Page 98 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

Chapter Twenty-Six

Pippa spent the next morning poring over her notes from the Red Grimoire. There were spells and lullabies. Some of them were quite charming. Most of them were rather terrifying.

There was a distressing amount of cannibalism for children’s stories.

But nothing about the Tithes or glittering mists stealing wishes. Nothing that immediately pointed to a solution. Or even a culprit.

No spell suddenly revealing itself to her.

It appeared to be exactly what it was: a collection of old magic. She had hoped that this one stolen book might hold the answers. An answer, at the very least.

Mr. Yarrow had been very accommodating, but it was all for nothing.

More than that, the thirteenth day was fast approaching.

They were running out of time. She could not break the book curse—every time she so much as poked at it, the mists descended. It was Fae magic and it had been fed every time the others attempted to locate the grimoire and inadvertently triggered more of the curse’s power instead. And Lachlan was the one who suffered.

The mists crept closer and closer to the house. They hovered around Lachlan, who claimed it was not bothersome. But the lines at the corners of his eyes were more pronounced. He was in pain and he was lying about it.

She began to think about her wish.

And as was her new routine, she made her daily descent into the grotto to let the fire hounds off their leashes. She burned candles, scraps of paper, the very air. There was a sense of relief in releasing her magic now, in knowing that there was nothing down in the goblet of stone and water that she could harm. She ended the session flushed and hot, but her fevers were manageable. More manageable than she’d ever dared dream. There was no fire biting at the inside of her, tearing through her soft insides, rabid and ravenous.

The progress gave her hope.

Just in time to walk a possible deadly Labyrinth and remain trapped here forever.

Well, nothing was perfect.

“You’ll be able to toss that bracelet away soon enough,” Lachlan said from the stone archway. His cheekbones were sharper than they had been the day before. The Fae glitter at the corners of his eyes was sharper too, as if struggling to shine through the mist that perpetually swirled around his knees now, creeping higher and higher.

She wiped her palms on her skirts, the silver cuff sitting on the ledge of the nearest pool. It looked so innocuous. A bauble. Nothing at all like the lifeline it had become. The shield. But also the sword. The cage.

Lachlan’s gaze was calculating as he stalked closer. Her nape prickled, and it was not due to the waft of cool air that moved around him, or the ice forming in the pools. A snowflake landed on her burned wrist. “I think you’re ready for a challenge,” he said.

“What kind of challenge?” she asked, breathless before he had even touched her. She could already feel his hands on her body, his mouth on her skin.

“The very best kind,” he promised, circling her with that predatory grace. He stopped just behind her, voice low in her ear. “Let’s see what you can do.”

He bent his head, dragging open-mouthed kisses over her neck and nipping at her earlobe. Shivers danced through her, impatient, already desperate for more. His fingers dimpled her hips and heat bolted through her. “Go on, wisp.”

The flames rose, candle wax melting and dripping. They burned hot but controlled. Mostly. The scorch mark on the stone ledge of the pool wasn’t enough to do any real damage.

He bit down on the spot between her neck and her shoulder. “Again.”

Fires sparked in the air, moths made of gold and blue light.

“There she is,” Lachlan rumbled. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Her moth familiar led the fire moths in a drifting, whirling dance. Sparks fell like snow, but they burned away before they touched the ground. She did not have to worry over them. She could concentrate on the way Lachlan’s breath in her ear made her nipples pucker, the way his teeth made her ache. The way he walked her backward to a chair left behind from their midnight supper.

He released her, and disappointment immediately flooded her.

Until he sat down, sprawling in the chair, every bit the king. He patted his thigh in invitation.

Pippa paused, mostly because she was afraid she might combust entirely. She was half surprised her dress had not already burned clean off her body. A pulse fluttered in her quim, already wet.

She felt the flames flicker and hiss as they burned around her, but it was the heat coiling in her core, tethered to Lachlan’s heated gaze, which she reveled in. She closed the last of the distance between them, a crown of fire moths above her head.