Page 39 of A Beastly Court

“I wasn’t yelling at you, love,” he murmured against my hair. “I thought you’d been taken.”

“W-why?” I blubbered.

He shook his head. “Some foolishness with Alec and the horses. It’ll be alright. You’re safe.” He paused, and from the way his body shifted against mine, I could tell he was looking around at all the empty pots and shriveled roses of the courtyard. “Why are you crying, love?”

Think, Meadow! Think! You can’t tell him—

“I c-couldn’t drain the willow tree,” I whispered, sniffling. “It would be too dead in here. I couldn’t bear it.”

“It’s just a tree, Meadow.”

It’s not enough. You have to make it believable!

“And… and—”

“And what, love?”

“The ember died!” I released the willow tree to swivel in his arms, scooting the foraging bag behind me to keep it trapped against the tree and out of sight—and smell—of the fae king.

His jewel-bright eyes narrowed as I lifted the censer, and he released one hand to lift the gold sphere higher so he could peer at the dead coal inside. Something flashed across his eyes—triumph, if I had to name it—before he abandoned the censer to cup my cheek. His thumb smeared the tears from my skin a little too roughly, but that was a fae male’s strength for you.

“I know that was your last connection to your family, love, but good riddance,” he said softly. He pulled me against his chest then, stroking my hair. “You are fully mine now, Meadow.”

That sentiment should’ve comforted me more than it did, but I leaned into him, truly crying for what I had lost now. Grandmother had laid one last trap for me, cutting me off forever from the Hawthornes, and… I never would have fallen for it had it not been for Ame telling me to go to the farmhouse.

Ame. I choked back my tears, my skin flushing with rage. The golden haze that pervaded my mind any time the fae king was near faltered under my anger.

“Oh love,” Ossian cooed, misunderstanding. “It’s better this way. You’ll realize that when you’re warm and fed. Come on.”

One hand anchored on the foraging bag, with Ame’s accomplice inside, I let the fae king lead me into the castle. I was glad for his assistance—Sawyer hadn’t drained my fatigue away while we were in the farmhouse, and I felt a weariness saturating me down to my bones.

Instead of taking me to the foyer and the east wing, we diverted to the atrium. Ossian was blathering on about my core, but my thoughts were fixated on something else: answers. All I wanted to do was get back to my room, rip open that bag, and pin that tabby cat to the wall or the bed or somewhere he couldn’t escape so he could explain to me, thoroughly, just what in the name of all good and green was going on here. I barely registered I was touching the cloch na wight until the fae king’s exclamation shattered my scheming thoughts.

“It’s pink!” He seized my face before I had a moment to confirm the color of the wight’s smoke. “Let me in.”

“Wait—”

I screamed as the fae king’s presence forced himself through the channel of our bond, spine arching as what felt like fire scorched through my mind. Then it was gone, his consciousness hovering next to mine above the oak tree. Before I could berate him for basically assaulting me, he whispered in awe, “Look!”

I’d been too preoccupied with wiggling my toes in time to the roots’ flexing to notice the extent of the embers’ help at the farmhouse. Before me was an oak tree with strong roots and a fully revealed trunk. Two-thirds of my core had been freed.

I would’ve leapt for joy had the knowledge that I no longer had access to the very magic that had helped free me not turned my feet into cinder blocks.

Ossian’s presence withdrew, and after a blink, I returned to the physical world and squeaked as he hauled me into his arms. Thistle thorns, everything hurt. My legs, unaccustomed to horseback riding, my hands and arms from the strain of climbing and being wrenched by the willow, my mind from Ossian’s invasion.

“What you did just then,” I began.

But Ossian wasn’t listening. He snatched me by the waist and gave me a twirl, jewel-bright eyes sparkling. “You’re amazing, Meadow! What you did— We’re going to celebrate!” He set me down, stole a fierce kiss from my stunned lips, and hustled me out of the atrium. “Go, get warm and cleaned up. I’m going to have Mrs. Bilberry prepare a feast. Keep this up, and we’ll be in Elfame by the new moon.”

While I was indeed starving and in need of a bath, I was more intent on correcting his high-handed behavior. I was his mate, yes, but that did not grant him access to me and my mind or body without my consent. Not even the golden haze that made me gooey around him could sway me from this. “Ossian—”

“Not exactly auspicious,” he muttered to himself, “but perfect to mask my return. Oh, Callan, you have no idea what’s coming to you.”

“Ossian!” I was a second away from stamping my foot, maybe even wrapping a tendril of magic around his throat and yanking him down to eye level. I certainly could manage such a feat now.

He turned, but it was only to plant a kiss on my forehead. It was half affection, half farewell, his lips pushing me away as if to shove me down the east wing. “See you in the great hall in an hour, love. Make that two. You need a thorough cleaning. Smells like you’ve been romping around in the woods all day.”

Then, with that fae speed of his, he was gone.