Page 45 of A Song of Air (Fae Elementals #4)

T he chains were removed from their wrists. Bryson and Weylyn were escorted through camp and into a large tent, where they both were promptly shoved inside.

Bryson struggled to right herself, blinking at her surroundings. With each hour that passed, her eyes only seemed to worsen. The pain made her want to peel her lids from her eyes. Her scars itched terribly, and her temples were already throbbing. Not just because the light was blinding, making it harder to see, but because of everything she’d learned within the past few hours.

Not only was Weylyn half-Unseelie, but he was also an Unseelie Prince. Son to the Queen of all that Dies. She tried to contend that to the image of him in her mind. It didn’t make sense, and yet it all fell perfectly into place. She just needed answers to the thousands of questions that had already begun to plague her thoughts.

She turned, limp hair smacking her cheek. “Weylyn—”

“Sssh!”

She blinked at his form. “Did you just—”

“Quiet.”

She held back her irritation as she watched him walk in a slow circle around the room. What he was inspecting it for, she couldn’t be sure, but she let him do it in the quiet he’d demanded. When he finally finished, he grabbed her arm and guided her down onto a plush cushion and sat next to her.

A moment later, his fingers invaded her mind, diving in like he was a mermaid jumping home into its depths.

Blackness shrouded her and she was sucked inside with his magic. Facing him in her mind, she could see him clearly like she couldn’t physically. Every worried line etched over his features was clear as day. Everything she thought that made him beautiful was torn into grave downturns. Gone was that mischief that made his eyes bright and in its place was something else.

Bryson swallowed as she took him in.

“We cannot speak aloud, little mate,” he explained, taking a step closer to her. His hand reached out only to pause, almost as if he were thinking better of touching her.

She couldn’t be sure why that hurt, why she’d even want him to touch her at all. But she craved it. Craved his palm against her skin and his fingers in her hair.

So she closed the space between them herself. Stupidly. Bravely.

She didn’t even know if she could trust him. Not when he was disguising himself as a High Fae within the Resistance. Not when he hadn’t told her the truth of who or what he was. But what truth did he even owe her, when she’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him or the mating bond between them?

He owed her nothing.

Yet the feeling sat there in her chest just the same.

Bryson clasped his hands in hers. They felt cold even in this mindscape. “What is happening, Weylyn?”

He swallowed, staring deeply into her eyes. His fear only served to unnerve her when it wasn’t something she saw in him often.

“We are in the Unseelie Court. At my mother’s court.”

“Yeah, I got that bit when we were out there. You’re a prince ?!”

His lips kicked up into that smirk she was all too familiar with. “A title that is unimpressive when I am disinherited from ever taking the throne.”

“Well, still. An Unseelie prince. Fuck, this is wild.”

“Not as wild as things are about to get, little mate.”

She eyed him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“My mother knows we are mates.” His hold on her tightened.

“Yeah, I got that too.” She’d sniffed it off Bryson’s body. Was their bond that strong, even if they hadn’t claimed each other at all?

“She did not kill us, but that does not mean she will not.”

Her breath halted in her throat. “So that animosity I sensed between you—”

“She despises me.” His golden eyes flared like they held fire within his depths. “Loathes me. She wants me dead. The fact that she kept us alive only means she will toy with us. She will toy with you to get to me. She will make a show of our suffering. Do not get comfortable, little mate. It will be the last thing you ever do.”

“I wasn’t really planning on it.” Bryson hoped her voice portrayed more bravery than she felt inside. Inside, she was a quivering mess of fear. A part of her wanted to crawl into a puddle and drift away. Another part wanted to unleash a tornado so powerful, everyone was blown away.

Predator or prey, her familiar had said.

In the Unseelie Court, they were prey.

But they could be predators in disguise.

Weylyn’s fingers grasped her chin, much like his mother’s had, only his hands were far gentler, the cold of the rings contrasting the sudden warmth of his palms. He made Bryson look up at him and she found features of the cruel monarch in him. The slight curve on the bridge of the nose, the gleam in the eyes, the smile...

But Weylyn was somehow different. Maybe it was because he was half-Unseelie. Because his other half was High Fae and he hid the wildness inside better than those around them did. It was a very telling difference. The way everyone was at the edge of their seats, waiting with gleaming teeth and razor-sharp claws.

Bryson could always sense the wild in Weylyn. Never to that extent.

“She will parade us around her court,” he whispered. “Let her. Do not speak, give nothing away. And whatever you do, never make a deal with an Unseelie, is that clear?”

Making deals with Unseelie was an older, more dangerous form of magic. Being trapped in a deal with an Unseelie Fae with no way to get out of one was worse than death itself.

“I understand.”

“Only eat and drink what I tell you is safe.”

“Okay.”

“Try not to be alone with my brothers.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Weylyn sighed and dropped his forehead against Bryson’s, taking a moment to breathe her in. She did the same. It was strange that the one person she’d been avoiding for days had suddenly become her tether to life, the one she leaned to. Because they only had one another, it was easy to hold onto him. Because she was unsure if they would live to see the next day, it was easy to picture a life with Weylyn at her side. Her mate. Her Mana-chosen mate...

Something stirred low in her belly, igniting what she swore she wouldn’t feel for him again.

Weylyn must have sensed it too because he groaned, but before he could press closer, Bryson’s palms met his chest and gently pushed him away.

“You owe me an explanation,” she whispered to break the moment, voice hoarse around them.

His eyes were glaringly beautiful in the dark. “I promise, I will give it. For now, let us go back. They are waiting for us. Remember to be cautious, temper your magic, and only communicate here.”

In a shot, Bryson was jolted out of her own mind and pushed back to the present. She blinked and suddenly, creatures began pushing their way into the tent, bringing with them the smell of magic. How it was so strong among the iron, Bryson couldn’t be sure. But it imbued the air. She stared down at the brownies, all in different shades and textures creaking their way through the tent.

Their fingers snapped and a tub appeared with steaming hot water. They began speaking in the Unseelie tongue, a language that was almost as old as the courts, and one Bryson did not understand. It had been spoken earlier and she hadn’t been able to follow along with the entirety of the conversation. They’d switched out between the common tongue, a language spoken throughout all of Illyk, their accents thick and low.

“I will bathe my own mate,” Weylyn declared to the brownies, shooing them away as they began to tug on her pants. “Find us both suitable clothing.”

When he spoke like that, she could almost see how princely he really was.

“Here.” Bryson’s breath suddenly caught as Weylyn appeared in front of her, long adept fingers tugging at the waist of her shirt. She lifted her arms as he tugged the garment off her. Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh as soon as she was exposed. She didn’t shy away as he began undressing her. Meticulously. Slowly. Like he was enjoying it rather than acting like it was a chore.

He untied the drawstring of her pants. As he leaned forward, his nose brushed against her belly, causing Bryson to suck in a breath. He looked up at her, dark lashes shadowing the gold of his eyes. He worked, as though his fingers memorized every curve of her, with his eyes firmly holding her own.

He shoved her pants down the length of her legs, his warm palms tracing her skin down to her ankles, where he helped to pull off her boots, socks, and pants.

Weylyn stood to his full height, purposefully brushing against her body as he went. Her skin felt suddenly far too sensitive, and his clothes scraped against her pebbled nipples uncomfortably. She wanted to peel the clothes from his body, feel his heat envelop her. It didn’t matter that there were brownies tittering about the room, cleaning and leaving the sharp smell of their magic wherever they touched.

She wanted him so much it ached.

Weylyn’s fingers began wresting at his own clothes and she dared herself to watch. Up close his details weren’t so hazy, and she followed the sight of his golden-brown skin being revealed to her. His shirt came off and she was staring at his firm flesh, wanting to reach out and touch it. Before she got a chance, he was shoving his pants down, pulling them and his boots and socks off. When they stood naked before one another, Bryson dared to let her gaze travel down... down...

But then Weylyn picked her up and dunked her into the water. She came up with a sputter and a curse, but he was already hopping into the tub behind her. Together, they made a tight fit, but it was surprisingly comfortable to have him so close.

For a moment, it made her feel less alone in the world they suddenly found themselves in. She was never good at being alone.

Weylyn was surprisingly silent behind her and kept a small bit of space between them. Her back curled and she leaned over her knees, wrapping her arms around them and sighed as he began pouring warm water down her back. He lapped it up with her hair, and each pass of his fingers felt like he was washing away the anxiety as well as the grime.

Her heart pounded an unsteady rhythm against her chest, she was sure he could feel it vibrating in the water.

Scented soap filled her nostrils and seconds later his fingers were in her hair, rubbing the foam there. He scraped his nails softly against her scalp, scrubbing against it until it bubbled. He guided her silently using only his fingers, pulling her back. Her head arched, and he dipped her hair into the bath, rinsing the suds.

When Bryson sat up again, it was to find herself pressed closer against Weylyn’s chest and nearly sitting in his lap.

She gasped when she felt his length press against her backside. She tensed, waiting to see what he’d do, but he didn’t press into her like she’d expected. She was surprised she almost yearned for it. She pressed down against him despite knowing she shouldn’t.

Weylyn’s fingers grasped her shoulders, roaming against her skin in gentle movements, kneading at the tightened muscles there.

She fell into the bliss of the sensation, moaning as he scrubbed the soap across her body. She let him guide her, lift her arms, scrub down her body, across her neck, down over the swells of her breasts. Her eyes closed of their own volition, and she lost herself in the sensation.

But Weylyn didn’t go any further than just washing her. His movements were gentle, firm, and almost clinical. He didn’t linger anywhere, but swiped across her skin with careful precision, slipping his hand around her front and beneath the cloudy surface.

Bryson bit her lip as he washed her curls, down her thighs.

When he finished thoroughly over her whole body he pulled her against his chest, submerging her a bit deeper into the water. She found herself relaxing against him, basking in the sensation for a few moments.

Sighing, she sat forward. “Now your turn.”

Weylyn obeyed silently, switching spots in the tub with her. It was awkward, and they mostly ignored the brownies that were walking in and out with their magic fizzling through the air. When Weylyn was in front of her, between her legs and caged around her thighs, she reached for his hair.

The tresses were silky and smooth. It was quite unfair how soft it was despite their trek through the Unseelie forest. Where Bryson’s curls had tangled within dirt, twigs, and leaves, knotting in several places, his was immaculate.

Bryson was equally gentle with him as he was with her, wetting the ends before tugging gently to pull him back and dunk his whole head in. Once he was dripping, she grabbed the same soap he’d used on her and rubbed it into his hair. His body relaxed into hers as she went through the motions, trying to be as clinical as possible and avoid getting lost in his body.

His addictive scent saturated her nostrils so much that she dropped her forehead to his back, bumping against the sharpness of his bones and inhaled deeply. There was something about his essence that she knew others might find too sharp, too much. She recognized it was the spice, but there was an undertone of sweetness as well. It was comforting for her.

It reminded her of the hot peppers her mother used to cook in her stews. Spicy, with just the right amount of sweet. The memory of that time was surprising. Something she hadn’t thought of in years, and it brought instant tears to her eyes.

Swallowing them back, she resumed her task, rinsing his hair and running her fingers through the long strands. It was longer than hers, trailing down to his waist. The strands pooled on the surface of the water like dark snakes. Once they were untangled and rinsed, Bryson and Weylyn stood, letting the water sluice from their bodies.

Immediately, the brownies rushed to them, producing fluffy towels that appeared to be made from dandelion tuffs instead of actual cloth that magically dried them within seconds.

Trying not to be shy about her state of undress, Bryson let herself be guided by the brownies. Their bark-like hands tugged at her naked form, slipping a shimmering cloth over her shoulders. The fabric adjusted to her body like a second layer of skin. It was sheer, and when she looked down at it, it glowed silver-gold like the webbing of a spider’s web. The design was all thin thread that glittered when she moved and pressed against her body, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Her eyes flicked up to Weylyn, who was being outfitted by the brownies in gold and black pants, though he stayed bare-chested. Once his boots were on, he shooed the brownies away before they reached for his hair, and he flicked the length over his shoulder, his fingers moving quickly as he twisted it into a long braid.

Bryson’s own hair was tugged through with a bristled brush, though her stands were left to curl around her shoulders.

Little lights bobbed through the air, making Bryson’s vision clearer. The brightly colored lights sprinkled glittering dust that shimmered down like a paste against their skin. One of the little pixies appeared, wings weighing it down as it carried a golden crown of thorns and placed it atop Weylyn’s head.

“Ready?” Weylyn asked her, his voice low and grave.

Bryson wasn’t. She was cold, uncomfortable. She didn’t fancy wearing a dress that left a good chunk of her body exposed. She wasn’t a prude by far, but she felt too exposed, too vulnerable. Especially in a court that wasn’t hers, surrounded by predators and enemies at all sides, without a wider range of sight to help her navigate it.

Nerves burst at the seams within her stomach. She tried to breathe through them, steeling herself against them, but it was hard, and she felt her chest compress with discomfort.

“Breathe.” Weylyn’s voice was an echo in her mind. She sucked in a breath that hurt her lungs just as the tent flaps parted and a small body thumped its way inside.

Bryson blinked down, making out small features of a male goblin.

The creature turned in Weylyn’s direction and bowed. Bryson couldn’t see well, but she wondered if it was more mocking than reverent.

“Prince, the queen requests your presence in the relic room immediately.”

Weylyn nodded at the goblin and a moment later, the air around them shifted, becoming a suffocating force. Darkness settled around Bryson’s vision like a blanket. Then, everything around them dissipated before they were no longer in the tent.