6

On the night of the third ball, we fuck again, this time in the greenhouse, and when Celinda shows me her dominant side, I drown deeper in my love for her.

Afterward I’m forced to join the party for a while, but I don’t stay long. Now that I’ve seen the conditions in which my darling lives, I feel compelled to remedy the situation as best I can, until I can resolve it entirely. So I procure items from both Faerie and from the attics of the King’s palace, and with those supplies and my own magic, I transform the cellar into a livable space.

I have one more gift in mind for Celinda, and to obtain it, I must approach my mother again.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Clara says when I appear in her studio. She dips her brush in water and swirls it around, her eyebrows raised reproachfully.

I wince. “Perhaps.”

“When you were tiny and you’d done something wrong, you would hide from me.” She presses the paintbrush against the side of the jar, draining the excess water. “Have you done something wrong, Killian?”

“Yes,” I admit. “But I’m fixing it.”

“I know apologies are countercultural for the Fae,” she says. “But your father has given them to me when they were owed, and I hope you’ll do the same for this person you’ve wronged, whoever they are.”

“I will.” I clear my throat. “May I—that is, do you have any gowns you no longer need? Any fine dresses you’re tired of? There’s someone who could use a dress—a more permanent one than I can conjure.”

My mother’s brown eyes glow with delighted interest, but to her credit, she doesn’t question me, even though I know she’s dying to. She only says, “Go to my closet upstairs. You can have any of the six gowns on the far right. I’ve worn them all to multiple palace occasions, and I probably won’t use them again.”

“Thank you.” I bound out of the room and up the stairs to my parents’ room.

My father is lying on his stomach on the bed, sucking a lollipop and reading a gigantic book. His dragonfly wings wave gently in the air. “Killian! What a delightful surprise.”

“I’m here to… um…” I clear my throat. “I need to borrow a dress.”

“Planning to wear it?” he asks casually. “No judgment if that’s your pleasure. I won’t lie, I’ve worn a dress for Clara before.”

“God-stars, please don’t,” I say despairingly. “How many times have úna and I asked you not to tell us about your sex life?”

“About a million.” He grins, every sharp tooth showing.

I shake my head, open my mother’s closet, and sort through the dresses on the far right, selecting a turquoise gown that looks perfect for Celinda.

“Good choice,” says my father .

After a moment’s consideration, I pose a question that has been gnawing at my mind. “Remember when I vowed before the god-stars that I would never kill a human being?”

His face sobers. “I remember.”

“Is it true that if I break that vow, I might die?”

“It is absolutely true.” He looks very stern now, and deeply concerned. “Don’t break it. If you need someone killed, I’ll do it. Or your mother will.”

“No, it’s not… that is, there are other risks involved.” I chew my lip, wondering if I should tell him everything. But he has solved so many problems for me throughout my life, and my pride won’t let me yield this one to him. I’m ashamed of the mess I’ve made, and I’m equally determined to get through it on my own, no matter how painful or confusing it may be. “I have it under control.”

His yellow eyes narrow, unconvinced. “Do what you must, but come to me if you need my help.”

I step through a portal abruptly, without replying. Unkind of me, perhaps, but I find it increasingly hard to look to him for assistance. He’s far more powerful and capable than I am, while at the same time being unpredictable, sarcastic, and rather Unseelie in his methods. I have no idea how he would respond if I told him everything, or if he would understand the weight of guilt I carry over the lie I’m living.

I leave the dress for Celinda and return to the palace. Ever since the Prince commented on my altered behavior during our conversation in the greenhouse, I have decided I must do a better job of governing until such time as the King’s demise can be revealed.

Guiding an entire kingdom is a far more complex task than I could have imagined. With each passing hour and each fresh realization of the multi-layered problems the country faces, I gain a new appreciation for my uncle Lirannon and his role as High King—although possessing magic and a bevy of skilled advisors lightens his burden quite a bit, I’d imagine.

As the interim King of this mortal land, I can’t employ magic except in the most subtle and imperceptible of ways. Besides which, I have to conserve my energy to maintain my glamour, while also saving some energy for whatever Celinda might need. Since I gifted her my mother’s gown, I won’t have to make her a dress for the fourth ball, but I plan to check in with her at the usual time, once her family has left the house.

I become so immersed in the work of governance that I barely notice the hours slipping by. I’m poring over a border map when I feel an insistent buzz through my body, the unmistakable sign of a summons. Each object I’ve charmed has its own energy signature, which I can recognize after the first summons, so I know immediately it’s Celinda’s watch calling me. As if that weren’t enough confirmation, I hear her pained whisper in my head: Killian, please.

When I search her location with my Wretched Sight, I realize she’s not at home. She’s already on the palace grounds, outside in the cold, shrinking in the shadow of a huge topiary.

I shoo my servants and bodyguards out of the study, close the door, and drop my kingly glamour before portaling to Celinda on the snowy front lawn of the palace.

A rank stench fills my sensitive nostrils as I approach her, but it barely registers because I can also smell blood.

“Celinda?” I walk faster.

She drops the cloak she’s wearing, and I can see it all—her beautiful skin, chafed raw and bloody. The gown I gave her, torn and tattered.

Someone has hurt her… or forced her to harm herself.

“Oh fuck,” I breathe between clenched teeth. I want to hug her, to comfort her, but she shrinks, cautious of her injuries, and I redirect my emotion into fury. “I’ll fucking kill that woman. ”

“You can’t, and you know it,” Celinda says. “Just help me, please.”

Again that soft, broken plea. I’m furious and torn and wretched inside, agonized on her behalf, but her request refocuses my thoughts, gives me something useful to do.

I dispel the foul odor, mend the dress, and add additional touches of artistry, like a pair of glittering dragonfly wings that make Celinda look beautifully Fae. The wings resemble those of my sister and my father. With them, I mark her as mine. Part of my family, since hers has rejected her.

She’s still in pain, though. I could heal her with one of my father’s candies, but if I return to fetch one now, my father might there, and he’ll have questions I’m not ready to answer. If Celinda will let me, I’d rather be the instrument of her recovery.

“Now I need to heal you,” I tell her.

“Please,” she whispers. “And quickly. I have to go in a few minutes.”

It’s an invitation to come in her lovely mouth again, but my body won’t cooperate. I’m too full of rage and sorrow—there’s no room for lust.

“Fuck.” I tilt my forehead against hers. “I’m so angry with your stepmother… I don’t think I can get hard enough to do this.”

“Please.” She kneels in the snow, in the lovely gown, with the wings glittering at her back, and she places her slim fingers over my crotch, caressing me through the fabric of my pants. A tingling response runs through my cock, a glimmering arousal that spreads and increases as she continues to stroke me.

Despite her pain, there’s a grateful tenderness in the way she touches me. Her caress is affectionate, and that, more than anything else, fills me with a heady blend of lust and hope.

She exposes my cock to the cold air for only a second before sheathing it in the warm, wet tunnel of her mouth and throat. Her soft sigh of pleasure drives me mad and stiffens my cock to almost painful hardness.

She’s enjoying me. Me , not the King.

After several seconds of enthusiastic sucking, she murmurs, “Sorry for using you this way.”

“Don’t fucking apologize,” I tell her. “I would give you much more of myself if you’d let me. I’d give you anything—” I break off with a gasp as she picks up speed, her head bobbing as she thrusts my cock faster into her mouth, and I groan aloud. “Fuck yes… just like that.”

The damn girl has magic in those pretty lips, magic in her dancing tongue. I come hard in her mouth, and she sucks on me greedily, drinking every drop of my healing cum.

She drains me so well I can barely stand upright when she lets me go. My legs nearly give way as I’m buttoning my pants. “God-stars, that was exquisite.”

At her request, I lay a second glamour upon her, intended only for the eyes of her step-family, so they can’t perceive that I’ve healed her and repaired her dress. To their eyes, she will remain damaged, and I smile darkly as I imagine how confused they’ll be when the Prince and his guests continue to treat Celinda with respect and admiration.

As it turns out, there is something I must fetch from home, after all. Celinda’s stepmother has commanded her to be rude to the Prince, and I must find something to prevent her from offending His Highness tonight. While I cannot subvert the command, I can control how the Prince perceives Celinda’s rudeness—if I can steal the right spell from my father’s shop.

Over the past several decades, Finias has grown more meticulous in his record-keeping. The spells he designs are far more precise and complex than the ones he used to create, and they often require specific amounts of very rare ingredients, so he measures carefully and keeps track of every gumdrop, every stick of licorice, every cookie, tart, or piece of candy he creates, along with what magical effects they have. His reputation as a master spell-crafter has grown exponentially since my sister was born, and his name now appears in several tomes of magical lore and Fae history, sometimes with an entire chapter devoted to him.

With that notoriety comes unwanted attention from spies, thieves, and black-market dealers of magic, which in turn has made Finias more cautious with his wares. The unfortunate result is that he gets very upset when úna or I purloin anything from his stores. We still do it occasionally, but we try to ask first, unless we need something urgently.

In this case, I need something urgently.

When I portal into the spell shop, it’s dark and empty, and the adjoining studio is also shadowed and silent. My parents are probably somewhere in the residential part of the house. I create two floating orbs of light to dance over my head and illuminate my search.

“If I were a flattery spell, where would I be?” I mutter, walking behind the counter and pulling out the small drawers one by one.

Before I get very far, Finias appears in the doorway, his hair ruffled and his eyes snapping with golden fury. Judging by the cobweb of pink leather straps he’s wearing, he and my mother were involved in one of their games. When he sees that I’m the intruder in his shop, he sighs and conjures a purple silk robe which he swirls around himself.

“You know I have alarms now, Killian,” he says.

“To keep out thieves and scoundrels, not your own son.”

His mouth twitches as he struggles not to smile. “You wouldn’t be my son if you didn’t have a bit of the scoundrel in you. What are you looking for?”

“Something that will make a person hear only flattering words, no matter what is said in their presence. Just for a few hours. I think you created something like that last year. ”

He nods, fluttering his wings and rising to a shelf near the ceiling, from which he takes a small jar. “I did indeed. I handed out these chocolates at a very dull meeting of the High Court and spent a most delightful afternoon insulting everyone without them realizing it.” He chuckles at the memory.

“Can you spare one?”

“For yourself?” He lands lightly, his eyes piercing mine.

“For a friend of mine who’s in trouble.”

“It seems you’re willing to do a great deal for this friend . Is this the person you were willing to kill for?”

I chew my lip and glance away. It’s as good as an admission.

Finias opens the jar, removes a ball of chocolate studded with peppermint chips, and presses it into my palm. “Be careful. Love is a wicked and wonderful thing.”

“I’m careful.”

“And do me a favor… don’t portal directly into the shop from now on. Otherwise the defensive charms detect a surge of powerful magic, and I have to investigate immediately before the perpetrator is automatically annihilated.” He grins cheerfully with all his sharp teeth. “I’d hate to lose you.”

“No shit,” I mutter.

He laughs and saunters out of the shop, on his way back to Clara. I put the spell in my pocket and head into the foyer of the house, intending to create a portal from there… but before I can do so, someone raps on the door.

Not wanting to disturb my parents yet again, I open the door myself and discover Torin standing on the doorstep, his shoulders slouched and his hands in his pockets, looking particularly morose.

“Fuck you, Kil,” he growls. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You haven’t come by in ages. What’s going on with your protégé? I’m starved for news. ”

“Are you alright?” I frown, noting the clammy pallor of his skin. “Are you ill again?”

“No,” he snarls. “I’m goddamn bored. Ever since you met that pretty little victim of yours, we haven’t gone anywhere interesting together. I swear I shall die if I have to languish in that palace one more day.”

“Victim?” I exclaim. “She’s not my victim, Torin. And there are plenty of ways for you to travel elsewhere if the palace is not to your liking. I’ve been busy ruling a kingdom and—”

“And fucking the girl.” He snorts. “She must be good. God-stars, I need a really remarkable fuck. I had a halfway decent chambermaid yesterday, and a young lord the day before that, but neither was worth remembering. Are you going to invite me in? You must tell me everything about your life. It’s far more interesting than mine is at present.”

I glance over my shoulder. “My parents are… busy. If we step outside I can talk for a moment, but then I must go.”

“A moment is better than nothing.” He smiles, but his blue eyes remain shadowed.

I should probe deeper, find out what’s troubling him. But there are so many troubles crowding my mind that I fear I don’t have room for more. He has other people in whom he can confide, surely. And if his distress continues, I can turn my full attention to him once the situation with Celinda’s anklet is resolved… after I’ve figured out how to save her.