Sorcha rubbed her eyes, yawning as Oona dragged her down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“The master has asked for you, dearie.”

“The master?” Sorcha asked. “Why would he be asking for me this early in the morning?”

“It’s not for me to say.”

“Do you know?”

“Haven’t the faintest idea! It’s just a lovely thing that he’s asked for you. He doesn’t ask for anyone.”

“And here I thought that might be just the tiniest bit frightening.”

Sorcha didn’t know what to think as she walked through the hallways in nothing but her faded cotton nightgown. Her hair stuck out in all directions, curls creating a nest of hair that hardly bounced as she moved. Sleeping always meant she had to brush the waist length mass at least a hundred times.

She spent more hours than she could count taming the wild beast of her curls. It was even worse when it was short, or she’d have sheared it at her skull.

“Wait, hang on,” Sorcha grumbled as she twisted her arm. “I’m hardly dressed for meeting with Stone.”

“Stone, is it? You’ve given him a nickname?”

The sparkle in Oona’s eyes made her uneasy. “I won’t call him master. But it’s hardly proper to meet him in my nightclothes!”

“Oh, faeries don’t have the same delicate sensibilities as humans. You’re fine as you are.”

“I most certainly am not!”

“No matter, if we go back now, we’ll be late. And I can promise you, the master won’t appreciate us being late!”

Sorcha blew out a breath to stir the curl in front of her eyes. “Why should I care what upsets the master?”

“He’s been so nice to you lately, dearie! You should be kind in return!”

“He’s been kind?” She wracked her brain, trying to remember even the slightest bit of kindness he had shown to her lately. But try as she might, she couldn’t remember even seeing him. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You didn’t notice the daisies on your bedside?”

“Those were from Boggart.”

“Nor the sweetmeats that are far better than the kitchen has ever made before?”

“You were trying new recipes. I watched you bake them!”

“There were far more dresses in your clothing chests than I remember!”

Sorcha shrugged her shoulders. “I found another chest in the hag’s hut that were my size. I’m failing to see how the master has been kind. You aren’t helping, Oona.”

“If you just looked, you could see that he had a hand in all of that.”

“I see just fine,” she ducked underneath a low hanging beam that Oona could fit underneath easily. “But he’s been hiding again.”

“Oh dearie, he’s never hiding. He’s just making sure you’re comfortable in every way he can.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” she grumbled.

Oona shoved her around a corner, through a room she didn’t recognize, and out a side door of the castle. Sorcha spun around, hands on her hips.

“I didn’t even know that door existed!” How could she? Once closed, it blended into the worn stone. “Strange.”

“Is it?” Stone’s deep voice traveled like a physical touch down her spine.

“Oh!” Sorcha spun, pressing her spine against the cold wall of the castle. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Obviously,” he said as he stepped from the shadows. Black breeches covered his legs, his ever-present dark cloak covering his form and blending into the shadows. “Although one begs to understand why you wouldn’t be looking for me? Oona must have told you I requested your presence.”

“She said you summoned me.” Sorcha stuck her chin into the air. “I don’t like being summoned and dragged out of bed.”

His gaze lowered. The burning touch of such a bright look made her knees weak and her hands clutch at the wall for support. He looked as if he could see straight through the thick cotton nightgown. It showed her ankles, which was more than enough, but somehow it felt as though he could see all of her.

Sorcha tugged it higher up her neck. “Why did you want to see me?”

“I thought perhaps we could share breakfast.”

“Breakfast? And I couldn’t get dressed to do that?” She shivered. “It’s nearly time for the first snow fall.”

“I would gladly take the blame for your shivers, if only it was my decision to not allow you further clothing.” Sorcha watched with wide eyes as he swept the cloak from his shoulders and held it out to her. “If I may.”

“So chivalrous,” she commented.

The crystals marring his face had lost most of their strangeness. She now saw him, the man beneath the scars and cruel curse. Still, she wanted to wince when she saw the new cut along his jaw.

She swept the cloak over her shoulders, his lingering warmth enveloping her. She inhaled and without thinking blurted, “Why do you always smell like mint?”

His startled laugh was a balm to her homesick soul. “Why do you ask?”

“I didn’t think it was a Tuatha dé Danann trait. Bran does not smell like mint although I believe he is the same species as you.”

“You think Bran and I are the same?” The brow not held still by crystals arched.

“Well, yes. Although he has more physical deformities, it does appear that you are similar in structure and build. You are not lesser Fae.”

“Astute. You notice things most humans would not.”

“Why do you smell like mint?”

He chuckled again. “You aren’t letting that go, are you?”

“I must have my curiosity satisfied.”

She watched as he held out an arm for her to take. Strange, she thought, that he could swing so quickly from raging bull to well-bred gentleman. He’d have to work for forgiveness, and a simple gesture of kindness wouldn’t be enough. Sorcha arched her own brow.

“I will give you your answer,” he acquiesced, “if you walk with me.”

“What happened to breakfast?” she asked as she slid her hand over his forearm. Crystals bumped underneath the fabric of his flowing white shirt.

“You seem less inclined to eat.”

“I rarely miss a meal. I would not say no to good food, even if the company may yet sour my appetite.”

A hearty laugh rang in her ears as he guided her from the castle. “You think very little of me, don’t you?”

“On the contrary. I think very highly of you and become disappointed when you do not live up to my standards.”

“Ah, and what standards are those?”

They stepped onto a dirt pathway leading them towards the ocean. The cold, autumn air bit at her cheeks and turned her nose bright red. This had always been her favorite season in Ui Neill. The grass would eventually turn brown, the leaves flaming the same color as her hair. Although she would miss the summer, autumn always had a special place in her heart.

How long had she been gone now?

She blinked away the sudden tears in her eyes and forced a grin. “If I told you my standards, you would certainly try your hardest to meet them. And then, however would I meet the real you?”

“The real me?”

“You are not the terrifying man you portray yourself as.”

The muscles under her hand bunched. “Why do you say that?”

“Oona says you’ve been leaving me gifts.” It was the only excuse she could think of to say. Sorcha didn’t believe he was the one who had left them in the first place. Boggart and the other brownies were far too kind. They liked any excuse to see her happy.

“Yes, the daisies were difficult to obtain this time of year.”

She stopped, so startled that her feet forgot how to move. Sorcha stared up at him, mouth agape. He paused when her hand slid off his arm, glancing down at her with a questioning expression.

“That was you?” she whispered.

He flushed. “Come on. If we’re late, you’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“Your surprise.”

“I thought this was just breakfast!”

“It’s a little more than that.” He shook his head and held his arm out again. Obviously impatient, he waited for her to decide.

“I—” she glanced down at his arm and back up at his face. “Why are you doing this?”

“I thought that would be rather obvious.” His gazed dipped towards her mouth, blue eyes flashing with an emotion she couldn’t—wouldn’t—name.

Sorcha couldn’t reply. Instead, she reached out and held onto his arm again. Her fingers slid over the craggy bumps and valleys, callouses whispering over the silken fabric. They both shivered at the contact. If he asked, she would say it was the cold.

He didn’t ask.

They wandered across the fields as the sun turned pink on the horizon. The birds awoke, singing their morning songs to each other. Though chilly, it was a clear morning with not a single cloud in the sky.

“Hurry,” he murmured.

They picked up speed, clambering over rocks and across seaweed. He held her steady over every bit of their journey, never letting her slip or tumble to the sand.

His handprints burned into her sides, even when he wasn’t touching her. Sorcha marveled at his strength. He could lift her without appearing tired or showing any strain. Both his hands could span her waist.

How could he be so strong? How was it possible that such a creature existed and yet so many humans didn’t know they were there?

She shook her head and pulled herself up onto a rocky incline. Catching her breath, she turned back to look at him as he hefted his bulk over the stone to join her.

“Where now?”

He pointed behind her. Tilting her head, Sorcha turned and gasped.

A waterfall tumbled from a rocky cliff into a vast pool of water. Glamour hid it from her view until she nearly fell into its edge. She hadn’t even heard the crashing thunder of water striking the ground. White foam bubbled where the waterfall met still pond.

Great stones jutted towards the sky, moss growing upon their granite surfaces. It stretched as far as her eye could see. And at the base, white horses stamped their feet in the ripples of water and tossed their heads.

She had never seen anything like it before.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“I thought you might like it.”

“I do. It’s a rare gem in a world that could use so much more beauty.”

“It gets better,” he murmured in her ear. “How much do you trust me, Sorcha?”

“Very little.”

His chuckle danced across her skin in bubbles of sensation. “Ah, you must do better than that lass. How much do you trust me?”

“Enough.”

“Close your eyes.”

She stiffened, but complied. Curiosity had always gotten her in trouble and she wouldn’t back away now. Besides, it seemed as though he was far more interesting than he let on.

Strange, but she hadn’t thought that a Fae could capture her attention so wholly. There had been many men in her town, but none of them so intriguing. So odd. So unusual.

The words rang in her ears. Of course the strange witch’s daughter, the midwife who thought she was more, fell in love with an impossible man.

His arms reached around her, chest pressed against her spine. She moved forward and back with each great inhalation, rocking on the waves of his own making.

She gasped as his fingers traced the outline of her chin. Delicately, oh so delicately he touched her. As if she might shatter with just the mere breath from his lips.

His fingers lingered at the stubborn thrust of her chin, joining together to spread across her full bottom lip. The butterfly touch trailed up her cheeks, his thumbs anchoring at her jaw.

The slightest touch whispered over her eyelids.

“Your eyelashes feel like feathers,” he whispered in her ear. “I have very little poetry for women such as you. I cannot ever compare your body to artwork, or sing you songs of lovers in a hidden grove. My experiences limit my words and talents.”

“I never wanted poetry,” she said on a soft sigh. “I only wanted a man who could see me for who I am.”

“Then open your eyes, Sorcha of Ui Neill. And see the world as it truly is.”

She blinked, opening her eyes as if she had never seen the sun. And had she ever seen it?

The veil of the world shattered through the ointment he pressed against her closed lids. Colors were suddenly so much more. The white horses grew long manes and water dripped from their foaming snouts. Webbed toes stamped the ground, their tails flicked back and forth.

His arm around her waist was suddenly more solid. More real. The crystals were more than just stone, they were imbued with magic that she could see as sparkling light dancing atop his skin.

“Oh,” she whispered. “What did you do?”

“I opened your eyes.” He nudged her backward, holding her against his chest and letting her stare without worry of balance or fear of falling. He had opened her eyes to the world she had never seen.

“I had no idea all this was here.”

“Glamour is a strange thing. Faeries place it upon everyday objects without even realizing what they do.”

One of the horses tossed its head, glancing at them with dark green eye.

“Kelpies?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t they dangerous?”

“Not to me.”

“And to me?” She tilted her head back, looking up to catch his expression.

He stared back at her. His brows smoothed and his lips curved into a soft smile. The crystals marring his eyes, lips, and skull were made more beautiful by her new sight.

“Never to you. Not as long as I stand by your side.”

She felt his low hum against her spine. It wasn’t quite a song, nor did she think he had the voice to sustain such a melody, but a rumble that came from deep within his belly. The kelpie nearest to them lifted its head.

It ambled closer, shaking its wet and dripping head. Seaweed tangled in its mane, and foam erupted from its nostrils every time it snorted.

“Have you ever wanted to touch a kelpie?” he asked.

“It’s dangerous. They’ll drag humans down into the bottom of the ocean and drown them.”

“But have you ever wanted to touch one?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Without question, I have always wondered what they felt like.”

He stepped forward, sliding his feet under hers until he walked for the both of them. His arm around her waist was comforting and strong. “Then let us fulfill that wish.”

The kelpie tossed its head as they moved, watching every twitch, every step, every breath that Sorcha took. It ignored Eamonn, perhaps the only creature in existence that was able to ignore the crystals and jagged edges. Its head swayed as she walked closer, a strange translucent glimmer spreading across its body.

“What was that?”

“That is what a glamour looks like to a Fae.”

“That?” It looked like a bubble stretched across the kelpie’s skin. Light reflected off the surface in rainbows. “But it’s so beautiful.”

“Did you think it wouldn’t be?” His hand slid under her arm, guiding it up into the air. “Deceitful things are not always ugly.”

“Shouldn’t they be?”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes, we hide our true selves to spare humans the grievous injury of our appearance.”

Sorcha looked over the kelpie, seeing the strange webbed feet, the scaled skin, the seaweed hair and did not flinch. She could understand how some humans might be afraid of it. The legends said it was dangerous, and it likely was. It was different, uncomfortable to even be around.

But that was what made it so lovely. Sorcha had been the oddity in her town, and she knew how deceiving appearances could be.

She stepped out of Stone’s comforting warmth. Her nightgown stuck to her skin as mist clung to the sodden fabric. The cloak felt heavy upon her shoulders, but did not slow her determined pace.

Her palm met the cold, wet snout of the kelpie. It huffed, bubbles foaming between her fingers.

“Hello,” she whispered.

It cocked its head to stare up at her. A strand of seaweed fell across its forehead. Sorcha didn’t hesitate, she brushed it aside and stroked her hand across damp scales.

“There. Now you can see me.”

Stone’s voice rumbled, “I’ve never seen a human treat faeries so kindly.”

“I’ve never seen a human treat faeries like anything at all.” Her heart clenched. “We have forgotten what it means to be connected to the earth, to the waves, to the creatures who care for all of those things.”

“It is why we faded from your world.”

“And I hope you know that your kind is dearly missed.” The kelpies skin was faintly like that of a snake, albeit a cold, wet one. Sorcha couldn’t stop petting the creature nor did it seem to want her to stop. Every time she pulled her hand away it would bounce its head.

“Is that so?” Sand suctioned to his feet as he walked away. Sorcha tracked the slurping sounds to the rocks where he settled. “I see no signs that humans even remember us.”

“Myths and legends teach us lessons. Tales of your kind frighten children, and I can’t say how many people have thought their babe to be a changeling. They remember you, and they blame many things upon faeries that are their own fault.”

Sorcha could not change the minds of people who were so set in their ways. She wanted to, but she also wanted to remain free of fire.

“And you stayed true to the old ways?”

The kelpie snorted on her hand and turned to provide its back. She knew what it wanted and shook her head. “No, my friend. I have no wish to visit the land beneath the waves. Go back with the others.”

Sorcha patted the broad back and made her way towards the flat rocks Stone sat upon. The water had yet to splash them although it wouldn’t have mattered. Water already weighed her dress down.

Shivering, she tucked the edges of his cloak underneath her legs. “My mother followed the old ways. She taught me how important it was to leave milk on the windowsill, offerings at the hidden forest shrines, and to always respect the way of the Fae.”

“Smart woman,” Stone said. His eyes remained trained upon the kelpies rooting through the pool’s still waters. “Would that others listened to her wisdom.”

“They thought she was a witch because strange things happened around her. Faeries helped when they could. I don’t think they meant to make her seem suspicious or strange, they just wanted to help.”

“What happened to her?”

Sorcha shivered again, placed her chin onto her knees, and sighed. “They burned her at the stake for worshiping devils. It took her nearly an hour to burn because it was so misty that they had to keep lighting the pyre over and over again. I was lucky they didn’t feel like burning a child that day.”

His bright eyes locked upon hers. “They burned a favored of the Fae?”

“I don’t think she was favored. Just one who recognized that our world would never be the same if she gave up on her beliefs.”

“And for that, they burned her.” Stone shook his head. “Your people are barbarians.”

“There is kindness in even the darkest of places. My father plucked me from my village and brought me home. He took me as a daughter, told his children that I was their equal. People such as him exist, but it is so easy to focus on the bad.”

Stone grunted. “You have a unique way of looking at the world.”

“How so?”

“You twist even negative things into positives. You refuse to think ill of anyone, even those who have wronged you. I have never seen such a creature.”

Sorcha shifted, mist playing across her face in small ice cold pricks. “And you? How would you have dealt with a dead mother and a people who betrayed you?”

He reacted as if struck. His gaze snapped away from hers, fists clenching in sudden anger. The muscles of his jaw worked. “Revenge.”

“Revenge?” Sorcha shook her head. “What good would that do?”

“I find wiping out those who have wronged you tends to soothe the soul.”

“It cannot soothe the soul in the slightest and even suggesting so is cruel. The implications of revenge are that no mercy will be shown.”

“Would you show mercy to those who killed your mother?”

“You have experience with this,” she said. Her eyes searched his for the truth and found a lingering pain she recognized. “What happened to you?”

“The Fae are not kind creatures. We do not allow for weakness to show among our people.”

“The brownies accepted Boggart back into their family with arms open wide. Even after she fell from their ranks and returned with her tail, quite literally, between her legs. Tell me again, Stone, that your people do not allow for weakness.”

The ragged sigh that rocked his shoulders tugged at her heartstrings. “The Tuatha dé Danann do not allow for weakness. The lesser Fae are far more…” He paused, seeming to struggle for the words.

“Kind.”

“Kind,” he repeated with a nod. “Yes, they are capable of forgiveness, which is more than I can say of my people.”

“Can they really not forgive? Or do they choose not to?”

His hand touched the angry wound of crystals that wrapped around his neck. “I do not have an answer for that question, Sorcha.”

She couldn’t stop staring at his throat. The markings were too familiar, yet she couldn’t pinpoint what might have caused such a wound. She had seen a man nearly decapitated once, his family had brought him to her in hopes that she might help. There hadn’t been any possible way for her to bring him back. But these markings weren’t that.

A memory surfaced of bright red skin, bruises spread in spidery tendrils, and the vacant eyes of a thief who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sorcha had been too young to understand that the hanged man was dead. She ran through the crowd and tried to help him stand up. The gasps of the crowd would always haunt her, even more so than the dead eyes of the man.

She rose onto her knees, turning towards Stone with her gaze locked upon his neck. She gave him time to back away, to brush her hand aside, to tell her to stop.

He didn’t.

Her fingers settled upon the cool surface of the crystals. The ones here were smoother than the others, like the polished gems of a crown. She dipped her fingers into the crevice. Magic, so cold it burned, tingled underneath her nails as she followed the angry line to the back of his neck.

“This was among the first,” she whispered.

“How did you know?”

“The stones feel old.”

“Worn down by time and the elements.”

“They hanged you,” she observed. “I recognize these marks, although I didn’t piece it together until now. How did you survive?”

His massive hand touched just below hers, fingering where skin met rock. “I didn’t think I would. The crystals prevent anything from killing me. I hung there for three days before they finally cut me down.”

“What did you do?”

“I existed.”

Sorcha shook her head. “Surely it was more than that? Living isn’t a reason to kill someone.”

“It was for my family.”

“Family?” Shock jolted through her body until she thumped back onto her heels. “Your family did this?”

“I told you, the Tuatha dé Danann do not forgive weakness.”

“Weakness? How is this a weakness?”

Suddenly enraged, she surged forward again. Her fingers traced the ragged edges of crystal that bisected his face. She touched the top line at the edge of his shaved skull. “This is the mark of a brave man who has endured much hardship.”

Her finger traveled down to rest just above his brow, “And this is the beginning of a journey.” She trailed over his eye and hesitated at the high rise of his cheekbone. “The mark of self-discovery.” To his lip where the crystal made it difficult to him to smile or speak. “Of bravery.” Her thumb touched his chin, “Of stubborn pride.”

He chuckled, “Stubborn?”

“I recognize familiar flaws.”

“Yes, you are certainly stubborn, little human.”

“So much so that I refuse to give up on bringing you back with me. I have to save my family, Stone.”

He growled, and she shrieked as his arms wrapped around her and lifted her into his lap. Encircling her with crystal and the scent of mint, he stared. “You refuse to give up on this cursed adventure?”

“It’s not cursed. Macha sent me herself! I made a deal, Stone. And I don’t think she’ll let me give up any time soon.”

“Macha,” he grumbled. “She is ever meddlesome. Far too interested in humankind if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You shouldn’t have made a deal with Macha.”

“It was the only way to save my family.” She reached up and cupped the good side of his face, leaving the raw edges free to her gaze. “I will not regret making this deal, because it led me to meet the most magical people, a wondrous land, an enchanted place filled with all the delights I never would have seen otherwise.”

He tilted his face in her palm. Light sparked off the edges of crystals and nearly blinded her. “I am glad you will remember this place fondly.”

“And she brought me to you.”

Stone stiffened in her arms, his eyes snapping open, burning into her soul. “Why would you say that?”

“You are the most intriguing man I have ever met.”

“Monster.”

“Man.” She pulled him closer, pressing her forehead against his and tasting mint upon the air. He had endured so much, had survived it, and all she could think was that she’d finally met someone who could understand her.

This was a man who had seen what perceived differences could do, in the most drastic of terms. His own family had condemned him for his appearance and had disregarded his suffering.

She wanted to fix him so much, her heart ached.

“I am sorry life has been so cruel. You should never have suffered, but you are strong and kind underneath all those layers of stone and gem.”

“It made me strong,” he growled, his breath fanning over her lips.

“Oh yes, you are very strong.”

She heard the creaking of his teeth grinding against each other. “You should flee this isle and tuck yourself back into bed.”

“Why?”

“I am not the kind of man you want to fall in love with, Sorcha.”

“Who said anything about love?” She surged up, pressing her nose against his and her chest flush to his crystal shoulder. “My time here is finite, unlike your long-lived kind. All I can ask is for memories that will fill my thoughts with magic. You’ve done that for me already, Stone.”

He growled. “My name is not Stone.”

“Then would you tell me what it is already?”

Her heart stopped as his broad hand pressed against the small of her back. He cupped her head and slanted his lips across hers, pulling the breath from her lungs as his tongue tangled with hers. Heat spread across her skin like a powerful desert wind.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, knees tucked against his ribs. It didn’t matter that the crystals dug into her thighs or that her lungs screamed for air. The taste of mint, lemon, and man coated her tongue and made her lips tingle with new desires.

He groaned, clenching his fist at the back of her head. Her hair tugged, little needles of crystal biting the back of her skull. She should tell him it hurt, but the warmth of his kiss was overwhelming. He didn’t just kiss or taste.

He claimed.

Sorcha gripped his crystal shoulders and let her mind free. She focused upon the feather-light touches stroking the dip of her spine. The lingering pass of sharp crystal and velvet soft lips. The hypnotic rhythm of his darting tongue.

He pulled back, and they both gasped in air. His hands fisted in the material of his cloak wrapped around her, but he did not pull or rip. She thought he might, considering how his hands were shaking.

“I thought I had imagined that first kiss,” he whispered.

“Did you?”

“I was drunk.”

“You smelled of whiskey.”

“I wasn’t entirely in my right mind.”

“I noticed,” she smiled. It was impossible not to touch his face, now that she knew he wouldn’t flinch away. The crystals were a tantalizing texture against the heat of his skin. “Would you have hurt Oona?”

“I have no way of knowing. The Fae are…precipitous at the best of times.”

“Easily angered?”

“Emotions do not come naturally to us, and when we do feel, it is a thousand times stronger than any other species.”

“Ah,” she whispered as he pressed his lips against her fingers. “That is why Boggart changed so much when she lost the hag.”

“And when she met you.”

“I am no paragon nor miracle maker.”

“No, but you are infinitely kind and you always remember to thank us for our services. Do you know how much that means to a faerie?”

“It’s what I would want them to do for me,” she replied. “They have given me no reason to not be kind. Their hearts are good and their intentions pure, no matter the cause. This has been my dream since I was a child, to sit here on the edges of a pool with kelpies and faeries surrounding me.”

“Then I am glad I could make your dreams come true.” He said the words as if she had given him a gift.

She rolled off him, planting her butt back on the cold rocks with a small smile on her face. “Did you say something about breakfast?”

“In truth, I forgot it at the castle.”

“Did you?” Sorcha burst into bright peals of laughter. “Stone, that was the entire point of this trip!”

“The entire point was introducing you to the kelpies,” he grumbled. But he smiled that sideways smile she recognized.

She pressed a hand to her stomach. “It was a magical experience I’m not likely to forget. Can I come back and see them again?”

“As long as you are with one of the Fae.”

“Why?”

“Kelpies serve their purpose. They are not good at resisting temptation.” He stood and held out a hand for her to take. “And you are most certainly tempting.”

She grasped his hand and did her best not to wince as the crystals on his palm dug into her skin. “But they aren’t dangerous to the Fae?”

“Not at all. They recognize us as one of their own. You, however, are human.”

Sorcha tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ears. “My father used to jest that I had faerie blood, because of these.”

“If you had faerie blood, the kelpie would have known it. He tried to get you to climb atop his back.”

“It didn’t feel like he was trying to kill me.” She glanced over at the male kelpie who flicked his seaweed tail in their direction. “It felt different from that.”

“They have their purpose, and they know it well. He would have pulled you underneath the waves if you’d let him.”

Sorcha didn’t respond, but placed her hand on top of Stone’s forearm and let him draw her from the magical place. Her mind stayed with the kelpies, wondering if he would have harmed her after all. It didn’t seem like that was the intention.

Those dark green eyes had seemed almost sad. Sorcha couldn’t believe it wanted to hurt her. Rather more that it simply wanted to show her something remarkable.

* * *

Flour burst into the air in great white clouds. The brownie it struck stared in horror at the mess covering her apron, then narrowed her mouse-like eyes and twitched her elongated snout.

“M’lady!”

Sorcha covered her mouth with a giggle and let the remaining flour drop back into its bag. “Sorry!”

“You are not sorry! I watched you pick it up and throw it right at me!”

“You said you needed flour.”

“I said I needed help cooking! You’re making a mess!” The brownie tsked. “Whatever are we going to do with you, child?”

“Perhaps give me something to do rather than bother you.”

“Is that your game?” The brownie sniffed. “Working around the kitchens is no place for a lady.”

“I’m not a lady. I’m a street rat turned midwife who lives above a brothel! How many times do I have to tell you? Give me something to do with my hands!”

“I most certainly will not.”

“You could use the help,” Sorcha trailed the brownie around the table, tapping her soft head as she went. “I can bake bread, I can peel potatoes, I even used to make soup for the entire family. I think I could figure out how to make even more than that.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

The brownie whirled and brandished a wooden spoon. “Why are you so persistent? Go make yourself useful somewhere else, child!”

“Where? In the gardens? Cian’s already chased me out three times today!”

“Did he use the pitchfork?”

Sorcha rubbed her behind. “Yes.”

“Good. That’s the only way to get nasty little things like you to stay where they’re told.”

Sorcha groaned and plopped down on a chair. “What am I supposed to do then? Wait around until someone gets hurt? That’s dangerous you know, I’ll just start causing accidents to ease my own boredom.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the brownie said as she slipped off the apron and beat it with the spoon. “You’re too kind for that.”

“Yes, I am. But I have given it a good hard thought!”

“Thoughts aren’t actions, love. Now would you get out of my kitchen? I’ve got to make a day’s worth of meals for all the faeries and you aren’t helping.”

“But I want to help!”

Steam rose in the air from the big pot of soup the brownie was working on. She waved a hand and knives chopped the vegetables, measuring cups scooped up milk and salt, even the dish cloths Sorcha had ripped down rose back into their place.

Magic made everything so much easier. It felt almost like cheating.

Sorcha sighed and banged her forehead down on the center table.

“You’re getting my table dirty.”

“I’m resting,” she murmured against the grain. “Isn’t that what you all keep telling me to do?”

Oona’s voice joined them, thoroughly amused. “Resting is what you’re supposed to be doing regularly. Somehow you forget that.”

“I’ve rested so much that I don’t even want to sleep at night!”

“Well, dearie, that’s the life of a lady.”

“Then lady’s lives are boring and I want my old one back.”

Oona rubbed her back as she passed, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “We need to go back to your room. Now. But you cannot seem suspicious, no one can know.”

Now that was exactly what Sorcha needed to spice up the day. She sat up straight and plastered a fake smile on her face. “Oona, I think I have a new idea for decorating my room. Would you come with me and suggest plants that might grow?”

“You want to plant things?”

“Of course, but I’ll need your opinions. I can’t understand what would grow here and what wouldn’t.”

The brownie turned and gave them both a suspicious glance. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Sorcha said. “I just want to redecorate.”

“Oona, you be careful with that little human. She’s a menace!”

Oona smiled, “Oh she’s a dear little thing, just bored is all. I’ll take her out of your hair, if it pleases you.”

“It does,” the brownie grumbled. “And make sure she doesn’t come back any time soon!”

As if she would go back into that kitchen run by a stuck-up mouse.

Oona hustled her from the room with a hand on her back. Sorcha should have been alarmed at the speed they raced towards the portal, but excitement coursed through her veins.

“Don’t you run the kitchens?”

“Not anymore. The master said that’s only for people he can trust to not put poison in his meals.”

“Rude!” Sorcha blurted. “He knows you’re loyal.”

“He does, but I betrayed him, dearie. It was the right thing to do. Now, open this wall so we can get inside. It’s of the utmost importance.”

The fear in Oona’s voice rattled Sorcha. This wasn’t an exciting trip, or even something that would end in a baby. Her brows furrowed, and she pressed the stone pommel hard.

“Is everything all right?” she asked as they raced into her bedroom. “Did something happen to one of the faeries?”

“They’re fine. It’s you I’m worried about. You’ve been summoned.”

“Summoned?” Sorcha snorted. “By who? The master again?”

“By the king.”

Her ears stopped working. All she could hear was a painful ringing sound. The crashing of bells and funeral dirges.

“The king?” she repeated. “How does the king know I exist?”

“I don’t know, my dear. But he knows and you cannot refuse him”

“Who is the king of the Seelie now?”

“His Highness the Wise.” Oona spit on the floor. “And may he rot forever in his castle. He does not respect the lesser Fae, and I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. Pathetic excuse for a man, and dangerous. You must be careful with your words.”

“I won’t go.” Sorcha shook her head. “He’s not my king; I don’t have to answer.”

“He is everyone’s king. If you don’t go, he will send someone to hunt you down. The Wild Hunt is nothing compared to the creatures the king can call down upon you.”

Then she had to go. There were no other options, but Sorcha still wracked her mind trying to figure out a way to escape.

“The king?” she repeated. “What would he want with me?”

“Midwives are scarce, and rumor has it his most favored concubine is pregnant.”

“Why doesn’t he have a Queen?”

“Not this king,” Oona muttered. “He has chosen to rule alone.”

“Isn’t that a bad idea?”

“It’s a terrible idea! The Seelie queen has always tempered the king. She is the kindness to his justice, the heart of the people. She is giving and just. That has always been the way of it until His Highness the Wise took the throne.”

Oona swung a cloak over Sorcha’s shoulders, smoothing the fabric until it settled just right. Worry furrowed her leaf-like brow.

“You’re making me worried,” Sorcha said with a soft smile. She touched Oona’s brow gently. “I won’t do anything rash. And, as you remember, I’m a knowledgeable midwife.”

“Don’t say a thing about living on Hy-brasil,” Oona advised. “He won’t like that information very much. All we can do is hope his informants don’t tell him how they found you.”

“Why shouldn’t I tell him about Hy-brasil?”

Oona guided her towards the carved portal and lifted her hands into the air. Delicate, twig fingers swung in the air as she called magic to life. “No matter what you do, do not mention the master.”

“Why can’t I mention Stone? Or Hy-brasil?” Sorcha backed towards the portal and stared Oona down. “I need to know before I make a mistake!”

The cold touch of the portal slid up her ankle and calf before Oona bowed her head. “You’ll figure it out when you get there, dearie. Just keep us all, and yourself, safe.”

The pixie reached forward and shoved Sorcha’s shoulder. She tumbled onto a cold marble floor, worry spinning her head.

She would know when she got there? What in the world did that mean?

“Ah,” the cold voice made her freeze. “You must be the midwife.”

It was so inhuman that she had no difficulty pinpointing to whom the voice belonged. The king himself waited on the other end of the portal, and Oona hadn’t even mentioned that. Sorcha still had flour dusting her skirts!

She placed her hands firmly on the floor, following the lines of gold in the polished stone all the way to the most extravagant throne she had ever seen. It was so tall it touched the ceilings, feathers and fairy wings turning it into a testament of Fae. Red billowing curtains stretched from the top all the way to the ground like theater curtains.

A man reclined in its center. This was all far too much show for a midwife, but the silver cape he wore trailed three men’s length onto the floor. His white blonde hair reached his waist, just touching the embroidered waistcoat he wore. Not a single stitch was out of place.

Guards stood at attention all around, their golden armor gleamed in the sunlight pouring from the open ceiling, nearly blinding her. They clutched swords the same height as Sorcha in their hands.

“Your highness,” she said and bowed her head again. “I am the midwife.”

“Good. I have use for your skills. Come with me, human.” His voice was as cold as the bitter blizzards in the dead of winter.

She shivered and rose to her feet. “It is always a pleasure to provide services to those who require them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I need a new concubine.” His feet entered her line of vision. Perfectly manicured shell pale toes framed by his golden sandals. “Who can say no to a king?”

He lifted a hand, and her gaze locked upon his fingertips. Stained black as night, his nails were pointed. She had seen the cause before in a previous patient. By the time she arrived, the woman had already been comatose.

Opium addiction was a dangerous beast to tame.

The stained fingers slid underneath her chin and tilted her face to the light. She was hesitant to look him in the eye—kings could be quite strange—but Sorcha had never been cowed before.

She looked up and her world ended.

Stone stared back at her. Or not Stone, but what he might have been if crystals hadn’t cracked through his skull.

Perfect cheekbones, flawless skin, full lips that she had seen quirk to the side so many times she knew each line and fold. His eyes frightened her most. Vivid blue, like the sky after a violent lightning storm and so familiar her heart hurt. Now, she saw cruelty reflected in those eyes. She missed the flawed fissures and frown lines surrounding them.

“You’ll do,” he said as if she wasn’t about to faint. “Come with me.”

Her feet stuck to the floor. He turned away from her with a flourish of his cape, and still she didn’t move.

The king? How did he look exactly like Stone?

The Seelie King glanced over his shoulder and arched a perfect brow. “Are you so foolish that you do not understand an order when you hear one?”

Her Stone. Her kind, disfigured Stone was not reflected in this strange apparition before her. She suddenly understood why Stone reacted so violently when she mentioned family.

This man hadn’t just stolen Stone’s birthright. He’d taken a kingdom, a throne, mother, father, brother.

Even his face.

Oona’s voice echoed in her mind. Do not let the king know where she came from. Do not mention the master. No wonder the pixie had been terrified.

Tears pricked her eyes. She had so misjudged Stone as a cruel man who saw no other solution than revenge for those who wronged him. This wasn’t just a family squabble. His twin had ripped away his life and inserted himself into what was rightfully Stone’s.

She wanted to smack the perfect face of the king. She wanted to drag her nails across his cheek so he too might feel the pain and anguish he had caused.

But she couldn’t. Sorcha needed to keep a cool mind to get through his alive. Under no circumstances would she risk Stone’s life.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” She dipped into a curtsey, hiding her angry tears and red flush. “Please, lead me to the lady I might assist.”

“You are far too presumptuous.” He reached forward and fingered a lock of her hair. “I wonder what Fae calls you slave?”

It was too close. “No one, your highness. I came from the human realm.”

“And who let you into my kingdom?”

“I have always been close to the faeries. My mother left her offerings every week and passed along the respect in her bloodline.”

“Respect.” He let her hair drop as his lip curled in disgust. “Your kind has little understanding of the word.”

The king turned, lifted an imperious hand, and walked away.

The air rang with clanging metal as the guards slammed their swords against their chest plates and followed their king. Sorcha tucked her arms against her sides and tried not to trip. The guards were so close to her that she could feel the cold air radiating from their armor.

It all seemed to be far more fanfare than necessary. They were all over two feet taller than Sorcha. Why did they need so many guards for just her? She wasn’t likely to be able to fight one of them, let alone fifteen.

She caught glimpses of the Seelie castle from between the soldiers. It was as if the entire palace was made of light. White floors, golden ceilings, rays of sunshine that bounced until it hurt her eyes to look into some of the rooms.

How did they live like this? Everything was too perfect, too pristine. Her fingers itched to leave a smudged print on the glistening floor. Anything to prove that this place was real and lived in.

Sorcha glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of the faeries trailing after them. Brownies and hobgoblins, dressed in little more than burlap sacks. They held brooms and dustbins, sweeping up any dirt that might have fallen from their feet. More trailed after them with hand rags and water. Their gaunt faces were haunting and hungry.

The Wise King, indeed.

Clenching her fists, Sorcha reminded herself where she was. This was his land, his palace, his kingdom. Although she wanted to free every faerie she found, she would only get herself killed. Or worse, reveal where Stone hid.

She didn’t even know if he was hiding. Stone had spoken of revenge. Did he have a plan she didn’t know about? Were the other faeries privy to such information?

Questions whirled through her mind until she could hardly think or breathe.

There were no answers in the pristine walls and sun-flooded rooms. She would have to wait until she returned home. Then she would corner Stone and force him to answer all the things he had not shared.

They marched through a pavilion, giant stone arches outlining the square. Flowers bloomed, larger than life and vibrantly colored, filling the air with a sticky sweet scent.

“Would you like a drink?” the king asked. “The honey from these flowers are said to be the most rare and exotic treat.”

“No, thank you, I am not thirsty.” She would not take any chances.

“Food? We have many things you may never have dreamed of before.”

“No. I ate before I arrived.”

A grin spread across his sculpted lips. “As smart as you are brave. You are an intriguing little human.”

“I know the ways of the Fae,” she said. “It is an honor to serve when I can, but I do not wish to linger here.”

“You have someone to go home to?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.” He licked his lips as if she had provided a most delicious delicacy.

“I rarely lie.”

“I can taste it in the air. Humans are so easy to read. Your eyes dilate, your chest heaves with your guilty breath. You are a book that I can peel open and read every word.”

She hated him. She hated every dark word that dripped from his tongue because she knew he was right. He was nothing like his brother and that frightened her more than anything else.

They walked through the pavilion and he rapped his knuckles against a marble door.

“My love,” he called out. “I have brought you a gift.”

“I do not wish for a gift!”

“You will want this one.”

“Please, my king. I do not feel well today.”

“Precisely.” He shoved the door open and nodded towards Sorcha. “Enter.”

“She does not seem to wish for visitors.”

“It is not her choice. My concubines obey to my every whim and fulfil my every desire. I wish for her to be seen and you will ensure she is healthy.”

Sorcha curtseyed. “Then your wish is my command.”

As she passed, he reached out and grabbed her chin. “If she becomes ill after you touch her, no one will be able to hide you from my wrath. I will peel your skin back inch by inch and I will keep you alive through it all.”

“I wouldn’t dare harm someone who needed my help.”

Sorcha glared at him, meeting his gaze without flinching. This man could threaten her all he wished. She refused to bow to a man who treated his loved ones like slaves.

The king dropped his hand, chuckling. “I will leave three guards by the door. If they hear anything unusual, even the slightest of sounds, they will bring your head to me on a platter.”

“I am doubtful my head would satisfy your pallet,” she growled. “Might I suggest a more tasteful organ?”

The grin on his face was as feral as her words. Fionn turned, snapped his fingers, and left with half of his guards. More than three remained standing at attention.

Good. Perhaps the king realized just how dangerous a little human midwife could be.

“At ease gentlemen,” she muttered to the guards. “I wouldn’t want you to faint in all that hot armor.”

Sorcha didn’t wait to see what kind of startled expressions they tossed her way. She stepped into Elva’s room and slammed the door behind her. Let them rot while they waited to see what she might do. Sorcha didn’t care. If they served such a horrible king, then they deserved the same fate.

Smoke curled around her waist like tendrils of fingers. Frowning, Sorcha turned and peered into the bright, sunlit room.

She had never been inside an opium den and had never desired to do so. Now, she knew what they looked like.

Red velvet hung in great sheets from their ceiling, tangling with golden wire twisted into leaves. Gemstones hung in sparkling tendrils from above. From floor to ceiling, smoke coiled around all the opulence.

Hookahs littered the floor, laying atop mountains of pillows and spilling liquid to the floor. Three faerie attendants lay stretched across the ground. Bark skin made them blend into the ground, their lips and fingers stained black by opium tea.

“Elva?” Sorcha whispered, using the faerie’s true name on a whim. “I am a midwife.”

“Midwife?” The bed rustled. The faerie woman pulled the curtains aside. “What are you doing here?”

“Your king summoned me.”

Elva ripped the curtains to the floor. Her grace disappeared under the haze of drugs. “You are in grave danger.”

“I am here to help you.”

“If he invited you here, then he knows precisely who you are. And he knows where you come from.”

The words made Sorcha freeze. The faerie had so many drugs in her system, that surely she wasn’t revealing that she knew about Hy-brasil. Or did she?

“I come from the human realm,” Sorcha said. “I am here to make certain you are healthy. It is what your king wishes.”

The faerie fell against Sorcha. “You do not understand. You do not know him. He wants to hurt me, so he brought you here. You need to go.”

“What is wrong? Elva, you need to speak to me. If there is something I might do to help you—”

Black tipped fingers pressed against Sorcha’s mouth. The faerie’s eyes were wild. “No. No there is nothing you can do to save me.”

“Save you?” Sorcha repeated. “Do you need saving?”

“What could be done for me was lost long ago, little human.”

The panic made Sorcha nervous. She held the much larger woman in her arms and pressed Elva’s head into her shoulders. Tears soaked through the fabric on her shoulder.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Sorcha pressed closer until their bellies touched. It had been nearly a month since she had seen Elva.

Smooth stomach met smooth stomach.

“Are you not pregnant?” Sorcha whispered.

“He wrapped me in silk and velvet. He called me his love and tore me from everything I loved.”

“Where is your child, Elva?”

“Gone. With everything else.”

“What happened?”

“Life.” The faerie woman pulled back, swiping at her tears in anger. “Life for a Tuatha dé Danann royal. There is nothing you can do to help me, midwife. I made a deal with a devil and take a snake to bed each night.”

“Elva—”

“I can help you.”

“What?” Sorcha shook her head. “I do not need help. I need to make sure you are healthy, and perhaps that is why your king brought me here.”

“He did not bring you here for me. He brought you here for a lesson to be learned. He does not believe that me losing the child was merely because it was my first and because faeries do not carry children well. You are his scapegoat. His reasoning behind the loss of his child.”

“I will not give you anything to prevent childbirth.” Fear twisted around Sorcha’s tongue, slowing her words into a slur.

“We both know that is the truth. But he has never cared for the truth.”

What a sad existence this woman lived. Sorcha tucked her arm around Elva’s side and nudged her back towards the bed. It was unclear whether the woman was speaking from the heart or a drug-induced panic.

Either way, Sorcha’s job was to heal. She couldn’t mend the rift between Elva and her king. She couldn’t even touch the pain that stained the woman’s soul. All she could do was get her settled in bed and quiet her mind.

She tucked the faerie into bed and smoothed her hair from her sweat slicked forehead. “Where are you from, Elva?”

“Cathair an Tsolas.”

“The city of light?” Sorcha smiled. “I’ve heard of the legends. It is a place constantly filled with the sun.”

“It sparkles when you look upon it.”

“Tell me of your city, Elva. I dearly love stories.”

Elva whispered tales of a magical city filled with Tuatha dé Danann and faerie subjects. She laced legends Sorcha recognized with truths that spoke of pristine streets and people wearing the most outlandish costumes.

All the while, Sorcha cleaned. She lifted the dryads from their stupor and handed them out the door to the guards. The men seemed surprised that she would dare lay a hand upon any faerie.

“Not a word,” she growled at them. “Take these ladies back to their quarters, or where ever you put them.”

“They stay with the concubine.”

“And I say they go. If you wish to argue, please tell your king to meet me here. Otherwise, put those women where they can sleep off the opium.”

The guards stared at each other, shrugged, and two left with the faeries tucked under their arms.

Sorcha closed the door once more. Elva’s privacy could be contained within these walls. No guards needed to gossip any more than they already were going to. The king and his favored concubine both relied upon opium. Enough that their fingers were stained with its poison.

The story of a beautiful city filled the air. It twisted in the smoke and filtered out the windows as Sorcha threw them open. Fresh air would do a world of good for this room.

She piled the pillows against the far wall and placed her fists upon her hips. There wasn’t much else she could do in such a fine room. This wasn’t built to be a comfortable living place, but a feast for the senses.

“You don’t live in a very practical bedroom,” she murmured. “Pretty it might be, but useful it is not.”

Elva didn’t stop mumbling her story. The words seemed to ground her. The opiates were slowly filtering out of her system as Sorcha puttered about.

She stuck her finger in a small groove in the wall. A door popped open, revealing what looked to be all the items she would need to clean.

“Convenient,” Sorcha said. A bucket of water waited for her, along with a mop that looked as though it had never been used before. Why keep something in a closet if it would not be used?

Faeries. They would never make sense to her.

She poured the water onto the floor and scrubbed stains and smells. “Elva! Enough with the story my dear, I think I know enough to believe I lived there.”

“Humans can’t live there.”

“No? That’s a shame. We’re not all that bad.”

“I’m beginning to see that.” The fog had cleared from Elva’s voice. Now, she sounded more ashamed than babbling. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning.”

“Yes, but why?”

“Because there is hookah oil smudged into your floor, and the entire place reeks of opium.” Sorcha paused to blow a red curl from her forehead. “Don’t you ever have anyone scrub the floors?”

“None other than you.”

“Hmph. If you aren’t going to do it yourself, you should have someone clean at least every once and a while.”

“Why not you?”

“I’m not for hire.” Nor would she ever be. The longer she was in this place, the less Sorcha liked it. How had Stone grown up in this place?

The thought filled her mind until it was all she could think of. Stone had lived here. He had grown up here. The king was his brother. And the king’s concubine sat only a few feet from her.

Moving the mop once more, Sorcha stared down at her work. “Elva?”

“Yes?”

“Did you know that the king has a twin brother?”

“It’s blasphemy to even mention that the king has a sibling.”

“Does that mean you won’t tell me about him?”

Elva rolled onto her side to watch Sorcha work. “I knew him.”

“The king?”

“His twin.”

“What was he like?” For once, she could speak about Stone with someone who wouldn’t hide the truth from her. There were enough opiates in Elva’s system to loosen her tongue. This might be the moment when she finally figured out his story.

“He was an impressive man. The king and queen took different routes to raising their sons. The eldest boy tended towards the wild and feral faeries. They feared he might turn Unseelie, so they convinced him to train his mind and body as a warrior. He was the most fearsome creature who ever lived.”

“You speak as if he no longer exists.” Sorcha couldn’t clean and listen at the same time. She leaned the mop against the wall and sat down on a stool. “Is he dead?”

“Gone. And if you’re lost to this world, you’re as good as dead.”

“Where?”

“Banished. Some say he still lives on Hy-brasil, but I have many contacts there. If he lived, I would know.”

“Do you think he was murdered?”

“I wouldn’t put it past the king to do everything in his power to keep the throne. His twin was the favored son. He was perfect until his brother destroyed him.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sorcha murmured. “You said you knew him?”

“As best as anyone could. He was older than I and always fighting the Unseelie. There was something wild in him that could not be tamed. He frightened me. He frightened most of the faerie women, but we all wanted him. You know we used to call him the red stag?”

“The red stag? Why?”

“There was something in him that wasn’t faerie at all. Something that spoke of beasts in the wood, whispers on the wind, magic in his blood that didn’t come from the Tuatha dé Danann. He was dangerous, and I think his brother saw that in him.”

Sorcha hung on every word. She leaned forward until she perched on the very edge of the stool. “What did the king think his brother would do?”

“He would change everything,” Elva whispered. “He didn’t see the lesser Fae as creatures made to work. He saw them as people, valued them as soldiers and friends. That is not the Seelie way.”

“Is change such a bad thing?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Sorcha’s heart broke for this shell of a woman. Her feet carried her to the other woman’s side. With as much gentleness as she could muster, Sorcha tucked her back underneath the covers.

“Try to sleep,” she murmured.

“Will it help?”

“I don’t know if anything will help. But I find that a good night’s rest and quiet dreams always seem to ease the soul.”

“My dreams are all nightmares.” Elva turned onto her side, away from Sorcha’s kind hands. “But at least I know that nightmares aren’t happening, no matter how tragic they are to experience.”

Sorcha stayed until Elva’s breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep.

What had this woman endured? What had they all endured?

She stood slowly, taking care to not shake the bed. They all had such tragic stories, such heartbreaking lives where hardships did not end.

Humans struggled throughout their entire existence. Poverty, death, illness, were all things that humans understood came with their humanity. Sorcha had never thought that faeries would also struggle. They were spirits of nature, surely they would live better lives?

She had been wrong.

“You got her to sleep?” The king’s voice was quiet as he entered. “I don’t remember the last time she laid herself down without a fight.”

“She needed comfort.”

“And you think I’m incapable of providing that,” he murmured as he sat on the edge of her bed.

“It is not my place to judge, Your Majesty.” But they both heard the hidden words beneath her quiet tones. Yes, she blamed him. She blamed him for a lot more than just Elva’s unhappiness.

He stared down at the beautiful faerie he called concubine. There was something about his expression that made Sorcha feel as though she were intruding. He didn’t glare, or grasp at her flesh. He simply stared at her with a soft expression and followed the line of her cheek with his gaze.

“I love her,” he said. “I love her so much it hurts to breathe. But that is one of the hardest things about being king. If I marry her, I put her in harm’s way. If I leave her as concubine, she stays safe, but she hates me.”

Sorcha’s tongue got ahead of her mind, words slipping from between her lips without permission. “I don’t think it is the title that offends her.”

“No,” he chuckled. “No, it’s everything. I am not my brother. I do not see the lesser Fae as creatures capable of having positions of power. I do not believe giving them free will benefits our people. The old ways have worked for a very long time. Changing things leads to unanticipated endings, and I will not risk the future of our people on the dreams of others.”

“I asked her if change was a bad thing, and she said she didn’t know. Now I ask you the same, King of the Seelie Fae. Do you believe change is bad?”

He looked at her with a troubled expression wrinkling his brow. “The Fae are unused to change. Perhaps you would be better suited to answer such a question.”

“I think controlling the future with an iron grasp only limits the possibilities of tolerance and positive change.”

“You are far too wise to be human.”

“I am not Fae,” she said.

“You are something else entirely.” He looked back down at Elva, fingering the edge of her blanket before standing. “I owe you a boon.”

“A boon? From the King of the Seelie? That does not seem a wise choice to offer.”

“And yet I offer it freely. Easing her troubled soul is worth more than just a boon, but I do not believe you will use such a gift in a way I will agree with.”

He held out his hand for her to take. Sorcha raised a brow and hesitantly grasped his hand in hers.

She wanted to trust him if only because he looked like Eamonn. His palm was smooth against her calloused fingers. No crystals bit into her skin. No scars abraded the sensitive flesh of her wrist. He was perfect. Everything Stone was not.

Sorcha shivered. “Then I accept your boon with the understanding that I do not agree with your choices, King.”

“You are not the first to disagree with me and you will not be the last. Know that I am grateful for your assistance, and will not forget it.”

“I hope someday that is useful.” She pulled away from him and scooped up her cloak.

“As do I, little midwife,” he said. “For I fear you and I will face each other on different sides of a battlefield someday.”

Sorcha glanced over her shoulder, hand on the door to her freedom. “Have you consulted with anyone to see your future?”

“I know my future without having to ask any of the Unseelie their opinions. Both of my endings result in killing myself. Either this flesh, or that of my mirror.”

Something inside her clicked like a key turning in a lock.

He knew.

He knew she lived with Stone. He knew where she came from, and still he ordered her here.

And now he was letting her go.

“Why?” she whispered.

“The end will come whether you are involved in this story or not, midwife. I believe it will be far more interesting with your intervention.”

“Why is it that all Fae seem to think that their own future is a story?” Sorcha said. “There is no story here! No one will sing of two brothers who destroyed each other!”

“How can you know that for certain?” The king waved a bejeweled hand. “There are stranger stories told to this day. Keep your head up, little midwife. Your journey has only just begun.”

“I want no part in this story.”

“You’re already in it. War is coming. Tell my brother to enjoy his last few days of life.”