Page 2

Chapter Two

NIALL O’LEARY

“The war between duty and desire is the fiercest battle any king will face. The legacy of our court does not rest solely on the might of our arms but on the courage to honour our duty, even when desire tempts us towards a different path.”

Fallon O’Leary, Advice to his Heir

I toss back the whiskey and set the book aside with a little more force than necessary. I’m clutching at anything that might slow the Aithreach Decline . My father doesn’t know I know, and he doesn’t need to. He’s drowning in his own mess, and the court is circling like crows, all silk and ceremony, ready to dress it up as a fresh start. A new wife. A clean slate. As if that’ll scrub the blood from Fallon’s hands.

I know better.

I blame him for her death. If he hadn’t been so godsdamned set on another son—an heir, or a spare, as he so charmingly put it—then my mum wouldn’t have gambled her life bringing Darcy into the world. And she lost. We lost. And now he gets to sit in his grand hall, playing the grieving widower, while the rest of us pick up the shattered pieces.

The cottage is too quiet, the fire crackling faintly in the hearth, a poor distraction from the Sluagh waiting outside its walls. He hasn’t spared a thought for his children or the court—at least, not one I can see. He’s drowning in whiskey and duty, and whatever game he’s playing, I can’t see the pieces yet. Only the old Gods know how long he’s got left, but I’d wager he’s not planning to leave this world without setting the board in his favour.

I stare at the whiskey for a second, then scoff. Too early for this, probably. But hell, I’ve done worse, right? I’m not exactly in a position to be picky. And really, it’s not like I have anyone to impress.

That’s laughable. I should know better than to think I’m not in control. I’m the heir to Fallon’s seat. Clan chieftain-in-waiting. Groomed for this since birth, practically predestined for the role. A future leader of a court where ‘no’ doesn’t apply to ambition. Rejection? Not in my vocabulary. It’s for people who aren’t me.

I stare off into the fire. Those damn lips. The memory of how she kissed me back. That kiss is going to be a problem. It doesn’t fit anywhere in my neat little future. It doesn’t belong in my plans.

Yet it’s nagging at the back of my mind, and I’m still carrying around a semi from last night. Her lips? They consume me. It makes me think of long, languid nights spreading her out beside a slowly dying fire, heat on damp skin, wandering fingertips, wet tongues, her moaning my name.

Fuck. What in the seven hells? She smells like charred wood and honey, a scent that screams Obsidian Court. I only went there once. We attended talks to guarantee that the creatures in the Otherworld beyond the Obsidian Sea and the dark court that guards the passage will remain where they belong. I have my own ideas about keeping the monsters in check. Not that anyone listens. The deal is simple: confine the darkness to its designated corner of the Otherworld. We all have our pride, after all. But I’m not about to admit that she smells like them or that I like it. No.

I take another long drink, feeling the burn settle in my chest. The Obsidian Court. They’re supposed to be the ones guarding those twisted creatures that should never see the light of day. The Sluagh, the Gnáthmharfóirí , the whole damn mess. I’ve seen them here. They shouldn’t be roaming the Ironlands. They lurk in the shadows, invisible unless the moon catches them right. The Gnáthmharfóirí . Ordinary Killers, they call them. Common, my ass. Not with eyes that reflect nothing but emptiness. They look and move like humans, but there’s no soul in them. No heart. They don’t care who they hurt, don’t even notice when they do. Now, they can blend in with the very society they’ve learned to manipulate and drive your worst fears into hate, despair, or madness. The worst part? They’re working with the Sluagh. Feeding off each other, pushing the boundary of what we’ve been trying to keep sealed away.

The Obsidian Court wards are supposed to hold them. Keep them locked away in the Otherworld, where they belong. Whatever is happening, it’s more than a crack in the Veil. It’s a goddamn breach. And I don’t know if I can stop it in time or protect the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about since last night.

My brows furrow deeper than before as I thumb the metal ring on my lip. My knees damn near buckled from the look she shot me over her shoulder as she walked away. When we kissed, I could feel the hunger and craving rolling off her like a storm. A beautiful and dangerous storm that I long to shipwreck inside. It killed me not to follow her and give her the release that would have her sleeping like a kitten. My beast, that vile creature, wanted to tie her to the bed, take her to the edge and deny her any relief to show her how completely depraved he could be. Toy with her for hours, have her hate me for the agony I could so easily inflict. Curse my name with her nails digging into bonds she can’t escape and her teeth sinking into my flesh—with pleasure.

Enough of that, you masochistic bastard, I snap at my inner beast.

He huffs as if I’m the biggest idiot in the world. Did you think she’d disappear from your thoughts because you made her forget? Foolish, really.

I ignore him. If I’m supposed to haul some ceangal back, she’s definitely the front-runner. And I know that’s exactly what my damn stallion wants. Her curves? Yeah, he’s already mapped them out. Her lips? After that taste, I’m starting to think maybe there’s more to this ceangal business than I gave credit for.

But make no mistake, if I have to go through with this? It’ll be with a script. A cold, lifeless script that makes sure there’s no room for what I really want to do with her. Because Felicity is a temptation I can’t afford. No matter how much my body wants to taste her again.

I pour another shot, my thoughts still tangled in the memory of her lips.

I wonder what the rest of her tastes like , my beast muses.

ENOUGH! I slam the glass down hard enough to make the table shake.

“Keep that up, and I’ll toss you into the sea with a rock around your neck. You’re acting like you’ve got no balls left.” Tomas pushes the door open wider, walking in with the disdain of a man who knows exactly how much you’re suffering but doesn’t give a fuck if you’re going to wallow in it like a cunt. He grabs the chair across from mine, pulling it out with a scrape as he sits down. “I’ve seen better self-control from a rabid dog. You’re acting like a child who can’t get his toy. Go ahead, pour another one. Maybe it’ll make you less of a miserable prick.”

Tomas looks like he’s wrestled a bear and lost. “You’ve finally graced us with your presence. Did you learn anything enlightening while grilling Felicity’s companion?”

“Felicity? Is she the woman who captured your attention and has you acting like a love-sick dog who’s been kicked?” Tomas grins wickedly, even while feigning innocence, like he doesn’t know exactly who she is.

He enjoys fucking with me. I’m not in the mood. “The lass at the pub last night—Felicity—does she pose a threat?”

“Aye, harmless, both of them. The shadows in the bar didn’t feel dark. Cold, but neutral.” His gaze narrows for a moment. “There’s something about the blonde one. Cyn. Wouldn’t surprise me if there’s a bit of magic in her veins, even if she doesn’t know it.” He shrugs, dismissing the thought. “But like I said, harmless. Both of them.” Then the bastard smirks. “Though I’m shocked you’re remembering names now. What’s next? Love songs like some fool bard? Gods help us all if you’ve gone soft.”

His taunt scrapes against something raw inside me. Felicity. She’s been dismantling me piece by piece since the moment I laid eyes on her. And now Tomas is twisting the knife.

It’s not just her sharp tongue or the way her eyes flash when she dodges my questions with clever half-truths. It’s those shadows. Dark and lingering, like they’re a part of her.

I remember the Obsidian Court’s cold stone and the quiet murmur of servants. I remember a little girl with wide, wary eyes, surrounded by shadows her mother held at bay with a single look. Her mother’s eyes were sharp, too, full of warning. The way she pulled her daughter away when my father entered the room has never left me. And now, Felicity—her shadows, her secrets—feels like that girl grown up.

Untouchable. Dangerous. Hard to love. That we have in common.

It’s not her defiance, but that does things to me I’d rather not admit. It’s the sadness, that hollow, faraway look I caught when I asked about her mate. It hit something jagged.

Vicious and Kaida.

The names burn like acid. The sheer intensity of our shared darkness. Together, we were fire and shadow, an intricate knot of pain and pleasure…never meant to fall apart, never meant to be only two. The loss is a gaping wound bleeding beneath the surface. It’s safer to keep the walls high and trust no one. Yet I’m haunted by memories I thought buried and shaken by a woman who sees far too much.

Every instinct I have screams to protect her, even if it’s from me. The need is almost nauseating in its intensity. I’ve killed in ways that would make the bravest warrior piss himself, but that look on her face? That’s the kind of pain I’d burn the whole damn world to ash to erase.

But I’ve seen what happens when I let myself feel too deeply. I won’t let history repeat itself.

With a smirk, I lean back, keeping my tone light. “Soft? Hardly. Safeguarding the Veil doesn’t leave much room for sentimentality.”

Tomas grunts. “Aye, but it does seem to leave room for distractions. That lass has you twisted up like a damn knot, even if you won’t admit it.”

I shrug, a half-smile tugging at my lips. “Let’s be real, I’m no hero. And if I happen to enjoy occasional distractions while I do my job, who’s to say that’s not part of the charm? The devil’s in the details.”

Tomas shifts in his chair, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Details. Fascinating. And her hair, what shade might that be?”

Raven black.

Of course, Tomas knows me better than I care to admit. It’s irritating, really. “Why? Planning on taking up painting now? Or are you checking to see if I was actually sober last night?”

“Neither. I’m wondering if you’ve finally met a lass who’s managed to tame your wandering eye, and perhaps something else,” Tomas taunts, his grin widening like he’s in on some delicious secret. “Seems she’s carved herself a little deeper than the colour of her hair, hasn’t she?”

I grab the whiskey bottle again, pouring myself another shot with the kind of precision that comes from too much practice. “Focus on the Veil, Tomas. Not my life. It’s a hell of a lot less complicated, and far less dangerous for you.”

Tomas chuckles, leaning in with that glint in his eye that says he’s far too entertained. “So, did our intrepid journalist spill any secrets, or were you too distracted by her investigative techniques to notice?”

I throw back a shot. “Oh, we shared a drink, a laugh, and yes, I escorted her back to the inn. She’s here for tales of fae lore, armed with nothing but her wit and a rather incriminating photo of you prancing about in your glorious equine form.”

Sure, I conveniently left out the part where our moonlit jaunt turned into a solitary sprint—not just because she stopped, but because I realised I was on the brink of kicking off the prophecy, and I didn’t give a damn as long as I had her. But what I want doesn’t matter, does it?

Some find forever in our twilight existence, but not everyone gets a happy ending. And if I’m forced to put her on that path, well…I’m not sure which of us will survive the fallout.

“Aye, if she writes that story, it’ll draw eyes to the island. The old believers, those who’ve forgotten, might start remembering. That’d leave the Veil wide open, forcing us back to the old ways of constant vigil to keep the darker creatures in our world from crossing,” Tomas speculates.

“She won’t write it,” I say, more to convince myself than him.

Tomas raises an eyebrow. “And you’re sure of that, are ye? On what grounds?”

My mind can’t help but drift back to the feel of her. Her body pressed so close to mine under the moonlight. She wants me, craves me, and I feel it in every stolen glance, every subtle shift when I’m near. And if she wants me, she won’t let that story slip.

“I’ve got my methods,” I reply, the corner of my mouth pulling up with an almost guilty pleasure.

Tomas leans in, mock innocence written all over his face. “And these methods are?”

“I’ve got more than one way to keep her mouth shut, and not all of them involve words,” I say, smirking as I pour another shot. The arrogance fits like a second skin—natural, easy. Hell, I could have half this damn court naked and tied up in vines if I wanted to. The whiskey burns going down, but it’s nothing compared to the fire she’s already lit.

Tomas grunts. “Gods help us all if your dick’s doing the talking again.”

“Don’t forget,” I say, my voice dipping into something smooth and deadly, “this isn’t just about her. If I don’t take a ceangal , my sister’s fate is as good as signed in blood.” I let the silence stretch, letting Tomas scowl in his ignorance of my real intentions. He doesn’t need to know. Transfer the Gloam mark to someone else. Perhaps Cyn. “But understand this,” I add, my lips curling into a snarl. “I won’t let her fall to Madden. If that’s the only option left, I’ll burn this court to the ground and salt the ashes. And I’ll do it with a smile.”

Tomas gives me a look. “Your sister can handle herself.”

“You think I’m protecting her because she’s weak? She’s the most dangerous one in this court. It’s about what it’ll cost her.”

With a sneer, I grab my whiskey glass and toss it hard at the fireplace. The glass slams into the brick with a satisfying thud, and the impact cracks the brick before the glass shatters into pieces. That’s how you make a point.

“I’ll handle Felicity, too,” I growl, my eyes never leaving Tomas. “I’ll make damn sure she writes exactly what we want. And the secrets of the Veil? Not a word, not a whisper.”

He pushes himself up slowly. “Aye, you think she’ll fall in line? You can’t cage something like her. Those shadows? And she chases monsters with a pen, but trust me, that’s as dangerous as any weapon. You don’t mind the pain, do you?” He shoots me a look, cruel and knowing. I open my mouth to retort, but he keeps goading me. “Because she’ll wear you down before you ever get a sentence out of her. You won’t even see it until you’re too far gone.” Tomas shakes his head and grabs his coat from the back of the chair. He pauses, sizing me up with a twisted grin. “But I’m sure you’ll have a laugh trying. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the crows get the first pick of your bones when she’s done shredding you. Can’t have ‘em going hungry.” Tomas shrugs on his coat. He heads toward the door, patting me on the back with far too much force. “Good luck with her, Niall. It’s a brilliant plan.”

And with that, he’s gone, the door slamming behind him like a prison gate.