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

Chapter 33

T he move to a new city is oddly simple and seamless. Given the fae ability to shift, there’s no real travel involved. One moment, we’re in the capital, and then after a dizzying and stomach-dropping moment, we’re not.

The rooms we’re assigned here are a little smaller but even more ostentatious, with thick rugs, beds with lush canopies, and furniture could have been plucked straight from the palace at Versailles. Tapestries and glass sculptures make the room more a museum than anything I’d ever call comfortable. Sneezing feels like it could be a dangerous activity here.

Apparently, the city of Calida was once a regular getaway for the royals and upper nobility of the court, and these rooms were decorated to reflect that. Their positioning is strange too, with all of the rooms on one side of a large, circular hallway like spokes on a bicycle tire. Each has a back door leading out into a large courtyard that all the rooms can access.

It seems like a huge security risk, but we’ve been assured there’s no safer place in the city, as the section is heavily warded and no one save the king himself can shift into any of the rooms or the courtyard. Plus, the guards can easily ring in the area to keep Unseelie—or anyone else—from slipping by unnoticed.

Fia is already in my room when I get there, organizing the last of my clothes into a wardrobe taller than her. My dressing table already contains an artful display of her cosmetics, and my desk has been setup just like my old one, right down to the pens I received from Lysandir displayed in their case. For me, it’s like I snapped my fingers and my old room appeared here, but I know that’s far from the case.

“Did you sleep at all?” I ask Fia.

“A little.” She closes the wardrobe. The door gives a soft click. “But don’t worry about me.”

It’s hard not to. I worry about all of us, especially this close to Unseelie territory, and if the king is as mad as they say? It’ll be war. Bloody, terrible, and deadly.

Whatever talent I may have had for hiding my thoughts and emotions seems to have been lost in the wreckage of the last few days, because it’s almost like Fia can read my mind. She stops just in front of me and cups my cheek. The oddly intimate touch makes my chest swell.

“It may be wrong to say, but I’m glad it was not you.” She drops her hand. “Not just because I hope you’ll win, but I would be heartbroken if anything happened to you.”

My face is still puffy from the tears that accompanied me to sleep. I thought I’d exhausted them all, but somehow, more sting at the corners of my eyes. “You too. I worry that you, that all of us, have been dragged into danger.”

On account of me. Because I’m fated for the king, but he wanted another.

I gasp as she wraps me in a hug. When she releases me, she says, “We’ll get through this. All of us together. ”

I so hope she’s right.

“Maybe some coffee?” she offers. “That always helps you.”

“Sure.”

The moment she pulls the door open to leave, Tharin fills its frame, fist raised like he was about to knock.

“Oh? You again.” Fia gives him an appreciative once-over. “Do you need something?”

His lips quirk up a little in the corner as he stares at her. The look that passes between them makes me feel like an outsider intruding on a private moment. When did that happen?

“I require Lady Mira,” he finally says. “I’ll return her to her room in a little bit.”

I barely hold back a sigh. What now?

Knowing better than to keep him waiting, I head toward the door, but he switches places with Fia and closes it behind him.

“We’re shifting?” I ask. “I thought that didn’t work here.”

“No,” he replies. “But I thought the back door might be more discrete.”

My brows pinch. “For what?”

“You’ll see.”

I follow him out the back door of my room and into the courtyard. Morning sunlight slants in at angle, painting the colorful foliage in soft light. A stone pathway weaves from the back door off into the array of strategically placed trees that tower at least two stories high. Dew clings to the grass on either side of the pathway, and I spot doors and windows leading to the rooms on either side of mine before the plant life and curvature of the building blocks my view of the rest.

The stone pathway leads to a central open area with many other paths branching off of it, presumably leading toward the other rooms. Smooth flagstones create a floor of sorts, short mosses and grass filling the narrow spaces between them. A massive glass flame occupies the very center of the space. It catches the sun, the bright colors of the glass shimmering. A few benches and seats are stationed around it, ready for people to gather and socialize.

“Kind of a weird setup,” I remark.

Tharin halts, and at first, I think we’ve reached our destination, but he seems to be assessing the paths, looking for another one. It’s then I notice the colorful stones inlaid at the beginning of each one, likely an indicator of where they lead.

He glances over one shoulder. His lips quirk up in the corner. “A former king commissioned this wing specifically,” he says. “He was quite fond of parties where people tended to end up in each other’s beds. Discretely”—he glances toward one path and then another—“or not so.”

There are some things I really don’t need to know. “You’re joking.”

My mind crafts a vision of fae giggling as they steal through the courtyard at night, heading for someone else’s room.

“Joking?” A strange look crosses his face. “Ah, you mean lying. No.” He smirks again. “In case you forgot, I can’t do that, much as I might wish to at times.”

I nearly groan. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Ah, but you did.”

He heads down another path, and I follow.

“Where are we going?” I ask again.

“I’d have thought a clever woman like you might have figured it out already. Or did you forget why it’s me guarding you?”

I skip a step, warmth rushing to my face. Lysandir.

Part of me cries out in joy. There’s no one I’ve yearned for more. But another part is terrified .

All too soon, we’re standing before another door. Tharin doesn’t even knock before it opens, and he’s there.

The Lysandir before me takes my breath away. Gone are the light, casual clothes he favors. Nor does he wear the grand ceremonial attire he’d worn at the balls. Instead, golden armor hugs his form, gleaming where the light strikes it.

My mouth drops open. I barely register Tharin saying, “I’ll wait outside.”

And if not for the soft shove he gives me in Lysandir’s direction, I’m not sure I could have made myself move at all.

Lysandir holds out his gauntlet-covered hand to me, and I take it, letting him lead me into his room. Tharin closes the door behind us, the sound fracturing the hold on my emotions. He’s here. He’s here . But this isn’t my usual bookish prince. Golden plate covers his boots, his arms, and shoulders. Thick, dark material hugs him like a second skin beneath. The breastplate he wears bears a bright red flame. Only his head is uncovered, his hair pulled back in a tight ponytail behind his head.

“You’re going,” I say.

“Yes.” His throat bobs. “My brother seeks vengeance. As do many of our court. Someone must check his more reckless impulses, or he won’t stop until he’s tracked down the Unseelie King himself.”

“And that someone is you.” Of course it is. I pinch my eyes closed.

Something cool touches my face, and I snap my eyes open. He cups my cheek with his armored hand, tipping my chin up. “I had to see you again before I leave.”

Before he heads off to war. To fight. To kill. To do all the things he hates.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault,” I whimper .

“No!” He cups my face between his palms and leans in until our foreheads nearly touch. “No. None of this is your fault. Not Bailey’s death. Not Vasilius’s actions. None of it.”

“But your vision…”

“ My vision,” he echoes. “If anyone were to blame, it would be me. But even then, we cannot know that it would change this. If fate is truly unchangeable, if my visions must come true, then what happened to them, what happens now, may have been inevitable as well.” A tear leaks down my cheek, and he smooths it away. “Do not ever blame yourself, Mira. Please.”

I swallow the tightness in my throat and manage a nod, though I’m not sure I can keep my word. How can I? The guilt still gnaws like hunger that won’t be sated. “But if revealing my future can end this, prevent future death—”

Lysandir jerks his head back and forth, eyes glowing with emotion. “He’s not in a state to hear it. If we were to tell him now, it would only incite his fury. I won’t risk him harming you.”

I gasp. “You think he would?”

“I am not sure.” He swallows thickly.

If not me, Lysandir could be on the receiving end of his anger. He kept the secret longer. He knew what his brother wanted to know but did not tell him.

“He might punish you,” I whisper.

His gaze darts away, and that’s all I need to know.

I tighten my hold on him. “Then we won’t do it. I won’t risk you either.”

“Mira.” He swipes away another tear and then pulls me into a hug against his armored chest. I wrap my arms around him as best I’m able and burrow closer.

“What comes next?” I whisper. “Do you know? ”

“My brother asked me to look into the future, to see what would happen if we invade the Unseelie lands.” He pulls in a long, slow breath. “I did, and all I saw was fire.”

I pull back enough just to look up at him. “Fire, as in your victory?”

“I don’t know. It could be but…” He shakes his head. “It’s all I saw when I asked about the Unseelie before too.”

It’s too vague. He doesn’t know. Worse, he’s worried. He doesn’t need to say it. It seeps from him like tears do from me.

“I’m going to get my smell all over you.” I start to pull back.

He doesn’t let me go. “I… I should care. But I don’t. Not right now.” He cups my cheek again. The pleading desperation in his eyes tugs at something deep within me. “Mira…”

I wrap my arms around his neck, stretch up on my toes, and kiss him.

And God, does he kiss me back. The passion, the hunger, steal my sanity.

I want to tear the armor from him piece by piece just to get closer. It’s foolish, reckless. This whole kiss could be a horrible mistake. But he’s leaving. He’s going off to war. He could be injured. He could die. And I would never forgive myself for holding back, for stealing away what could be our last moments because of fear.

So, I kiss him, and I cling to him, and I hold him close, savoring every touch, every breath, until he slowly, gently pulls away.

“I have to go,” he whispers before placing another kiss against my lips.

I let him untangle my arms from around his neck, pull my fingers from his hair where they’ve ruined his smooth ponytail. Tears blur my vision, and I’m not ashamed when a few slip free.

They’re his. All of me is his .

My legs wobble beneath me when he releases me and steps back. His hungry stare as he looks me up and down nearly makes me whimper. I have to bite my bottom lip to hold it back. But that might be the wrong thing to do because his gaze snaps to my lips. A glow flares from his pupils, and I’d swear he looks like he might pounce on me like a beast at any moment. But I’m not afraid. Not nearly. I’d give myself over to be devoured in a heartbeat.

“I…” He rubs a down his face. “I have something for you before I must leave.”

Lysandir stalks over to a table and rips the lid off a small box. He plucks out a golden chain with something dangling from it.

As he returns, my heart skips a beat. It’s not a pendent hanging off the necklace but a ring.

It’s hanging from a chain, clearly not an engagement ring or anything of the like, but my lust-addled brain can’t compute and screams in shock like it is.

He holds it up, so I can clearly see ornately carved golden band inlaid with red—possibly ruby. “I want you to have this. The ring is too big for you I think, so I placed it on a chain, but its twin to one of mine, a bonded pair.”

“Lysandir…” I’m speechless, my mouth gaping open like a fish. “Thank you.”

“May I?” He lifts it for emphasis.

I nod. He places the necklace over my head, caressing the back of my neck and down over my collarbone as he brushes my hair out from under it. The ring lands heavy and warm at the apex of my cleavage.

I take the ring before my thumb and forefinger and stare down at it. The design, although a bit masculine, is stunning, with a circle of flames rushing around the band. At first, I only saw the red stones, but there are others too, inlaid within the metal so its smooth when I run the pad of my finger across it.

“It’s warm,” I say, struck by the oddity.

“With any luck, it will stay that way,” he says. The hint of a grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “I can feel yours now, warming on my finger.” He holds up his hand, though of course I can’t see it wherever it lies below the gauntlet. “Wear it always, if you will. As long as it’s against your skin in some way, mine will warm and let me know you’re safe.”

“And mine will stay warm if you’re safe,” I confirm.

He nods. “That’s not all. As a bonded pair, the two call to another. I’ll be able to find you, to shift to you, while you wear it.” His tongue slips out, moistening his lips, and he glances away. “I hope that’s all right with you.”

Something caught between a sigh and a laugh slips out. “Of course it is.”

When he glances back at me, the adoration in his smile nearly makes me melt. “Good. I’m glad. It’ll give me peace of mind to know you’re safe.”

“Same.”

His smile dims and he swallows thickly. Just that action, and I feel my heart start to crack. I tuck the ring under my shirt and savor the way its warmth settles on my skin.

When I fear I might crumble, Lysandir pulls me into his arms once more and kisses me which such ferocity it steals my breath. I’m almost dizzy when he releases me.

“Now, I really must go,” he says. “But I’ll come back to you. I vow it.”

A tingle of magic shimmers in the air. A vow. A one-sided fae bargain.

“You sealed it with magic?” I gape.

Lysandir grins before picking up a golden helm and tucking it under his arm. “Only death could keep me away. And I suppose then it wouldn’t matter if I couldn’t keep my vow.”

“And you think I’m going to let you leave after saying something like that.”

He huffs air through his nose. “Probably not.” He gives a sharp whistle. A moment later, the back door opens, and Tharin enters. “Please see Mira back to her room.”

“Of course.” He gives a little bow, nose twitching. “Don’t forget to fix your hair.”

My cheeks heat, and I’d swear a blush rises to Lysandir’s cheeks as well.

Tharin wraps his hand loosely around my upper arm and guides me toward the door.

“Please be safe,” I say to Lysandir, hoping my words carry so much more than that.

“I’ll see you soon,” Lysandir promises.

I watch him over my shoulder the whole way to the door, savoring every moment until Tharin closes it and leads me away.