in the parlor.

We’re not supposed to speak about what we learned in the council meeting, which means no debating it with each other where the guards can hear, but sitting around isn’t getting me anywhere either. It’s not going to be enough to say something like “War bad. Peace good.” I need thoughtfulness, reason, and insight. Worse, I’m not really sure which way Vasilius leans on the topic. He showed no preference one way or another before the conversation started toward an argument rather than a discussion.

Eventually, I seek out the library. If nothing else, maybe I can glean more insight into the history with the Unseelie and how their unfortunate circumstance came about. Living in a dead and ever-dying land is certainly a bad situation, and that can make anyone desperate .

I head toward the history section I’d found useful before and stop short just as I turn around the bookcase.

“You again.” The comment slips out before I can think better of it.

Lysandir looks up from the book he’s reading and has the audacity to grin at me. God, that look alone makes my chest burn, though maybe not in the way he intends.

“Mira, what a pleasant surprise.” He pushes a tendril of crimson hair back behind one pointed ear. “I wondered if anyone would decide to do a little research on their own after today’s discussion.”

“And so you decided to lay in wait, as it were?” I clutch my trusty notebook closer to my chest.

He nods once. “Something like that. Though I’m glad it’s you.”

I nearly laugh out loud. “Why is that?”

“I have something I’d like to ask of you.” He waits in silence. Careful, patient, unmoving, save for the occasional blink of his eyes.

He’s going to make me ask, damn it. I don’t know why that bothers me, but it does.

“And what would that be, my prince?” I ask in the sweetest voice I can muster.

There’s a subtle widening of his eyes before he mouths “my prince”, but another blink of his eyes and it’s gone. “I want us to start over. To see if we can forget what happened in the throne room and begin anew as if it never occurred.”

Of all the things he could have asked, that one surprises me. My brows pinch and lips purse as I wrestle with the request. “You want me to forget that you called me out in front of the entire court and tried to prevent me from entering the competition to become your brother’s queen.”

Saying it aloud makes it sound even more ludicrous .

“Yes.” As if it’s such an easy thing. When I don’t reply, he adds, almost like it pains him to say it, “It would mean a great deal to me.”

I’m curious—I can’t help it—so I walk to the little seating area and drop down into the chair across from him. “Why?”

God help me, I have to know.

“Several reasons.” Lysandir leans forward, elbows on his thighs, book closed in his lap and long forgotten. “For one, you could be queen someday soon, and if you are, I want us to get along.”

Should have thought of that before , I think, but hold my tongue.

“Secondly, I want to get to know you better.” He leans back. “Since you are a candidate to become my brother’s bride, it only makes sense. After all, he won’t make that decision alone. He’s relying on feedback from those close to him. As his brother, it’s my duty to advise him.”

And there it is. Something that rings with more truth than the first statement, though they’re undoubtedly both true since fae cannot lie. Didn’t Elaine even say that she and the advisors would be helping him choose? After all, there is a lot of time when he is not, and cannot be, around us. Just this afternoon, Elaine spent time with us again. She dropped some helpful tidbits about her life, but I’m sure her purpose was just as much about getting to know us and observing how we interact than anything else.

“Ah, I see,” I reply with only a little bit of sarcasm. “So, you’re trying not to let your judgement be clouded by whatever initial dislike of me you had so that you can advise your brother without bias?”

There’s a subtle shake of his head that I almost miss.

My lips press thin, holding in the question that’s been stewing in my head since the council meeting. Call it frustration more than courage, but the pressure in my chest isn’t letting up and I have to know. “You’re a seer, right? Let me guess, you saw something about me that made you dislike me?”

He shakes his head more clearly this time. “I’ve never disliked you, Mira.”

The response takes some of the wind out of my sails. I was so convinced that had to be it.

“Right, well,” I stammer. When it he says my name like that, all calm and full of something I can’t name, it does something to my head and almost makes me lose my train of thought. “You certainly have a funny way of showing it.”

“I know,” he admits, raising his palms in the air. “Which is why I hoped we could start fresh and that I might be able to get to know you better without the cloud of that first meeting hanging over us. Perhaps a peace offering?” He picks up the book in his lap and hands it to me.

The lettering on the title shifts before my eyes, becoming readable. Someone has spelled this fae book to allow humans to read it. The shimmering golden ink of the title reads The Fall of the Unseelie Court .

Lysandir leans in again, this time whispering like we’re friendly confidants. “I thought that you, or whoever might seek out knowledge in the library, might be interested to learn more about the last Unseelie King and his sword. A weapon known not only for its prowess in battle but its ability to do the otherwise impossible, like slice through wards.”

My lips part in surprise. Not just at the knowledge, but that he’s sharing it aloud. Granted, he’s whispering, and the library is once again quiet tonight but still.

“There’s a reason it’s troublesome that it’s been found and is being wielded by this new king.” At my incredulous look, he adds, “ Don’t worry, you’re not sharing anything you’re not supposed to. I’m the one talking.”

Clever man. I can’t help it when the corners of my lips quirk up at that. Still, all this is a bit out of the blue. “This isn’t some trick?” I say, lifting the book for emphasis. “You really do want to help me?”

“It’s no trick.” He scoots a little closer, nearly sitting on the edge of the cushioned seat. “I’m curious to see how your mind works and what you might advise.”

“Oh.” The book is suddenly heavy in my lap. “It’s a test then, not a gift.”

“Can’t it be both?” He cants his head to one side. “But I did mean it as a gift, and I’ll prove it to you. If you’ll let me, perhaps I can show you some portions of this particular book that I found interesting? We can even discuss them if you like.” He holds out his hand.

For a minute, I just stare at it. It doesn’t seem like a trick. He does seem to want to help me, and it makes sense that he’d want to get to know me better and test my wits to see if I’d make a good queen. But I still can’t reason out our first terrible interaction.

I pass him the book. He grabs it, but I don’t let go.

I lean in, matching his whispered urgency. “If you don’t dislike me and you want to help me, tell me why you did it. Why make a spectacle of me in front of everyone?”

His fingers tighten on the book, his skin paling from the pressure, though he doesn’t move to jerk it away. All his attention is focused on me, his gaze so intense I have to fight every urge within me to look away. A hint of light flares from his eyes, and finally, he breaks first, glancing away .

“I told you before, it’s strange that a woman wanting to be queen wouldn’t visit Faery before now.” He gives the book a gentle tug, but I still don’t let go.

“You did, but it’s more than that. There’s something else.” I know it deep in my bones, and saying it aloud only solidifies that certainty. “You’re always calm and collected, a voice of reason. Or you have been every time I’ve seen you except that moment. So, what else was it? What did I do wrong?”

A deep sigh slipped from him, the kind that moves his whole upper body. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Mira. Nothing at all.”

Nothing? I release the book, confused as ever, the fight going out of me like a full balloon that someone forgot to tie and just let go of.

“Someday, I’ll tell you everything. But not yet. Just know, it has nothing to do with me disliking you or thinking you unworthy to be queen.”

So, there is something. Or was.

I ball my hands into fists in my lap. “Please—"

“Patience.” He tsks, slipping back into the calm and easy demeanor he presented earlier. “I promise you’ll know in time.”

I scowl at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re absolutely infuriating?”

A small huff of laughter slips through his lips as Lysandir moves over to the table and sets down the book with a soft thump. Finally, he looks back at me over one shoulder. “Only you. Care to join me?”

There’s a challenge in his raised brow and the mirth sparkling in his eyes, and damn it if that just makes me want to accept it all the more. Whatever secret he’s keeping, he was right on one score: His brother listens to him. I need the prince as an ally, not an enemy, and if starting over really means that much to him, then I have to try, for my benefit if nothing else.

I don’t really think before popping open my notebook to the same page I took notes on during the meeting and jotting down a few of the tidbits Lysandir points out.

To be honest, analyzing the book and discussing it with him for the next hour or so is easier than I expect, almost comfortable. Almost. And when I shove away the embarrassment that was my first night in Faery, I can forget that I dislike him and swore to loathe his presence. I can even forget that he’s a prince and is probably only being nice to me to make up for being an ass and to report on my worthiness to his brother. It’s a lot to not think about, but at the same time, it’s easy. He makes it that way, stripping away all pretense and treating me like a person, like a friend.

“So, the Unseelie King’s sword can repel magic and shatter wards with a single slice, in addition to being a formidable tangible weapon all on its own,” I speak aloud as I write, finishing the line with a quick little sketch of a sword. “Anything else?”

When I glance back at Lysandir, he’s looking past me, straight at my notebook and the lines of shimmering blue ink. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and in the silence, I consider the hundred horrible things he might say mocking my hobby. My neck burns with imagined indignation. Retorts rise to the tip of my tongue, ready to be hurled back at him.

“That’s lovely.” He looks up, meeting my sharp gaze.

With that one honest look, he knocks the breath from my lungs. My shoulders slump, and my arm relaxes—I don’t even remember tensing up. It’s only then that I notice our arms are almost touching where they lay on the table near one another, and actually, that might be his leg I feel under the table and not a chair leg .

“Umm…” I make to brush my hair behind my ears, though it hasn’t fallen loose from my pony tail, and scoot a little to the side in my chair. “Thank you. I like to use color. It just brightens things up and makes them a little happier. Why use black ink when you can have all sorts of colors, right?”

A tiny laugh slips out, and I slam my lips shut to stop my rambling.

My habit of journaling started after my father died, when I needed all the little escapes that I could find. Selena got me a pack of glittery gel pens, and suddenly everything I wrote literally sparkled with bits of joy. But my notebooks have always been just for me, my secret little treasure.

His grin only widens. “Agreed. And it’s nice to see you taking this seriously and keeping notes. Many of your fellow competitors didn’t today.”

“Their mistake,” I reply.

“Exactly. It’s not something everyone would notice, but I did. It’s nice to find others who are serious about their studies. May I?” He tips his head toward the book.

Despite the compliment, my gut reaction is to snatch my book away and tell him not only no but hell no. God, if he saw my notes about his brother? Or him? I might just die of embarrassment.

Lysandir gives a small chuckle. “Never mind. I know a rejection when I see one.”

I wince. “It’s just…personal, you know?”

He points to the little floral divider I’d sketched during the meeting. “I was mostly interested in the colors and designs like that one you have there at the top.”

Pulling it between my teeth, I bite my bottom lip. “Okay, a quick peek. ”

I hold the notebook up and make a show of quickly flipping from one page to the next and maybe skipping a few pages around where some of my more sensitive notes are. When I reach the end, I snap the notebook shut with a little too much force and wait, holding my breath for whatever reaction comes next.

Lysandir leans back in his chair. “Quite the rainbow of colors. I especially like the one that seemed to change color as the page moved. You did that with a pen? Not magic?”

“Just a good ole prismatic.” I set the notebook back on the desk. “Did humans even have magic like that once? If we did, we certainly don’t anymore.”

There are some older coven members who can do little things, charms and whatnot, with limited effect. My generation can do even less, barely enough to know that magic still exists in our world. It worries the elders more than anyone cares to talk about, at least openly. Magic started to fade first, then the gift, showing up less and less in our family lines. The fae should be worried about it, though with the gift popping up outside the covens, maybe it’s just some weird changing of the guard.

“A pity about human magic,” he replies. “Some fae can make letters shimmer like that though.”

“Oh yes, my attendant Fia does something similar with cosmetics. She infuses them with her power to add extra sparkle and shimmer. I have a little bit on my eyelids right now actually.” I close my eyes and tilt my head to make sure he can get a good look in the dim light of the library. Though with his fae eyesight he can probably see just fine.

When I open them again, he’s angled his body more fully toward me, his hand on the arm of the chair. He lifts that hand, as if reaching for me but quickly drops it back into his lap.

“I noticed” is all he says .

A fluttering starts in my chest, completely unexpected and igniting a soft burn over my heart. Was he just going to…

Lysandir clears his throat. “I don’t think I saw red in your notebook. Or orange for that matter. Averse to the court colors?”

Changing the topic…right. But if it will erase the weird feeling moments ago, I’m for it, so I roll with it.

“There was plenty of gold,” I say. “I love the way it shimmers. But you’re right about the red. In the human world, red is typically used to point out errors or mistakes. I’ve always found it a little jarring to use when taking notes.”

“Ah, most unfortunate for our court to be the color of error.”

I shrug. “Or maybe humans are the weird ones using red that way.”

He hums in agreement, casting a glance down my form them back up again before straightening in his seat and turning back toward the table. “Now, where were we?”

Ah, yes, because we were discussing the Unseelie. Probably a more useful topic than my choice of pen colors.

Lysandir leans forward, his long hair sweeping over one shoulder, the crimson strands catching the light and almost glowing the color of red wine. It’s apparent that he’s at ease here, comfortable in a way he was not in the council chamber, where he sat straight and still for most of the session. Not that I was staring at him of course, but he was hard to miss since he was squarely in my line of sight.

On the topic of sight…

“When you see the future,” I ask, “can you pick what you see?”

Asking the question flipped a switch, changing him from calm and relaxed to stiff and serious all in a breath. “It’s not quite that easy. Some visions come to be on their own, unbidden. Other times, I can meditate on a question and seek wisdom from the magic that flows through all of Faery, but I do not always get an answer. Even when I do, it’s often vague at best, a momentary vision or even just a feeling. That can be helpful in some things, but when it comes to complex questions like our enemy’s plan, I have been able to glean little.”

“Ah, sorry to pry. I just thought maybe that would be more helpful than a book, but I suppose if it was, you’d have done it already.”

The tension eases out of him, and his lips quirk up in a half grin. “Smart girl. Histories don’t give exact answers either, but they do let us know what’s happened before and can give us hints toward the future that can often help more than any vision.”

The way he says it, the pride that resonates in his voice, isn’t just that of someone repeating a saying. It means something to him—history, books, all of it.

“You enjoy studying the past,” I surmise.

“I do. I enjoy learning quite a bit. Most of the time, I end up doing it alone, but it’s nice, having someone to discuss things with who is actually interested in them.” He gestures to the book and my notebook, to us.

“Your brother isn’t interested?”

“Does my brother seem like the studious type to you?” He arcs a brow at me.

No, I can’t see Vasilius spending his time in libraries. Or reading at all really. The idea of Vasilius curled up with a book just doesn’t work. “He’s mentioned he likes more active pursuits like dueling and hunting.”

Lysandir nods. “Exactly. He can appreciate books when they serve his purpose, but generally, if something needs to be researched, it’s left to me or a member of his council. ”

“There’s no one else you can study with? Close friends or lovers?”

My gosh, I did not just say that aloud. Lovers? I could smack myself in the forehead. What business of mine is it who he spends time with? None at all. But the question just slipped out, and there’s no taking it back.

“No current lovers.” He draws out the response, humor dancing in his eyes and his head tilted to the side in question, letting his hair slide around his pointed ear.

Of course he’d choose to respond to that part first. I could sink through the floor right here and now.

He glances away. “I gave my heart to someone long ago, and she has yet to return my feelings.”

“Oh.” It’s a pitiful reply, but from the way his voice drew quiet at the end and he wouldn’t quite look at me, it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it. Though it would be interesting to know who claimed such a man’s heart and why she doesn’t return his affection, especially given that he’s a prince and quite pleasant to look at.

“As for friends…” He shrugs, glancing back my way. “I have a few who are close, but it’s not something that comes easily for me, not when I know that many would try to become my friend simply for the privileges it offers.”

My traitor heart aches for him. “You think they’d befriend you just because you’re a prince?”

The smile he gives me doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know they would. Still, I have managed to find some. Unfortunately, they don’t share my love of books.” When I don’t immediately reply, Lysandir asks, “So, what do you like to do, Mira? When you’re not writing colorful notes? ”

He shifts in his chair, his leg brushing mine, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart kicks up its rhythm, and my ribs feel like they’re both expanding and crushing in toward my spine at once.

“Dance,” I squeak, if only to cover the way the sudden touch just twisted me up. “I like to dance.”

But his touch shouldn’t do that. It’s Vasilius that I’m here for, him that I’m trying to impress, his queen that I’m supposed to become. And all of the sudden, sitting here with Lysandir, our legs brushing and only inches between us, feels too intimate. Maybe he’s just curious about me, just doing his duty to his brother, but for me, it suddenly feels different than that. In any other circumstances, I’d be excited, overjoyed even, to be talking with a guy about books and journaling and my damn prismatic pens.

But this is Lysandir. The confusing, infuriating prince who tried to keep me from being here but then says he never disliked me and that it would mean a great deal to him to start over. He can’t lie—I know it like I know the sun rises—but something is wrong and quite possibly it’s me.

I danced for Vasilius. I’m supposed to be getting to know him , sharing myself with him , not through some proxy.

All at once, I stand up, nudging the table hard enough to shift the books and send the chair sliding back in the process.

“Mira?” Lysandir half rises too, his look of curiosity shifting into concern with his pinched brows and higher volume.

“I’m sorry. It’s getting late.” I snatch up my notebook and pen from the table. “I should go. Maybe I can borrow the book to read later?” I glance at it, decide waiting for it is a horrible idea and running away would be much better, and turn to do just that. “Never mind, I can look at it another time. ”

“Mira.” He touches my arm, and I go absolutely still, the entire world funneling down to that searing touch. “Is this about my question? About dancing? If you didn’t want to share—”

I pull away from him and take another step back for good measure. “It’s not.”

Not really. It’s about who I danced for, about who I should be wanting to share with, about the way my heart swelled with glee at his question in a way it never did with his brother. Thoughts race one after another as fast as my hammering pulse, and I might just hyperventilate right there if I don’t get out right this moment. A full-on panic attack is brewing like a hurricane inside me, and I need space to sort it out before it goes full cat five on me.

“Thank you for sharing the book with me. I appreciate it. It’s just a busy day tomorrow, and I need my rest. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I don’t want to be half asleep for anything, you know?” Lies. So many rambling lies.

He’s still standing there, hand outstretched right where it had been when he’d touched my arm. Slowly, he lowers it to his side, and I catch the quick clench of his fingers into a fist before they loosen again.

“Should I walk you back to your room?” he asks.

“Nope,” I squeak, far too loudly. “I’m good. I’m pretty sure the guard that escorted me here is still outside. Poor guy. I’ve left him standing there so long. It really would be rude of me to stay longer and leave him out there, so I’ll just have him show me back.”

There’s a little bob of Lysandir’s throat as he swallows, his gaze sliding down my form and back up again. And damn it if my heart doesn’t do a weird stutter at that too.

“Good night then,” he says .

“Night!” I give an awkward quick wave and too-bright smile, clutching my notebook to my chest like armor with my other hand before I twist sharply on my heel and hurry toward the door.