Eamonn watched her heave the sword over the edge and felt his resolve shatter into a thousand pieces. His grandfather’s sword, his legacy, now gone.

He’d seen the hand raise from the waves to grasp the blade. If she had simply thrown it into the sea, he might have recovered it. But he knew the claw-tipped fingers. A Fomorian had swayed her and taken the relic for itself.

“What have you done?” he asked.

“What you should have done a long time ago.”

“That sword was the only assurance we had at winning this war!”

“Do you really believe that?” She spun on him, the cloud of her red hair billowing in her anger. Her cheeks stained red as she glared him down.

His woman was a fearsome creature when she grew angry. Almost enough that he didn’t want to scold her, to shake her hard enough that her teeth rattled. Why had she done this? Now of all times?

“Sorcha, that was a relic of the Tuatha dé Danann! It can force Fionn to his knees. We will win with that blade on our side!”

“And you were using it against your own people. I will not stand for it!”

Her words flew at him, tearing at his heart and shoving him a step backwards. “You think I used that against our people?”

“Perhaps you were not aware that you use it, I told Cait that—”

“Cait?” He shook his head, running his fingers through the loose crop of his hair. “Sorcha, Cait doesn’t want to be here!”

“None of them do!”

“Is this what you think of me?”

It all made sense now. He had been busy, there were too many things for him to oversee. He understood that she wanted to be with him. Eamonn missed her with every fiber of his being, but he could not allow his focus to wander.

Every time he was near her, his soul drifted. He wanted to touch the beloved locks of her hair, trace the outline of her stubborn pout, ease the nightmares he knew plagued her.

But he couldn’t. He saw his mistake in pulling away.

Eamonn went to her, clutching her cold hands and pressing them against his heart.

“A chuisle mo chroí,” he breathed. “Pulse of my heart, the folly is mine. I have done nothing to control the dwarves. They wish to be deep within their mountain halls with no one to tell them what to do. There are plenty of soldiers who wish to fight Fionn, and those who do not. I would never force a soldier onto a battlefield. That is a certain way to kill them.”

“Then why did you fight Fionn when I asked you not to?”

He smoothed the tangled curls away from her face. “I am a general, and I make mistakes. I thought a small war party would convince him that I was not retreating. I was wrong.”

“What did you plan to do with the sword?”

“I would have forced Fionn to abdicate the throne. He would have no choice when the sword of Nuada commanded him.”

Her green eyes searched his, questions forming within their emerald depths. He knew her well enough to expect the question before she voiced it. “Is that really how you want to win?”

No. He wanted to battle until his brother fell onto his knees. He wanted to shred Fionn’s face, strip everything from him and send him out to the wilds.

“I can’t hurt him,” he admitted. “He is my brother. My blood.”

She tucked herself into his embrace, her tiny cold hands pressed against his chest. “I couldn’t harm my siblings either.”

“And now I have no choice.”

“You still do. Eamonn, we can do this together. He doesn’t have to fight us!”

He shook his head. “You don’t want to get involved with faerie politics, Sorcha. Trust me.”

“Why not? You were raised among them! You must be able to prepare us for what might come.”

“That is what you want?”

He didn’t want it. A part of his wounded soul never wished to return to the castle where they had stripped him of all rights. They despised him, feared him, hated him because he was no longer the handsome man he had once been.

Eamonn knew the dangers of the court. They would latch onto Sorcha with sharp teeth and claws, desperately trying to drag her down into their bitter anger at the world. His pure sunshine would slowly be corrupted.

He squeezed her tighter, holding her against his heart where she belonged. He wouldn’t lose her. They wouldn’t get their greedy hands on her as long as he drew breath.

She looked up at him, green eyes shimmering with tears. “Eamonn?”

“If this is the path you wish to walk, then I will walk beside you mo chroí.”

“Then what do we do?”

“The correct way to address the king is to request an audience.”

“That doesn’t sound like something Fionn would respond to.” Tiny wrinkles gathered between her eyes. “He seems more likely to ignore it, or deny that it ever reached him.”

“Especially if it comes from me.”

“What do you suggest?”

He arched a crystal brow. “Are you asking me for advice on how to approach this difficult situation?”

“Of course I am.”

“You threw away the only relic which could have taken the throne from Fionn with no blood.”

“Eamonn,” she bit her lip. “I can control the Fae.”

“You are the most beguiling creature I have ever met, but you cannot control everyone.”

“I am a Weaver. I never told you what that meant. There is a particular kind of druid which can reach into a faerie’s mind and order them to do whatever it is they please.”

His mind raced through the old tales, the reasoning behind why they cast the druids from the Otherworld. “That is true?”

“Yes.”

“And you can do it?”

“I can.”

“You won’t do it to me?” He only halfheartedly meant the words, although it was a slight concern. Sorcha had never shown any tendency to cajole faeries into doing what they didn’t want to do.

“Eamonn,” she scolded.

“I had to ask, mo chroí. Are you saying you can control Fionn?”

“If I’m close enough, I believe I might be able to. I tried in the dream when he visited me, but I wasn’t fantastic at it. I did overpower him though.”

“I imagine younger faeries are easier.” Eamonn shook his head. “We are trained from a young age to shield our minds. Faeries do it naturally by the time we are adults. Too many of our kind can peek into others thoughts, it’s easier to ensure that no one can pick up on what you’re thinking.”

“So that’s why he was more capable than I.”

“Have you practiced?”

“No.”

“Not at all?” He could taste her lie upon the air. “Sorcha.”

“Only a little! With Cait, who insisted I prove to her that I was actually a druid. That’s all I’ve done.”

“You need to practice far more than that if you plan to walk the halls of the Castle of Light.”

He already knew the tactics he wished to take. Though he was still angry over the loss of the sword, this was no longer the end of all he knew. Sorcha was a hidden power in her own right, and one his brother might not suspect.

He would make her stronger than she ever imagined. They would train noon and night until she could control even him. Then, he would know for certain she was ready.

Sorcha must have recognized the calculating expression on his face. She shook her head and said, “No. Eamonn, whatever you are thinking, no. I will not be used as a tool to end this war.”

“How else are we going to defeat him?”

“We will exhaust all other options before we force him to his knees.”

He couldn’t think of any other way which would seat him on the throne.

Eamonn knew she believed that faeries were good. He saw it every day as she healed their scrapes, ignored their quips and predisposed fear of her people. Even the dwarves, for all they had grown to tolerate her, whispered stories about her behind her back.

Sorcha didn’t let any of it bother her. She went about her day giving and giving until she fell exhausted into bed. It was one thing he loved dearly about her and hated at the same time.

He wanted her safe and happy. The only way that would happen, was if he were king.

“What do you suggest?” he asked with a sigh.

“Let us speak to him first. What harm could there be?”

“Then I will send a missive.” He released her from his arms and shook his head. “I cannot believe I’m allowing you to convince me to do such a thing.”

“Why wouldn’t we at least try?”

“He will ignore it. And then we will be back to sneaking you into the castle.”

“If he ignores it, then I will train.” The troubled wrinkles returned to her brow. “Though I would not choose such a course.”

“Swear it.”

“What?” She stared at him in shock.

“Give me your vow that if this fails, you will agree to do what I say to overthrow Fionn.”

He held his breath, knowing without a doubt that she would argue. She always did.

But sometimes, Sorcha surprised him.

“I vow it.”

* * *

Cool night air drifted over Sorcha’s shoulders as she made her way down the stairs. She awoke to an empty bed with the sheets thrown back and the sheets cold. He had left, and she wasn’t certain why.

Although, that wasn’t entirely true. They had mended their ways after she threw the Sword of Light into the ocean. So she thought.

But he was still distant. She often caught him wrapped up in his own thoughts, staring off into the air even as the dwarves shouted and lifted their glasses to toasts.

As more faeries joined them, Eamonn retreated further and further into his own mind. It worried her. Was this partly Sorcha’s fault? Had she unknowingly made all of this worse?

Her nightgown swished around her ankles, the white fabric fluttering in the wind as she stepped out of the stairwell and into the wide expanse of the great hall.

Moonlight streamed through the stained glass. The giant sun reflected on the stone, silver and cold thought it should have been warm.

Eamonn sat in the dark throne, his head resting on his fist.

She paused. How many times had she seen him sitting exactly the same way? He liked to be where people expected the most of him, even when no one was around.

Her stomach rolled with nerves, and she blew out a breath.

“It is late,” she said, breaking the still quiet. “What plagues your thoughts?”

“Many things.” His deep voice rumbled through her, sending shivers down her spine.

Eamonn never ceased to be both a sensual and terrifying creature at every turn. He wasn’t like the other Fae. He moved in an otherworldly way, but he did not show the natural, lithe grace the others had.

It was why she loved him so much.

Love. It seemed strange that her heart had called out to him almost immediately upon meeting him. She didn’t know if it was normal, perhaps not, but there had never been a question in her mind.

Once her stubborn heart decided it wanted him, she had no other road to travel. Where he went, so did she.

His fingers twitched, beckoning her to his side. Sorcha’s footsteps made soft shushing sounds as she glided across the stone floors.

“It is late,” she said with a soft smile. “We should be resting.”

“I find it difficult to rest these days.”

“Your mind is busy.”

“Among other things.” He patted his knee for her to perch upon.

She was so tiny, she could sit on his thigh and not worry about her weight or his discomfort. Sorcha found it easier to forget his size now that she was in his presence so much. But he was incredibly large compared to her.

His massive hand smoothed down her spine. “Nightmares have plagued my sleep.”

“About?”

“I worry you did not make the correct choice. Fionn will come, ravage this land and these people, and I will lose again.”

“We must have faith, my love.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “I still believe there is a better way. That we can still change the path towards something more kind. We shape the future with our actions. I would have it be a good future.”

He sighed. “You are right, but that does not mean I do not worry.”

“No, I imagine it doesn’t.”

She worried about them as well. War put people on edge, forcing them to realize that their time walking the earth was limited.

No one was ready to die. Many years stretched out into their future. Years which could be filled with happiness and life. Family, animals, a small house where one might farm or grow crops. To have those years be questioned was no easy thing.

Sorcha lifted a hand, tucked it underneath the loose lapels of his shirt and rubbed his smooth chest. “You have gathered a capable group of people. It is admirable that you worry for them, but I believe they can take care of themselves.”

“It is not just my people I worry about.”

She heard the warble in his voice. “You’re worried about me.”

“I do not know what I would do if I lost you again.”

“Would you fight for me?” She leaned back with a mischievous glint in her eye. “If Fionn stormed the castle and stole me away, my knight in shining armor?”

Eamonn did not want to tease. His brows furrowed, and he reached forward to stroke the high peak of her cheekbone. “If Fionn captures you, he will not keep you alive for long. You are one human, with a life that is unnecessary for his plans.”

“He will not kill me.”

“He will do much to get back at me.”

“Eamonn!” She sighed in exasperation. “When are you going to put an end to this foolish battle? You’re brothers, you should be able to work this out.”

“Faeries do not work the same way as humans.”

“No, but they should.”

He chuckled. “Ah, my fierce love. You see the world with such a light in your heart. I wish I could.”

“You can,” she vehemently declared. “You just have to try.”

“I am, mo chroí. I am.”

He drew her into his arms and tucked her head underneath her chin. Crickets chirped their midnight song, and the air was no longer cool with him touching her. Sorcha dipped her fingers into a crevice of stone, chewing her lip as thoughts danced through her mind.

“You’re thinking,” he grumbled in her ear.

“I don’t know how to help you.”

“This is not something you can heal. Worry and anxiety are not physical wounds.”

“I don’t like it that I can’t help you.”

His heart beat against her ear, steady and strong. Each thump reminded her that he was alive, but their time was limited. That of all the things they had survived together, all the things they had suffered, they might still be cut short.

His fingers stroked through her hair. Sorcha smiled at the slight tugging, for she knew he was coiling individual strands around his fingers and unraveling them again.

“Why do you do that?” she asked.

“What?”

“You wrap my hair around your fingers over and over again.”

“It helps me think.”

“Does it?” Sorcha tucked her face into the hollow of his collarbone, grinning from ear to ear.

“Why, does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all.”

“Good,” he rumbled. “I don’t want to stop.”

Sorcha would never forget moments like this. She didn’t need wondrous declarations of love, romantic scenes in front of other faeries. She wanted a quiet evening hidden away from others where they could privately enjoy each other.

But there was much left unsaid.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked. “For the sword?”

“Mo chroí, there is too much going on in the world to say mad for long.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I will always be a little angry about that. But I will never let it stand between us.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “If you say so.”

“Sorcha,” he groaned while rubbing her back. “What must I do? I will not let this stand between us, not when I know what life is like without it.”

“Like a piece of you is missing?”

“I wasn’t myself without you at my side. I do not wish to ever repeat that again.”

“I wasn’t the same either,” she admitted. “I am far more giving when I know you will be there to stop me should I go too far. I didn’t know what I could or not do while I was home. Even my father commented on it. That part of me was something I left here.”

“I was cold,” he replied. “Losing pieces of myself over and over again as a kind of punishment. I forgot there were people out there who loved me, who cared whether I lived or died.”

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

“The Tuatha dé Danann believe in soulmates. Do humans?”

“My mother did,” Sorcha said with a soft smile. “She used to say I would meet someone who meant more to me than my own life.”

“A wise woman.”

“A good woman who died far too soon.”

She felt the hitch in his breath as she mentioned death. Perhaps it was too soon, he was still worried about her. She shouldn’t have said anything so dark.

His hands clenched on her shoulders. “The Tuatha dé Danann are not like humans. We do not have priests to marry us, nor chapels to ring bells.”

“You know of that?” She tilted her head on his shoulder so she could stare up at his severe profile, outlined by moonlight. “Why were you gathering information about human marriages?”

“I tried to find a priest who we could safely bring into the Otherworld, but there were none near faerie circles for the past week. They do not seem to support the old ways.”

“No, they avidly stay away from anything of the old religion. They don’t believe in it.” Sorcha wrinkled her nose. “Eamonn?”

“I want to keep you safe. If I die, you should have everything of mine without question.”

Everything clicked into place. She lunged back, slapping her hands on his shoulders. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“In a rather awful way, I suppose I am.”

“You suppose?”

“Is this not the right way to do it?”

She groaned and tossed her head back to stare at the ceiling. “No, this is a horrible way to do it.”

“What should I do?”

“Men get on their knees! They plan accordingly to ask a woman in a romantic way! They don’t ask in the middle of the night because she happened to find him.”

“I would have asked tomorrow morning, but now seemed like an opportune time.”

“Did you even get me a ring?”

“A ring?” His brows furrowed. “Did I need one of those?”

“Generally.”

“Then I ask we postpone this until I may ask in a more appropriate way.”

Sorcha huffed out a breath, half laugh, half frustrated sigh. “Well, I already know what you’re going to do now.”

He reared back in shock. “Is this usually a surprise for women?”

“Sometimes we have an inclination that it may happen soon.”

“You do not talk about marriage beforehand?”

“Some do, but many women are surprised when the man proposes.”

“That sounds horrible,” he scoffed. “Such a decision should be a mutual agreement. If it’s a surprise, then how can the man ever be certain she didn’t make her choice under duress?”

“I don’t know.”

“I will not do that to you.” His lips set in a thin line of determination. “You know of my intentions now. I would like to marry you, and I apologize you were not aware of my thoughts. Please, take all the time you need to make your decision.”

This man would be the death of her. She shook her head. “I know how I want to answer.”

The alarm in his wide eyes nearly made her laugh in his face. “Well I’m uncertain I wish to know what such a quick response is.”

“Do you think I will say no?”

“I never have any idea what you might say.”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “A thousand times yes.”

“That I don’t know what you’ll say, or that you wish to marry me?”

“I will marry you in whatever way you wish. I do not need a priest, I am satisfied with the Fae tradition.”

“That’s much easier.”

He sank his hand in her hair and pulled her forward for a kiss that rocked her soul. She gasped as his lips smoothed over hers, teeth and crystals nipping.

“I pledge my soul to you,” he growled. “My heart, my mind, my life are now yours.”

Somehow, she knew she was supposed to say the words. “I pledge my soul to you, my heart, my mind, and my life are now yours.”

* * *

“Good,” Eamonn called out. “Again!”

The young dwarves all stood in formation, squaring their shoulders and attempting to stand like he did. It was the sincerest form of flattery and one that did not escape his notice. The boys were learning fast. He wouldn’t put them in a war soon, but they didn’t need to know that.

Dwarves were talented in many areas of war. Their arms were strong from manual labor and lifting stone. Their punches were enough to cause Eamonn’s teeth to crack. The right handed hook a few of them dealt made him see stars.

They were a better army than he remembered the Tuatha dé Danann being. Perhaps it was because they were so eager to learn.

Sorcha had forgiven him in the eyes of their people. She ate with him every night, scooped food from his bowl and stoked his arm when the others were looking. Although they were still learning their way around each other, the dwarves had relaxed.

When the king and queen were happy, so were their people.

“Raise arms!”

The dwarven boys and girls held their swords horizontal over their heads, freezing in place while waiting for his next order.

He held out just long enough for the weakest few to tremble. “Attack!”

He paired them off in twos and threes. Individual sparring for those who were not confident in their abilities, and larger groups for those who had fought with him longer. Their parents trained in the afternoon.

He was slowly turning this castle into an army full of legendary warriors. Untried, but capable in every way he could make them.

Ghosts of the past haunted his steps. Eamonn couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen. He wanted to be present for as long as he could.

“Again!” he shouted.

They didn’t need to train even more than they already did. These men and women were no longer children. They could step onto the battlefield confidently and know they could protect themselves.

“You work them too hard,” Sorcha’s soft voice echoed through his being. A shiver trailed down his spine, and he reminded himself to pay attention to his pupils.

“They need it.”

“They need water and food.”

The amusement he heard made him glance over his shoulder.

She wore a plain linen dress that hugged her arms and waist while leaving her legs free to move. The style was far more dwarven than he liked. But on her? It was magical.

Sorcha had taken to wearing her long curls free. They waved in the breeze and stretched towards him as if begging for his touch.

He groaned. “You are distracting me.”

“That was precisely the point. Come, mo chroí. It’s far past time for us to take our lunch.”

“Our lunch?” He lifted a brow. “We do not have a lunch.”

“We do now.”

She lifted a small wicker basket. The lid was closed, revealing nothing but a small corner of red fabric.

“You brought me food?”

“I brought us a picnic. I thought we might disappear for the afternoon.”

“I need to train the adults.”

“They know how to fight, Eamonn.” She ducked underneath the training ground fence and waltzed towards him. Her hand brushed against his chest, sending shivers down his spine once more. “They can practice without you for one day. Let us go and enjoy ourselves.”

“Have we heard any response from Fionn?” The letter hung over him like a dark cloud.

“No, not yet.”

“How much longer are we waiting until you begin your training?”

“Enough talk of work! Let us go and enjoy ourselves for the afternoon. It is the last warm day of the summer before the rains catch us. And then it will be winter, and we’ll be stuck inside the castle all day!”

He felt time bearing down on his shoulders. He should be a king. His people needed him to drive them until they were better fighters than he.

But she wanted to play in the fields. The smile on her face was as tempting as a warm summer breeze.

Finally, he relented. “All right. Get out of the training yard while I finish up here.”

“Hurry, please. I have plans for us.”

“Plans?” He didn’t like the wicked glint in her eyes. “Sorcha, what plans?”

“They’re a surprise!”

“I don’t like surprises.”

He tried to catch the tail end of her dress as she whirled from him, but she was already gone. The woman was likely to be as much pixie as druid.

Eamonn growled in frustration, torn between duty and desire.

“Enough!” he shouted to his students. “We are done for the day!”

He expected complaints and worried noises. That was what he was used to from the soldiers in his previous company. The children did not make any sound he recognized.

Casting a calculating glance over them all, he saw how tired they were. Their shoulders slumped forward and they let their swords hang in the dirt if they hadn’t dropped them entirely. Their eyes were drooping, a few even listing to the side.

Not a single one had complained throughout the entire training.

His heart warmed. “You’ve all done well today! You’ve earned your supper. Enjoy your afternoon with your family and forget training for the time.”

“Are you going off with your lady friend?” One of the boys called out.

“I am.”

The boy was nearing his teenage years. He might even travel with Eamonn’s company if the war came to that. For a dwarf, he was tall and broad. His face was handsome, beard already thick and lush.

While the others left the training yard in a hurry, this handsome child stayed behind. Eamonn recognized a youngling who wished to speak. He lingered and waited for the dwarf to come to him.

Like a wild horse he wished to break, he remembered Sorcha proclaiming.

“My king?” the boy asked.

Eamonn glanced at him but did not speak.

“I have a question for you that I did not want to ask my Pa.”

This had already gotten off to a bad start. Eamonn propped himself up against the fence, crossed his arms firmly over his chest, and tried not to appear worried. “Go on with it.”

“It’s just…” The boy scuffed his feet in the dirt. “There’s a girl I like, you see. She’s one of the peat faeries that comes in here now and then. I thoughts, seeing as you and your lady aren’t the same species, that maybe you’d be able to help. I don’t even know how to talk to her.”

The tips of Eamonn’s ears heated. Was the boy asking him for relationship advice? Him?

Years ago he might have been capable of giving the dwarf good advice. Women had flocked to him just because he would be king and was as handsome as his twin. For some, the fact that they were twins had been most of the appeal.

Now? It had been centuries since he had even thought about a healthy relationship with a woman. Not until Sorcha came along.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight onto the opposite leg and gave the question good thought. “You like this girl already?”

“Yes?”

“Is that a question or do you know you’re interested in her?”

“I know, sir.”

“How do you know if you haven’t talked to her yet?”

“Well,” the dwarf scuffed a path of grass with his toe. “She’s awful pretty.”

Eamonn nodded wisely. “That is why most of us find ourselves enamored.”

“And she’s smart!” The boy appeared insulted to be categorized with all the other men who found themselves infatuated. “I’ve seen her figure out problems that none of the other dwarves could figure out.”

“She sounds like a good catch.”

“She is.”

“You must talk to her.”

That blew all the wind out of the dwarf’s sails. His shoulders sagged and his chin dipped towards his chest. “I don’t know how.”

“I didn’t know how with Sorcha either.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not at all. The first few times we spoke, I picked fights with her. Every time I opened my mouth, something rude would come out. I didn’t know if my tongue was broken or if I would become a mute.”

The boy snickered. “So what did you do?”

“I forced myself to keep talking. I figured that eventually, something nice would come out.”

“Did it?”

“It did. And once that first sentence was said, I could talk to her without hesitating.”

The boy’s lips screwed to the side as he pondered the revelation. “So you’re saying I should just talk to her?”

“It’s a good place to start.”

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Then you keep talking. Be polite, listen to what she has to say, and she’ll come around. If she still doesn’t like you, then respect that. We can’t win them all, boy.”

Eamonn watched as the boy’s face turned bright red. He stammered something about needing to find his friends and bolted from the training yard. Small puffs of dust kicked up underneath his heels.

He felt her gaze on his back, the cause of his own trials and tribulations. Sighing, he turned. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” she said with a soft smile. “Just keep talking?”

“That’s how I won you over.”

“I don’t remember you talking much at all.”

She had a point. Eamonn pointed to his crystal eye with exaggerated care. “I talk with my eyes.”

“Sure you do.” Her laughter was music to his ears.

It was why he had to stay away from her so much. He would give anything to hear her laugh over and over again until the world ended.

Eamonn swung his leg over the fence and landed lightly on his feet. “So, where are we going for this surprise?”

“I can’t tell you, that would ruin it.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

Her eyes sparkled. “So you’ve said.”

She was a siren, calling him to crash upon her rocks. And he fully intended to.

Eamonn followed her as if in a dream. He was a lucky man, for all that she annoyed him or overstep her bounds. Few women would walk into the Otherworld and not grow to despise the strange creatures or their world.

Sorcha thrived here. She stood straighter than she had when she first arrived to the isle. Her eyes sparkled with life and a vivacity that he knew were from helping his people. She showed love to everyone she passed with bright smiles, blown kisses, and a gentle touch that shook the foundation of his being.

She was a gift he did not deserve.

They walked out of the castle onto the cliffs at the back. The sun was weak this time of year, the usually unbearable heat tempered by a crisp autumn breeze.

Salt spray stung his cheeks, but invigorated his soul. Eamonn had always loved the ocean. It was the only part of his banishment to Hy-brasil that made it slightly tolerable.

Seagulls soared overhead, their screaming cries quiet compared to the hush of waves crashing against the shore far below them. He hadn’t realized the cliff on the other edge of the castle was so dangerous.

“Here we are!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“It is.”

He was no longer looking at the surf or the stunning cloud formations. He was staring at her.

The wind brushed her curls over her cheeks, her full lips parted in appreciation of the beauty all around them. The half smile he so loved quirked her lips to the side. He’d seen them frown, grin, speak rapidly, everything that a person could do. And he would never stop watching her until the day she died.

Her linen dress fluttered in the delicate breeze. She had to be cold, but she didn’t shiver at all. Instead, she caught him staring and laughed.

Sorcha lifted her arms to the side, dropped her head back, and let the sun play across her face. The wind scooped underneath her arms, trailing along the length of her sides. She was beautiful, wild, and all his.

Unable to resist, he stepped behind her and followed the path the wind had taken. The dip of her waist was so intriguing although he could not understand why. His fingers spread over her belly and he stooped to breathe in her scent.

Strawberries and sunshine. She always smelled the same, no matter what she had gotten into that day. How was it possible for a woman to work all day and still smell like sugar?

She spread her fingers over his. Each tiny imprint seared through the back of his hand and deep through the crystals that spread throughout his body like wildfire.

They were growing again. He wasn’t certain to tell her or if he even should. She would only worry.

Eamonn had always known that the crystals would continue to harm him. He had never truly thought about how they worked. They pieced him back together when he was injured and that was enough.

Now, he wondered just how far they would heal. A poisoned blade would sink into his bloodstream and spread throughout his entire body. Would the crystals follow that path? Would he be reduced to little more than a statue?

He rested his head atop hers, stooping slightly to accommodate for her small size, and focused on what was around him. There were so many things to be thankful for. He would be a fool to not appreciate them while he had them.

He sighed, stirring the sprigs of red curls. “What did you have planned?”

“A lunch with just the two of us.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“I had hoped it would be.” She looked up and caught him with her gaze. “You’ll have to let go of me.”

He didn’t want to. She belonged within his embrace and nowhere else. But he also understood these weren’t rational thoughts. With a sigh, he released her.

She sank onto her knees and opened her woven basket. The scrap of red fabric was a blanket she spread across the ground, patting gently to remind him that he could also sit.

It all seemed strange.

Eamonn frowned, but sat down next to her. “We’re eating on the ground?”

“Yes.”

“There are perfectly good tables within the castles.”

“Don’t you remember taking women out into the wilds? To eat among the birds?”

“Vaguely.” He leaned back on an elbow and hooked his ankles. “That was back when I thought I could woo a woman with pretty words.”

“Really?” Sorcha made herself busy sorting through the basket, but he could see she was intrigued. “Were you quite dashing?”

“All faerie men think they are poets.”

“I cannot imagine you as a poet,” she said with a chuckle.

He was almost insulted. Plucking a blade of grass from nearby, he stuck it between his lips and stared her down. “Why’s that?”

“You don’t seem the kind of man who would take the time to string together words. You’re more the type to back a woman into a corner and kiss her senseless.”

“It’s what I did with you.”

“Precisely.”

She thought she knew him so well. He almost wanted to let her believe it of him, for that was who he was now. Eamonn had become that man after three hundred years in faerie courts. His father once said that men had to sow their wild oats long before they became intelligent royals.

“I trained as a general my entire life, but I was not always on the battlefield.”

“You weren’t?” Her jaw dropped. “I thought you weren’t like your brother.”

“We both went through similar training when we were children and young men.”

“How young?”

“Three or four hundred years, give or take a few centuries I cannot remember.”

“What did you do then?” She gave up on the basket and turned completely towards him. Her legs crossed, skirts akimbo as she leaned forward for a story. “Tell me, Stone King, what kinds of poetry would you use to woo a woman?”

“I have no use for those words any longer.”

“Of course you do! I want to hear them Eamonn.”

He didn’t want to speak them. His ears heated, turning bright red under her scrutiny. “You’d laugh.”

She clapped her hands on her thighs in disappointment. “So you aren’t good with words then. You’d wax on about her cornflower eyes and laughter that sounds of bells, wouldn’t you? The same poetry every man thinks will win a woman’s heart.”

“You know these tricks?”

“Every man has tried to use them on my sisters or I.” Sorcha rolled her eyes. “They never work.”

“You compare me to human men?”

“What else should I compare you to? I haven’t heard any faerie men recite poetry.”

He pursed his lips. She thought he was similar to any man she had ever had before? It was a pity these humans were so pathetic.

Eamonn grabbed her hand so quickly that she gasped. Her eyes wide, she stared at him as he brought her knuckles to his lips.

“When I was young, I would have told you that I heard your voice in the song of the sea. That in your absence, the scent of strawberries filled me with yearning for your hair, your lips, the white moons of your fingertips.” He stared down at her hand in his, stroked her palm gently with his nails.

“Eamonn—”

“I am no longer the faerie prince with soft words. My poetry for you is a vow. The world may burn down around us, but nary a flame shall touch thy beloved flesh. The ocean may swallow the land, but I shall be your ship and feed you sweet air. A sword may try to cut you down, but I will bear all your wounds. I have lived a thousand years in the dark, waiting for the rays of your sunlight.”

Her ragged breaths filled his heart with a longing he could not explain. He desired her, but not her body. He wanted her thoughts, her dreams, her wishes, her future. Every bit of her was his, and he wanted to mark it all.

“That was beautiful,” she murmured.

“I told you all faerie men are poets at heart.”

“That was not poetry. That was you.”

Their gazes caught, and he forgot what they were even speaking of. Her eyes blazed, singing her love. He wished he was as good as the best faerie poet.

She deserved every sonnet he could write. Those days were long gone, but Eamonn wished he could go back. Even for a few moments.

Clearing his throat, he nodded towards the basket. “What did you bring, mo chroí?”

“Oh.” She dragged it towards her. “A little something I thought you’d appreciate.”

Sorcha pulled out a loaf of bread, warm steam still puffing from its surface. A small jar of honey and cream, more for him than her. He knew she didn’t like the sweet gold. And finally, she pulled out a small wrapped bundle that she revealed to hold fresh strawberries.

He leaned forward and pulled one out of her hand. “Where did you get these?”

“I asked Cian for a favor.”

“He grew you strawberries out of season?”

She shrugged. “I might have pushed for them.”

“You wicked thing.” He bit into the soft flesh, savoring the sweet taste that danced over his tongue. Nearly as lovely as her, but not quite so satisfying.

He felt her eyes on him. The memories they shared lit a fire deep in his belly.

“Are you not eating?” he asked.

“I was enjoying the view.”

It was almost too easy to pluck a strawberry from her grasp and hold it to her lips. “Bite.”

For once in her life, she did not argue. He nearly groaned as her white teeth bit into the red flesh, soft lips barely touching his fingertips.

As the first time, a small trickle of wine red juice trickled from her mouth and traveled over her chin. It ran down the long column of her neck to nestle in the hollow of her collarbone.

“I thought I would die the first time you ate strawberries,” he groaned. “Now I am certain of it.”

“Why is that?”

She knew. She had to know why he was so enamored with a woman covered in his favorite taste. Woman and forbidden fruit.

A growl vibrated in his throat. He pushed her until she lay on her back, hair splayed out like a sunset. Leaning down, he licked from the valley of her neck to the base of her chin.

“You are a dangerous woman.”

“Am I?”

“You consume my thoughts.”

“You poor man.”

“I cannot even train my soldiers without wondering what you are doing, who you are with—” He fisted his hand in her linen skirt, tugging hard enough to make her gasp. “What you are wearing.”

“Likely hand-me-downs.”

“The most tantalizing clothes I have ever seen on a woman.”

“I borrowed them.”

“As long as you wear them, I don't care,” he moaned. His fingers moved, bunching the fabric in his palm so that it rose higher and higher over her milky white thighs. “You could wear a blood soaked cloak and I would still want you.”

“Oh, don’t say that my love, I may test you.”

“Test all you want, but not today.”

He pressed his lips against her shoulder, moving the fabric of her dress as he went. He knew she enjoyed the way his crystals scraped against her skin. The tiny movements she made were the ultimate victory.

Eamonn had always thought a woman in the throes of passion to be a wondrous sight. He spent centuries learning every inch, every trick to pleasure them. But each one was a unique pearl. A book that must be read, correctly and frequently to fully understand. He was a very attentive student.

Letting the rough edge of his lower lip drag just below the rise of her collarbone, he breathed onto the damp trail he had made.

She whimpered.

“I love how sensitive you are,” he said while pressing kisses lower and lower. “No matter what I do, you react.”

“You’ve done little to disappoint.”

“I am flattered.”

He trailed his hand up the rise of her hip, pressed his palm flat against her belly, and slid between her breasts. Front ties held her dress together. He sent a prayer to whatever god had looked out for him.

“Eamonn,” she gasped. “What if someone sees?”

“Let them look, mo chroí. They will not bother us on the one afternoon we have together.”

She must have planned this the entire time. The knots were loose at the front and came free easily. He parted the fabric and bared her to his eyes.

“Exquisite,” he said. “It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

“My breasts?” She sounded almost angry.

Eamonn shook his head and bit his lip. “No, mo chroí.”

He smoothed his hands over the pale, smooth skin of her shoulders. He dug in just enough to squeeze her muscles. The fine bones captivated him.

“You are a storm of a soul contained in a glass bottle. So fragile and easily harmed, yet powerful in every other way.” His shoulders rocked in a shudder. “You take my breath away.”

She clutched at his biceps, tiny nails digging into his skin with sudden fervor. “Eamonn, do something.”

“As my lady commands.”

He dipped down, nibbling at the delicate swells laid out before him like a banquet. She writhed beneath him. He knew she was ready, but he was not done tormenting his own little prize. Not just yet.

Reaching for the woven basket, he uncorked the bottle of honey. She gasped as the soft liquid spilled over her chest.

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the meal you’ve provided.”

“What?” Her voice sounded hazy. “I didn’t—”

“Hush, Sorcha.”

His tongue swirled through the golden elixir, coating his tongue with sugar and woman. She had no way of knowing what honey meant to the Fae. That this substance was as much an aphrodisiac as it was food.

He sucked a rosy bud into his mouth, spreading the honey until he couldn’t tell where she began and where the sweet started. It didn’t matter in the end. She shivered underneath him. Her thighs dropped open, and he filled the void with a surge of motion that brought her tighter against him.

Releasing his prize, he turned to the other with a growl that rivaled an animal. He could hardly believe how much he desired her. His heart throbbed his chest, lungs heaved with movement, and he strained against the tight fabric of his breeches. It had never been this way with a woman before.

Only her.

She arched her back, demanding his attention with a subtle movement he understood. Her body was a language he was dedicated to learning.

He brushed her skirts to the side and slid a hand between them. Her core throbbed, slick and satin soft as he had always remembered it. His entire body shook with the force holding him in check. Groaning, he released her and shook his head.

“You turn me into little more than an untrained boy! I should torment you for hours.”

“I would surely die!”

They were the words he had hoped to hear. Eamonn fumbled desperately with the ties of his breeches, freeing himself with a relieved sigh.

He would need to be mindful of his crystals. He reminded himself every time that she was delicate, her skin easily breakable, her bones fragile. But she dug her nails into his shoulders and moaned for him to hurry.

How was a man to keep his head?

He flexed his hips and eased into the slick heat of her. They both threw their heads back in ecstasy. She moaned his name, and he clenched the muscles of his jaw so hard he heard his teeth creak.

Sorcha was home. Every inch of her, whether he was inside her, beside her, or so far away that he could no longer catch the scent of her on the wind. Home had been a place he had fought and searched for. Centuries had passed with many people and places passing by.

Eamonn had never realized home could be a person. He hadn’t known how a single smile, a curl wrapped his finger, a graceful arch of a foot could change his life forever.

He moved, slowly drawing them both closer and closer to the peak. But it wasn’t right, not yet.

He leaned down and smoothed the hair away from her forehead. Her beautiful eyes opened, meeting his stern gaze without fear.

“I pledge myself to you.” His breath fanned across her lips as the tempo of their bodies quickened. “Everywhere you go, I shall follow. You are the only light in my life, the beacon at the end of a long and winding road. Together we will be more than lovers, husband and wife, king and queen. We are a thousand years of want and desire and love. So much love.”

“Together,” she repeated and pressed a delicate kiss upon his lips.

A jolt of fire and lightning raced through his body until he pressed his forehead against hers and joined her as they burst into a thousand stars. He imagined that in the wild rush of passion that he sewed her stars into his own to create a cloak of midnight that would forever keep him warm.

“Mo chroí.” He pressed a kiss against her lips, her cheeks, her eyes. “My heart beats for you.”

* * *

They lounged on the cliff edge until the sun set and the stars blinked to life above them. Sorcha didn’t want to leave. Every second that they had together was infinitely precious.

She shivered. Cold air sank through the thin fabric of her dress and dug claws into her bones. She tucked herself deeper into his embrace and sighed.

“Do we need to go inside?” he rumbled.

“It is growing cold.”

“Delicate little human.”

“Druid,” she reminded him. He rolled her onto her back, smiling down at her with a soft expression she never tired of seeing.

“Druid,” he agreed. “How could I ever forget?”

“It’s rather easy when you’re so distracted.”

“Am I?”

She followed the ragged edge of a crystal fissure from his forehead down to his lip. “Perhaps not as distracted as you were this afternoon.”

He nipped at her fingers. “Don’t tempt me.”

Temptation was the definition of him. Her heart throbbed every time she looked at him. They were different here in this castle than they had been on Hy-brasil. Responsibilities filled their lives and finding time together was difficult.

The time they found was rare, and therefore all the more special.

She shivered again and laughed. “I’m sorry, mo chroí. I need to warm up. Unless you magically have a jacket?”

“No jacket.”

He rolled to his feet and held out a hand for her. “Then let us find you a fire.”

“Or a bed with blankets.”

“Not yet satisfied?”

“Thoroughly satisfied, but finding myself still hungry.”

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her back through the castle. She laughed as he struck the door like a battering ram. The sheer power of his body was impressive, yet he was infinitely gentle with her.

They raced through the halls, hiding in the shadows when a faerie passed them. His hearing was far stronger than hers. He listened for their footsteps, for the sound of their breath, and ducked behind drapes to avoid them.

He hushed her when she giggled. “We’re hiding!”

“Why?”

The glint in his eye suggested he was enjoying himself.

She was so glad to see him happy. Bubbles of incandescent joy lifted through her being and spilled out in waves. She stroked whatever bit of him she could reach. His jaw, his hair, his shoulders, the ragged edges of his throat.

“Master!” Oona’s scolding shout made them freeze.

They had just reached the stairs, so close to freedom. Eamonn’s sigh stirred her hair. Responsibility called.

She stroked the back of his neck and smiled. “We had an afternoon.”

“And a lovely afternoon it was.”

He let her legs swing down onto the ground. Sorcha kept hold of his shoulder as they turned towards the pixie, wanting to stay connected to him as long as possible.

Oona’s brows furrowed and the tips of her elongated ears drooped. “Master?”

“Yes, go ahead Oona.”

“It’s…” She swallowed and held out a small square of parchment. “A letter arrived.”

“A letter?”

Sorcha’s stomach dropped to her feed. Nerves traveled through her veins in electric currents as she stared at the too white paper. She knew what it was, what it had to be, and couldn’t force her feet to step forward.

Eamonn released her hand and walked forward as if in a trance. She watched his expression, the crestfallen way he stumbled and gently took the letter in his hand.

He smoothed his fingertips over the edges but did not open the envelope.

She didn’t notice she had moved until she placed her hands over his. “We’ll open it together.”

“It is the first time I have spoken to them in centuries.”

“Them?”

He turned the letter over and revealed gold wax stamped with the curled lines of a tree. “It is the royal marker. This is not just from Fionn.”

It was from his entire family. Tears stung her eyes until she could hardly see the sigil. They had condemned him, hung him, banished him, and still he desperately wanted to speak with them.

“Give it to me,” she said.

He handed it over without complaint.

Sorcha slid her nail underneath the wax. It popped open with no magical seal or warning sign. At least they weren’t trying to poison him.

She slid the letter out and ran her eyes over it, reading through the note with disappointment. This wasn’t handwritten by anyone in his family. She suspected they hadn’t even looked it over.

“All it says is that our formal request has been accepted. In three moon’s time we are to arrive at the palace where rooms will be prepared for us to meet with the king and his court.” Sorcha looked up. “What is this? We asked for a private audience, not an assembly.”

“So that is how he will play this,” Eamonn growled. “So be it.”

“What does it mean?”

“Oona, prepare the dwarves. They will need to create court acceptable outfits for the both of us. We leave tomorrow afternoon.”

The pixie shifted. “Is that enough time to reach the castle?”

“We will ride all night if we have to.”

Oona raced down the hall towards the servants quarters. They would need to be up all night to piece together outfits that Eamonn deemed acceptable.

Worried, she grabbed his arm as he started away from her. “Eamonn! What is going on?”

“We’re going to court.” Pity filled his eyes. “We will need to prepare ourselves for the worst, and hope that my brother has not completely lost his mind.”