Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(54)

“You, sir, are surely a rake.”

“Me?” He slapped a hand to his chest. “I have never been called such a thing!”

“Bran,” Stone’s voice cut through the banter. “Enough.”

He glanced over his shoulder, revealing the uninjured side of his face. Sorcha noted how he angled his body away from her. As if he were trying to hide. There was no cloak for him to cover the injuries, at least not that she could see.

The man was strange. So easily risen to a challenge when she could not see him, but now he appeared almost frightened. Embarrassed, perhaps? She had placed him in an awkward situation. It was likely he hadn’t wanted her to see his disfigurement.

She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know. Sorcha couldn’t imagine how he felt knowing that his skin was so severely marred.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you, Bran, for pointing out the yarrow. I’ll take my leave gentlemen.”

Dipping into a curtsy for good measure, she cursed herself for listening to Pixie. With burning red cheeks, she snatched the yarrow and rushed away from the castle. If it took her the rest of the day to get to her hut, so be it. She refused to stay any longer in the presence of a man who so clearly didn’t want her there.



Eamonn slammed the door to the castle, hands shaking in anger. How dare she? That woman had no right to walk around the grounds as if she owned the place. All other Fae knew to leave him be when he was in a rage. He would wear himself out with sword and shield, but they were not permitted to view him.

Growling, he swiped a vase from its stand. The shattering crash only eased a small fraction of his anger, but it was something. Shame overwhelmed him.

She had seen him.

When Bran said they were being watched, Eamonn had turned with the expectation that Pixie was coming to announce some other chore he needed to do. But it hadn’t been any of the faeries he would have guessed.

She stood in the middle of the field with goldenrod brushing her fingertips. He had named her aptly. Sunshine caressed her hair and shoulders like a lover. Her hair swirled around her like a dust devil made of fire. Her freckles flecked her nose and forehead as if the sun couldn't help but kiss her cheeks.

She was so beautiful. And he?

Eamonn walked past a shattered mirror and growled. He was little more than a monster.

“She’s even prettier when in a human form,” Bran’s voice echoed down the hallway. “I’m surprised you let her stay, considering the circumstances.”

“Leave, Unseelie. You have overstayed your welcome.”

“I always do. And yet, here I am.”

The fluttering of wings buffeted his ears, and Bran materialized down the hallway before him.

Eamonn clenched his fists. “How does she know your name?”

“Jealous?” Bran picked at his fingernails. “Or anxious?”

“No human should know the true name of a Fae.”

“Does it make you feel better to know she guessed it?”

“No,” he snorted. “But it does speak to your mother’s intelligence. Naming her son so predictably will be your downfall.”

“My mother is plenty intelligent. She created you, now didn’t she?”

Eamonn bared his teeth.

The other Fae hardly seemed intimidated. “Easy there, Stone King. I have no quarrel with you.”

“You’ve done enough.” He brushed past the raven and slammed open the door to another abandoned room. There were hundreds in this castle, filled with relics of a time long ago. They held little meaning to him. Which meant they were far more interesting to break.

“Come now, how can I make it up to you?” Bran trailed after him. “I so hate it when you’re mad at me.”

“The only reason why you are here is to train with the best.”

“And you are the best. But we can’t train together if you’re just trying to kill me.”

Eamonn crushed a stone head between his fists. “In my experience, that is the best way to learn.”

It was thoroughly satisfying to see the Unseelie Prince’s eyes bug out of his head. Bran was whip quick and wiry, impossible to defeat from a distance. But Eamonn was strong, made even stronger by the crystals that decorated his skin like armor plating.

“What has you all riled up?”

“She saw me.” He smashed another piece of a statute, the remaining hand from one of his other rants.

“So?”

“She saw me. I hadn’t planned on ever letting her see me.”

“That would be impossible anyways. She lives on the isle now.”

“She lives in a hut off the isle, specifically so that she would not have the potential to see me.”

Bran couldn’t understand. Not really. For an Unseelie, he was highly attractive. Most his features were unchanged. Sure, the raven eye in the man’s head was unsettling, and he would never have passed for a Seelie Fae, but he was pleasant enough to look at. Handsome for his own people.

Eamonn would never be considered handsome again. Beyond that, he was so flawed that the throne he had coveted for so long had slipped from his grasp. He would never be king and his twin, that treacherous, backstabbing, fool, would forever sit upon Eamonn’s throne.

“What if I trade you a secret?” Bran’s voice danced in the air.