Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(99)

She liked being pressed against his chest far too much. He was safe, and broad, and so much more than any man she had ever met before.

She said something, it could have been anything, she didn’t know what. But he tilted his head back and laughed so hard that the corded muscles of his neck stood out in stark relief. The crystals gaped at the wound caused by his hanging, and she couldn’t see the disfigurement anymore.

He was beautiful. An instrument of power and symbol of strength.

Stone spun her into his arms, pressing his cheek against the top of her head before unraveling her. He pressed her spine against his chest, dipping until he could whisper in her ear, “How did you know I was to be king?”

“You carry yourself as if you were meant to rule.”

“And Oona told you.”

He would taste the lie, so she said nothing and glanced over her shoulder. “Does it really matter how I know, Stone?”

His expression turned so fierce that she thought he might crush her. Instead, he traced his finger down her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. “Eamonn.”

“What?” she gasped.

“My name is Eamonn.”

Before she could comment on such a gift, he spun them in wide circles around the room until she tossed her head back and laughed. This was perfect. Every single moment was perfect and sweet.

And he was perfect. Every broken bit of him, was perfect for her.

He had brought together all the people who meant something to her. Every faerie who had given her gifts, kindness, laughter, peace. They were all here in their finest outfits and it didn’t matter that they had no silk nor velvet to share.

Their hearts beat as one. Samhain had never been celebrated by such a strong family of people.

They passed the day in each other’s arms. Every now and then, they would stop for food and drink. Sorcha’s feet ached, but she didn’t want to stop dancing. So she would stuff her face, tease the faeries she saw along the way, but she never strayed far from his side.

There was an impending sense of doom, something she couldn’t explain or understand. Although this night felt as though they found each other for the very first time, tomorrow was uncertain.

Her siblings’ voices whispered in her mind. This was how a woman became a mistress. Fall in love with the wrong man, and disaster was sure to follow. He should be a king! And Sorcha? She was a midwife from so far away that he wouldn’t even know the name of her town.

Sorcha brushed the voices aside, not wanting to worry about the future tonight.

Another voice joined her siblings. “Tell my brother to enjoy his last few days.” She couldn’t tell Stone—Eamonn, she reminded herself—that she’d met his twin. She refused to issue a warning she wasn’t certain held any weight.

She had a boon from the king of the Seelie Fae. If he wanted to kill his brother, then she would use her boon against that. Eamonn would live. They could stay on this isle until the end of time.

And then the blood beetles would devour her family.

It was so easy to forget reality here. She understood the many stories of men and women who spent centuries in the Otherworld only to return and find everything gone. Life was so easy here. There were no responsibilities, no people to take care of, only herself and her own whims.

Perhaps someday she would forget the echoes of her family. Tonight, she certainly would. But tomorrow morning, Sorcha knew she would remember every bit of the guilt she sewed into her bones.

The music quieted as the sun dipped below the horizon. Her dress stuck to her skin and her hair billowed around her like a red cloud. She leaned against Eamonn’s side and stood at the window staring at the bright streaks of colored clouds.

“Have you enjoyed your Samhain, m’lady?” he asked.

“I believe this was the most enjoyable celebration I have had the pleasure of joining.”

“What was your favorite part?”

“The company.”

“Ah,” he chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Present company excluded, I would hope.”

“Hope? Why would you hope for exclusion from that grouping?”

Eamonn spread his hands wide. The pink light of the sunset played off the crystals. “I’m hardly fit to grace the halls of lords and ladies. The dogs may enter, but the wolves must stay beyond the door.”

She hated hearing him speak of himself like that. So many years of torment and disapproval from family and friend led to self-hatred. She had seen it in herself.

It was so much easier to say he was wrong and ignore the emotions reflected in herself.

Sorcha reached forward and intertwined her fingers with his. “Even wolves can be tender, loyal, and brave hearted. I would rather run with them in the wild than paint my face and try to blend into the walls.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I forget who I speak with.”

“A midwife?”

“A druid priestess with far more power than she admits.” He pressed his lips against the backs of her knuckles. “I’d like to show you something.”

“Another surprise? Eamonn, I might faint away if you keep up with this. I’m convinced someone has stolen your body and masquerades as a gentleman in your flesh.”

His eyes flashed. “I enjoy the sound of my name upon your lips far too much.”

A shiver trailed down her spine. “Then I shall endeavor to use it upon every occasion.”