Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(105)

Sorcha bit her lip and pulled the blankets up to her chest. Curls fell across her naked body, slipping on the silken sheets.

“Where is he?” she muttered. “I would like to repeat last night.”

Clattering echoed from outside the door. On the stairs? She couldn’t imagine why Oona would bring food or tea up. It was far too late, and if Eamonn asked her to make the trek up those stairs in the middle of the night, then Sorcha had words to stay to him. The man wouldn’t learn a thing about his people.

Oona was an old woman! No matter that her body appeared young, she had enough years on her to deserve a bit more respect.

She slid her legs over the edge of the bed and hissed when her toes touched the cold stone.

“Eamonn,” she growled. “Everywhere else in the entire castle has sheepskin so we don’t freeze our toes off in the morning. Yet you insist upon punishing yourself even this early.”

Dim light made it difficult to find her dress. The yellow fabric was ruined, he had ripped all the buttons off the back. But it would have to do for now. Oona wouldn’t mind if a bit of her skin was showing.

The faerie had already seen every bit of Sorcha anyways.

She snorted. How strange it was to no longer worry about who or what saw her nudity. She had been frightened of revealing even the smallest bit of ankle when she first arrived. Now, she wasn’t worried about waltzing around with her entire back unclothed.

The mind was a strange and wondrous thing, she mused. She slid the fabric up and over her shoulders, pressing it against her chest and maneuvering a makeshift tie around her waist. As long as it stayed up when it was supposed to, she would call it a win.

Clattering become clanging, growing louder and louder as it reached the door of Eamonn’s quarters. Sorcha’s brow furrowed. She knew that sound, and yet she didn’t.

It wasn’t the sound of pottery or plates.

The door to the bedroom burst open, slammed against the wall with a thunderous bang, and fell off its top hinge. She shrieked and held her arm up. She refused to flinch, to hide, to fall backward.

“Sorcha!” Eamonn’s shout was a welcome, if concerning, sound to hear.

“Eamonn!”

“Where are you, woman?”

He couldn’t see her in the darkness. She ran towards him, wrapping her arms around the frame outlined by candle glow.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here, what’s wrong?”

Metal dug into her ribs. Her biceps met cold armor and the pommel of his sword pressed against her belly. He was dressed for war.

Eamonn wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips against her hair. “Thank the gods. You’re safe.”

“I’m fine, what’s happening?”

“When did you see my brother?”

The question chilled her to the bone. “What?”

“You saw my twin, and you did not tell me. When was this?”

“Eamonn, I’m sorry, I should have told you. He summoned me and I knew it would cause problems if I didn’t go. I didn’t want to—”

He held her an arm’s length away and mashed a finger against her lips. “I’m not angry with you. I just need to know what was said between the two of you.”

“Nothing I thought you needed to know, or I would have told you immediately.”

“He tried to convince you he would be a good king.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “He tried very hard.”

“And he didn’t succeed.”

“No. I still believe you would be the better king, and it pained me to see an imposter sitting on your throne, wearing your face.”

He tilted his face, wincing at her words. “You may regret saying that.”

“He offered me a boon. He wouldn’t dare harm me, not when I can command him.”

“Dangerous for a king to offer such a thing.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

Eamonn tapped her chin with an armored finger. “Precisely why I find you so interesting, Sorcha. You think like a soldier.”

“I think like someone who wants to survive. Why have you donned your armor?”

She watched him carefully as he pulled away. The armor creaked with his movements, groaning and shrieking plates scratching against each other. His spine stiffened, and he took a deep controlling breath.

“I always knew it would come to this. My brother has wanted me dead for centuries. I threaten his right to sit on that throne, even though I have been disgraced and banished. As long as I am alive, the people will always call for the High King of Seelie to sit upon the golden throne.”

“As they should.”

“It’s not my choice, Sorcha,” he said. “The world has made this decision for me. I am ruined, therefore, I am unfit to be king.”

“Don’t you believe change is worth considering? Perhaps the people who choose to be Seelie Fae no longer wish to have a perfect king!”

“You say blasphemous words you could not hope to understand.”

“I understand more than you know.” She reached for his face, framing his cheeks with her hands. “Your people are dying under the control of a tyrant who shows them little kindness. They want you to come home. Even the Tuatha dé Danann.”

“What do you know of such things?” A spear of candlelight spread across his face.