Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(63)

She stripped the sodden fabric away, pausing a moment to stare down at her mother’s dress. Seawater was likely to stain it, but she could at least try to save it. Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes.

“I miss you,” she whispered. It was the same feeling every time. She missed her pagan rites, Beltane, the whispered faerie stories her mother had been so good at telling.

Steam rose into the air in wispy tendrils, begging Sorcha to warm herself. She turned and dipped a toe into the water. The shocking warmth made her gasp, then moan as she sank into the water to her shoulders.

Her shivers ceased immediately, coaxed to stillness by the gentle lapping waves of water. She could stand in this pool and it would only come up to her breasts. This was safe water.

Curious, Sorcha scooped a handful and touched it to her tongue. Fresh water. Not a hint of salt tainted the taste, nor was it sulfuric as many hot springs could be.

“This place continues to grow stranger by the hour,” she whispered.

Tipping her head back against the stone lip, she let her mind quiet until her skin pruned. Even then, she took a while to leave the comfort of the bath. It was as if she was the last person on earth. Silence calmed her anxious thoughts, steam whisked away old aches and pains, and the water held her in a gentle embrace.

She could spend the rest of her life like this.

When her eyelids drifted shut more than they stayed open, Sorcha dragged herself out of the warm bath. Blearily glancing around the room, she realized there was no drying cloth available.

She sighed. Hopefully Eamonn wouldn’t come waltzing back in while she stood stark naked in the center of the room. She dunked her mother’s dress in the water and wrung it out a few times.

Leaving the yellow fabric on the edge of the bath, she peeked through the ivy to make sure no one was in the room. Of course, faeries could glamour themselves. She narrowed her eyes.

“Hello?”

No one responded.

“If there are any servants in here, I’m going to come out and I have nothing else to put on. Please don’t…stare.”

She chided herself as she dashed across the moss. Who was going to stare at her? They probably thought she looked as ugly as she found them.

The furs were soft against her skin. They wicked the water away and trapped the heat until she was in a cocoon of warmth and comfort.

She sighed happily, but took stock of her body just in case. The shivers had left, but she could already feel her nose clogging. She would have a slight cold, but hopefully nothing would settle in her chest.

If she was lucky, she would escape this entire ordeal unscathed. If she wasn’t, she would need to make compresses and drink as much tea as she could.

Sorcha could hope that her body wouldn’t have any adverse reactions. There wasn’t time for her to fall ill.



Eamonn sat in the shadows of her room, berating himself for returning here. He hadn’t planned on this. Especially not on this night.

The emissaries from the Seelie court rarely came to visit. He found it curious they chose now, of all times, to show their faces. Was there a spy in his court of fools? He couldn’t think of anyone who would pass secrets to his brother, but it wouldn’t be the first time. He would need to interrogate a few to ensure his safety. For the good of everyone, his brother could not know what happened on this isle.

They always made him angry. These glittery giants, women and men, dressed in full armor under the pretense that they wished to visit an old friend. None of them cared how he lived before his banishment, and they didn’t care now.

He thought the entire thing suspect, always had, but it was not within his power to deny them. If his brother wanted to keep an eye on him, then he could. But Eamonn wouldn’t make it easy on him.

Armored and silent, he stared them down. The throne room changed to ballroom, a slap in the face to the brother who was not king. They brought their own musicians, their own people, everything that they thought he didn’t have. The only thing Eamonn did was have the room cleaned.

Let them think he lived in splendor and enjoyed his life here on Hy-brasil. Eamonn enjoyed the thought of his brother’s anger.

And when it was all done, he meant to go back to his room. To break whatever he could in an attempt to cool his anger and embarrassment.

But he found himself here.

Staring at her.

Her hair fanned out around her head like the petals of a red rose. Streaks of sun kissed skin paled to milk white, beautiful and unique like the rest of her. She was soft in sleep. Softer than he’d ever seen her.

There was always a hard edge riding on her shoulders. Lines formed between her brows, expressive with all her emotions. She was an open book.

His lips quirked. She wouldn’t like how easily he read her.

One hand tucked beneath her cheek, pale lashes spread out and casting shadows. He sat himself in the darkness and counted every freckle on her face. It was the first time in years he had calmed down without crushing marble, shattering pottery, or snapping wooden frames.

He didn’t know how she did it. Even while asleep, there was something infinitely calming about her mere existence.

Should that frighten him? He felt as though it should.

She stirred in her sleep, yawning, and slowly opening her eyes.

He waited for the flinch, the jump, the terrified shriek that would make his ears rings for days. So many Fae women had reacted in a similar way.