Page 32 of The Fallen Fae King

I have never wished that before about anything I have taken. It must break some kind of thief code or something.

Yet I’d felt that tingling sensation that I always do, when I see something worth stealing. I had known that this lodestone would be valuable.

But not if it risks my soulmate’s life.

I clutch the stone beetle in my hand, attempting to hide it again. “You better not be considering using this. There is being brave and then there is spitting in the face of the Shadow Gods. This could undo Maximinus’ magic, but Heka told me it was only in the experimental stage. It could cause you great pain or even kill you.”

“If something is worth fighting for, then it always hurts.”

“That’s not true.”

Stubbornly, Daire stares back at me. “I’m not scared.”

“Well, I am for both of us.”

Daire keeps his wrists raised like a pleading prisoner.

I don’t like it.

I try to bat his hands away, but he raises them again. “You hold my freedom in your fist.”

“I hold your pain…your death.”

“I could have my powers back.”

“This is reckless.”

“You know me so well.”

I growl in frustration, scooting as far away as I can, until my back hits the headboard.

Daire pursues me, however, and although he is the supplicant, I feel like the prey.

His wings flap, and I realize as I study his grim expression, that I am now dealing with the leader of an army, the king of a frozen land, and a primal god.

I shiver. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

Daire raises his hand, resting it by my head. He leans closer.

His long canines graze my ear. “We’ve always been co-conspirators. What’s changed? Tonight, the Blood Moon will rise, then this cursed mask will melt from my face and form shackles to trap Sin. I don’t know how to stop that unless I have my powers back. Remember that I wink at death? Now’s the time.”

I take a shuddering breath.

At last, I swipe at my cheeks, as a moth’s ghostly wings brush across my skin, circling my head.

Am I imagining it, or are the drapes fluttering like a pair of giant moth wings?

“Don’t do this,” I whisper.

Daire’s lip curls back. “I could have died on that altar. I may die tonight in the ritual. Give me this…I need to feel freedom coursing through me. Let me be free.”

The ache in Daire’s cry is visceral.

I can hear the sacred groves, weeping waterfalls, and the icy mountains of the Unseelie Kingdom shivering through each word.

I hear the ancient fae, his fallen Winter Court, and the ashes of his ancestors.

Freedom.