17

Killian and I tumble onto the smooth hardwood floor of a shop outfitted with shelves, barrels, and bins, all of them brimming with candies of every imaginable shape, size, and color. I barely notice our surroundings, though—my gaze fixes on a tall Fae male with pink hair and blue dragonfly wings. He’s standing beside a counter, sorting wrapped candies into different bowls.

As we crash to the floor he spins around, alarm in his golden eyes. The alarm turns to stricken terror when he sees Killian writhing and groaning in my arms.

I know that terror. It’s the same fear I felt when I discovered my father, dead and bloodless in the garden.

“Clara!” yells the golden-eyed Faerie, but he doesn’t wait for whoever he called to arrive. He drops to his knees beside Killian, pinpointing the cause of the pain in an instant. He grips the anklet, hissing with pain as it scorches his own hands.

This must be Killian’s father, though they look the same age. There’s an undeniable resemblance between them .

“You can’t take the anklet off,” I explain tearfully. “I wore it for years. He tried everything to get it off me, and now…”

“We have to counteract the effects.” The winged Faerie leaps up and darts around the shop, snatching sweets from various drawers before returning to Killian. “Open your mouth, son. Eat this.”

Killian shakes his head and gasps, “Won’t help.”

“Try it,” insists his father.

Killian tries, but he’s choking on his own screams. I hold his head, sobbing, my tears falling on his beautiful tortured face.

A pretty, slender woman with long brown hair rushes into the room. There’s paint on her fingers and a few smudges on her face—green, blue, and purple. “Finias, when you use my name like that it makes me fear the worst—” She stops, her face blanching. “What happened?”

“The anklet,” I sob out. “She took it off me and put it on him. It’s hurting him, please, please…”

“Finias, get that amulet Krael lent you,” says Clara sharply. “The one that allows Fae to bear the touch of iron for a while.”

He bolts out of the room while Clara takes his place beside Killian and assesses the situation. “There’s more than iron at work here,” she mutters. “Much more. Is this why you’ve been asking so many questions about coercion objects?”

Killian nods, then lets out another scream as more of his flesh blackens under the influence of the anklet. His whole leg is charred black now, nearly to the hip.

“This object is poisonous to anyone with god-touched blood,” Clara says. “We can’t wait.” Rising, she reaches into a leather pouch at her waist and withdraws a coiled whip. As she shakes it out, it begins to glow. “I’m sorry to cause you more pain, but we can’t let this spread any further.”

White-faced, she flicks the glowing whip with a practiced hand .

It slices neatly through Killian’s leg just below the hip, severing the entire limb from his body.

He shrieks, clinging to me so tightly that his nails draw blood. I don’t care. I hold him as I watch his severed leg crumble into chunks of ash.

The whip cauterized the wound, so he isn’t bleeding. Clara pulls back her weapon, and when the glow along its length fades, she coils it up and tucks it away. Kneeling again, she presses a palm to Killian’s forehead.

He’s already breathing easier, now that he’s separated from the source of the agony. His eyes close, but he still clutches me as if I’m his link to life.

Finias darts back in, carrying some sort of amulet. When he notices his son’s missing limb, he snarls several words in a language I don’t know before switching back to the common tongue. “God-stars, sugar, did you have to do that?”

“It was spreading,” Clara replies. She’s trembling, her eyes shining with tears. “I had no choice. Heal him, Finias. You can heal him, can’t you?”

“Of course, dearest. Of course,” he answers in a softer tone. He squeezes her hand briefly, then moves in beside Killian and offers him a bright red candy. “Chew this carefully before you swallow.”

Anxiously I watch Killian chew the sweet. “Will that heal his leg?” I ask. “Can the Fae regrow their limbs?”

“Some of us can,” replies Finias. “Killian is a special case in many ways, because of his parentage and how he was born—”

“Son of a Faerie and a god-touched human, born at the change of seasons under a mirrored moon,” I say.

Finias looks at me more intently, his golden eyes warm with interest. “He told you.”

“Yes.”

“And this—” he points to the anklet, lying in a pile of black ash. “You said you wore it for a long time? ”

“Yes.”

Finias glances at Clara, who nods and says, “That explains all the questions from him lately.” She turns her attention to her son. His eyes are open now, and he holds her gaze briefly before glancing away with a regretful grimace.

“I think it’s time for an explanation,” Clara says, in a tone of quiet authority. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell us about this anklet before now.”

“I asked around about it,” says Killian. “But I generally prefer to resolve my own problems rather than running to my parents. That’s how you raised us, after all. To be self-sufficient.”

“Self-sufficiency doesn’t mean you don’t ask for help!” Clara exclaims.

“I did ask for help!”

“Now then, you two,” interjects Finias. “The crisis is past, and while he heals, there is time for explanations. But first—a snack.” He leaps up, bounds over to the counter, and lifts the glass cover over a plate of frosted cookies. Taking three of them, he hands one to Clara and one to me, keeping the third for himself.

“I don’t get a cookie?” Killian raises an eyebrow.

“You’ll be eating more of the healing sweets in a moment. That’s quite enough for your system to handle.” Finias perches on a stool and crosses one long leg over the other. “And now, I think it’s time for our son’s companion to introduce herself. In fact, I would like to hear the whole story from her.”

His yellow eyes lock with mine. There’s an ageless depth in those eyes, and a keen intelligence underneath the playful sparkle of mischief. I get the impression that Killian’s father is both very kind and very, very dangerous. Rather like his mother.

“I’ll tell you everything,” I say. “But please don’t be angry with him. Whatever mistakes he made, he paid for them today. ”

Clara and Finias are silent while I unfold the events of the past weeks, starting with the day my family received the Prince’s invitation. I speak quickly, summarizing large parts of the tale.

When I reach this evening’s events, Killian explains how he left the bridal reception early and hid in the Prince’s suite, in the study. He knew Brantley would go in there to fetch a book to read before bed, as was his habit. The moment Brantley walked into the study, Killian blew enchanted dust in his face to put him to sleep for a while, then returned to the bedroom glamoured as my new husband.

Throughout the tale, Clara has been sitting on the floor, holding her son’s hand. But when I finish describing the confrontation with my stepmother, she lays Killian’s hand down and rises. “This woman, this stepmother—she’s in the palace right now?”

“Yes,” I reply. “She should still be in the Prince’s bedroom. I knocked her out cold.”

“Killian,” says Clara calmly. “Do you think you could make a portal for me?”

“Clara, you shouldn’t,” Finias objects.

“I’ll only be a minute,” she replies. “I have something to do.”

I suspect I know what that something is, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to witness it.

“I’ll go with you,” I offer, shifting Killian’s head off my lap. “Two can pass through at once, right?”

“That’s right.” Clara surveys me for a moment, then nods. “Very well, come along.”

With a sigh, Killian forms a portal in the air. “It won’t stay open for more than a few minutes. You’ll have to be quick.”

Clara steps through without hesitation, and I follow her.

We step into the Prince’s bedroom and stand beside the gigantic bed, in the dim glow of the lamps. The lamp I used to strike Gilda lies on the floor beside her. My stepmother is conscious, but she seems dizzy—she has propped her back against the nightstand and she’s gingerly touching a bloody cut on her temple.

When she sees me, her face changes. The hatred she has always felt for me is still there, but I spot a new emotion in her eyes, one that she has never shown toward me before.

Fear.

Without the anklet—without complete control over me—she is afraid.

“You came out of thin air,” she gasps. “Witch. Where is the other one, the face-changer?”

“That was my son, bitch,” says Clara pleasantly. “You nearly killed him. And from what Celinda has told us, you’re responsible for at least one other death and years of mental, physical, and emotional torture.”

She steps forward, extracting her whip from its pouch. “I’m not usually the vengeful sort. I prefer defense, not offense. And yet, for you, I’ll make an exception. Let’s think of it as me defending your potential future victims, with a side of punishment because you hurt my son.”

Gilda cringes back. “Please… I didn’t know who he was.”

“Exactly. You thought he was helpless to your dark magic. That he would be your slave. That you would rule a kingdom with the same wicked cruelty you showed to this brave girl.” Clara jerks her head toward me. “I may not be a resident of the mortal realm anymore, but I can still do my part to protect its citizens from you.”

My stepmother’s face fractures with realization and fear. She looks older, more worn, and more fragile than ever, and perhaps I should pity her… but I begged her for mercy a thousand times. She could have ordered me not to, but she allowed it, because she enjoyed hearing my suffering. She liked listening to me sob and plead for some shred of compassion .

Clara glances at me. “Is there anything you would like to say to her?”

The question confirms my suspicion that Killian’s mother is going to end the life of the woman I’ve hated since childhood. The thing I’ve fantasized about for years is finally coming to pass. I thought I wanted to be the one to do it, but now that the moment has come, I’m relieved I don’t have to.

“Just this.” I approach Gilda and sink to one knee beside her. “I want you to look at me and say, ‘Please, Your Highness, have mercy.’”

Gilda stares at me, abject terror warring with hatred. She grits out the words. “Please, Your Highness… have mercy.”

I smile. “No.”

“Think of the girls,” she protests shrilly as I step back and let Clara take my place. “Think of your sisters! You’re stealing their mother from them.”

“You stole my father from me,” I retort. “And they’re adults. Independence will be good for them.”

“You hideous changeling!” she squawks. “You idiotic—”

But her tirade cuts off as the tip of Clara’s whip snakes out and slices neatly across her throat.

The cut is deep but bloodless, and for a moment Gilda blinks as if she isn’t sure what’s happening, Then, slowly, her eyes go blank, and she slumps over, her head hanging crookedly on her damaged neck.

“She deserved a more agonizing death,” says Clara. “But I’m not one to take pleasure in torture. Unless it’s the sensual kind of torture.”

I raise my eyebrows, a little startled at her openness. She looks back at me and smiles slightly. “Welcome to the family. Help me drag your stepmother’s body through the portal back into Faerie. If we leave it here, there will be too many questions. ”

We take hold of Gilda’s body together. The limp heaviness of it sickens me, and when her head flops to the side on her partly severed neck, I nearly vomit.

“You get used to it,” says Clara.

“Do I want to get used to it?”

She chuckles ruefully. “That’s up to you. Are you planning to live in the mortal realm, or in Faerie? Because Faerie can be as brutal as it is beautiful.”

“Me, live in Faerie?” I almost choke on the words.

She gives me a quizzical look. “I thought you and Killian…”

“I… well… he… that is… I haven’t…” Fuck, what is wrong with me? Heat floods my face, intensifying as Clara smiles.

“I see. You’re still in that part of things. Trust me, I know how loving a Faerie can feel at first—perilous and painful. But from one human to another—they’re worth it.”

We both fall silent as we drag Gilda closer to the portal.

“Will it accept all of us?” I ask.

“Yes,” Clara assures me. “It accepts two living beings and whatever they’re carrying.”

We step through, bringing the body with us, and we drop her on the floor of Finias’s candy shop. He’s sitting on the counter now, with the heels of his boots propped on a stool, and he’s licking a peppermint stick.

“Look at you two,” he croons. “Bonding already, hauling corpses around together. Adorable.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “My father is dreadfully casual about murder, especially when Clara is the one killing people.”

Clara sighs, exasperated. “You make it sound like I kill people often. I only do it with very good reason. In this case, the bitch had it coming.”

“I’ll dispose of her, dearest,” Finias offers, hopping off the counter and vanishing his peppermint stick into midair. “Feed the boy another sweet, would you? The rare ones, the red glossy kind. They’re most effective with this sort of thing, regenerating limbs and such.”

“Maybe Celinda would like to feed him the sweets?” Clara suggests. “I’ll run over to the palace and ask the Keeper of Artifacts to come down and fetch this anklet. It belongs in a vault, not lying around where anyone could touch it. Before you deal with the body, help Killian to a bedroom, would you? And clean up those ashes as well. What if a customer came into the shop and saw the mess?”

“Of course, sugar,” responds Finias.

Clara gives her son a kiss on the forehead and kisses Finias on the mouth, then smiles at me before leaving the shop.

“She likes you,” says Killian with a weary grin. He winces as his father helps him up.

“Bring those red sweets, will you, Celinda?” asks Finias.

I collect the candies he indicated and follow the two of them. Is it my imagination, or is Killian’s residual limb already longer? Can his leg already be growing back, just minutes after it was severed? I already know how Faeries help mortals heal—but what kind of substance could regrow a Faerie’s limb so fast? I’m not sure I want to know, so I distract myself by admiring my colorful surroundings.

The house is a cozy, rambling structure with beautiful paintings covering most of its walls. Some of the artwork nearest the floor is messy and faded, as if it was painted by children and has been there for years. The rooms are slightly untidy, filled with cushions and comforts, and there’s a pervasive air of warmth, joy, and creativity. It’s a home , in every sense of the word.

Finias takes Killian and me into a first floor bedroom and settles his son on the bed.

“If you’ll step into the hallway with me a moment, Celinda,” he says coolly .

“What are you going to say to her?” asks Killian, frowning.

“She can share it with you later, if she would like to,” Finias responds, taking my elbow gently and guiding me out. He closes the door, and we walk several paces away from the bedroom before he turns to face me. His eyes have lost their sparkle, and only earnest regret remains.

“Killian did not treat you well,” he says in a low tone. “Did he apologize for his deception?”

“He did,” I reply.

“The Fae have a different code of morality than humans do. That doesn’t excuse what he did, but perhaps it can help you understand. I myself have done countless terrible things, especially in my youth.”

I stare at him. “You look about twenty-five. How old are you?”

He smiles, and I notice with shock that every one of his teeth are sharply pointed. “Never mind my age. I want you to know that despite his mistakes, Killian is the kindest soul I’ve ever known—even gentler than his mother. His compassion drives him to serve humans in need, and it prompted him to take a vow, decades ago, that he would never kill a human being.”

“He told me about that, too,” I say.

“I’m not asking you to forgive him or excuse what he did,” Finias continues. “I simply want you to understand the better part of his character. And I apologize, as his father, for the pain he caused you.”

“Your apology is appreciated, but unnecessary,” I assure him. “As for Killian—I think I forgave him that very same night, to be honest. Whatever wrong he did me, he has more than paid for it by risking his own life to set me free and to spare the Prince.”

“Ah yes, the Prince. Your husband.” Finias raises an eyebrow significantly .

“Perhaps not for long. There is a practice called annulment in my kingdom.” I bite my lip, afraid I’ve gone too far and revealed too much of what I really want. The things I love have always been taken away from me. But Gilda isn’t here to destroy them anymore. Perhaps I’m allowed to have hope, to experience love. To plan for a future.

“I should go to him,” I say.

“By all means.” But as I turn to leave, Finias says, “He’s right, you know. Clara likes you. And so do I. Perhaps we are drawn to other wounded souls who have endured great torment and emerged stronger for it.”

He saves me from having to reply by sauntering off down the hall. I watch him go, wondering what torment a Faerie like him might have suffered. I suppose I always thought of Faeries as powerful beings who didn’t have to fear harm because they had magic. But that assumption has been proved wrong more than once lately.

I return to the room where Killian lies on the bed, watching half a dozen floating orbs of light drifting in slow circles against the ceiling. His purple hair is still damp from the sweat of his agony, and his skin is far whiter than usual.

I hold one of the red candies near his lips. “Open.”

He lifts his head, takes the candy in his teeth, and chews it slowly.

“Hell of an introduction to my parents,” he mutters. “At least my sister wasn’t here. Things would have been much louder and more frantic.”

He’s talking so casually about the situation, and yet his leg is fucking gone . I take his face in my hands, overwhelmed by a sudden, panicked anger. “Do you realize you almost died ?”

“I’m quite aware of the fact. I figured it was likely, and I was prepared for it. ”

“But I wasn’t!” I exclaim. “Killian, how would your parents have felt about that? About you dying for some human girl you barely know?”

“Some human girl?” His gaze turns fiery. “You think that’s all you are to me?” He drags himself up to a sitting position against the headboard. “Fuck that, Celinda. You know better.”

“What exactly do you think I know?” My stomach is shivery with anticipation, my heart rate higher than ever. I feel as if I’m standing on the edge of a cliff with the wind blowing wildly, threatening to knock me off the brink into freefall. And I want the dizzying drop, the terrifying thrill of the descent.

Killian reaches for my hand and curls his long fingers around mine. “You are my madness,” he says quietly. “I fucking lost my mind over you. That’s not your fault, I know. But when I lost my mind, I lost my heart, too. I would die for you, Sin—I would kill for you if I had to. I understand that you hate me for lying to you, and I can live with that, as long as I know that you’re free.”

“But I’m not free,” I whisper. “I’m married to the Prince, and the King is dead. When I go back, I will have to wake Brantley and tell him his father is gone. I don’t know how to do that, Killian. He’ll be heartbroken. And then… I want the marriage annulled, but I can’t do that to him. I’ll have to stay with him, to comfort him…”

“I think he might seek comfort from someone else,” says Killian with a wry smile. “The Prince has recently realized a few things about himself. He will grieve for his father, yes, but I don’t think he will grieve the marriage.”

“His bodyguard,” I say. “He’s in love with his best friend, isn’t he? And despite being so brilliant, he never saw the signs until now.”

“Precisely.” A faint smile crosses Killian’s lips before he frowns again. “And don’t talk as if you’re going back alone. I’m returning with you, though I won’t be able to glamour myself as the King again. I’ve already placed his body in his bed, and the servants will find him there in the morning. He’s been preserved by magic, so the death will seem recent. They’ll think his heart failed while he slept. But I can take on an alternate glamour and remain nearby. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

I swallow hard, rubbing my fingers over his. “Then you might be staying a long time.”

He goes very still. “How long?”

“Only until I die.”

“Is that so?”

“I have conditions, of course.”

“Obviously.”

“One—you will help me settle things at the palace. Two—once my annulment goes through, you’ll bring me back to Faerie with you. I haven’t seen much of it yet, but I’d like to. And three—I will forgive your great deception, if you will agree to take on the form of the King whenever I ask you to. For fun.”

“What sort of fun?” He blinks at me with feigned innocence.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, shoving him. “Not after you asked me to step on you. Your father thinks you’re this gentle, sweet soul, and you are, but you’re also a degenerate scoundrel. A depraved, lecherous fiend.”

“I like it when you call me names.”

We’re face to face, a sensuous heat quivering between us. I lean in by instinct, drawn by the shape of his lips. It’s not the King’s beautiful mouth, but Killian’s natural form is even more precious to me.

“To be clear,” he whispers, “I love you.”

“I know.” I kiss him softly. “And I—gods, I want to say it back, but I’m afraid if I do, something will happen and you’ll be taken away from me. Or I’ll wake up and realize that this was all a dream—that I’m still on my cot in the cellar of Eisling House, with a day of labor and abuse ahead of me. ”

“This is no dream, darling. I’ll pinch you, if you like. Isn’t that how humans prove to themselves that something is reality, and not just a wish breathed by a sleeping mind?”

He catches my lower lip between his teeth and bites down a little, just enough to cause a little flare of pain. Then his hand slides up to my breast and tweaks my nipple through the fabric of my nightdress.

My nightdress .

“Killian,” I say, aghast. “I just realized—I met your parents while in my nightclothes!”

He shrugs. “They don’t care. Faeries are far less concerned with such things. Well… I should say most Faeries are less concerned with such things. The Seelie Fae of the royal court tend to be a bit more rigid with rules of behavior and appearance.”

He stops talking and closes his eyes for a moment, his face falling into a weary expression.

Last time he was wounded, I helped him heal with sex. This time he has Finias’s spells to assist in his recovery, and despite the teasing pinch to my nipple, he doesn’t seem to be in the mood for a quick fuck. He needs sleep.

I start to move off the bed, to leave him in peace, but he grabs my arm. “Please stay with me.”

A sweet warmth spreads through my heart. It’s a wonderful feeling to be needed in this way—not being commanded or used, but simply wanted. I lie down beside him, my head on his shoulder and my hand on his chest.

Somehow, in the course of a fortnight, he became not only my dearest friend, but my gateway into a world of pleasure that I never imagined I’d be allowed to enjoy. He tricked me, yes, but he also sacrificed himself, his artistry, and his magic for me, generously and enthusiastically, over and over. He braved dangers I will never know to obtain the Wraith’s Scythe on the off chance it could destroy my anklet. He would have died for me tonight, with perfect willingness.

If he can be so courageous, surely I can, too. I can be brave enough to say the three most dangerous words I’ve ever spoken.

I speak them softly in the quiet of the bedroom. “I love you.”

His chest rises with a quick intake of breath. “After everything I did?”

“Yes.”

When he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. “For the rest of my life, I will strive to be worthy of your love.”

Smiling, I snuggle a little closer to his body. “You already are.”