Page 17 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

We backtrack along the same path we used on arrival, night creeping in fast. The healer strides ahead through the maze, her small figure full of purpose. Seth and I walk shoulder to shoulder behind her, the rhythmic crunch of snow beneath our boots falling into perfect synchrony.

“How did you get involved in the pageant?” I ask.

“My mother didn’t want anything to do with Wintermere after Iris’s death and tasked me with it.” Seth wraps the wool blanket tighter around his broad shoulders as we reach the castle gates. “But Elio was equally annoyed with her, so my seeds never made it far. Until Lori.”

“That woman is no Spring seed,” I clip.

“You’re right,” Seth chuckles softly, like this is all part of some heartwarming inside joke. “She’s one of Damian’s spiders. I schemed to get her enrolled in the Yule Pageant so she could spy on Elio for me, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

I nudge his shoulder with my own. “So you have a knack for making convoluted deals with desperate women.”

He bumps me back. “But with you, it feels new again. And I’d never use that word—desperate—to describe you.”

“What would you use?”

He stops for a breath, and I glance at his face.

“Ravenous,” he murmurs to the chilly breeze, and the word slithers through a tight, jarred crevasse in my soul.

That I am.

The guard from before nods in greeting as we pass the gates.

Beyond them, the city is now dark and still.

The snowy streets ahead twist downward in curves, their paths lit only by the mystical glow of blue Nether oil flames flickering on every porch.

Dozens of chimneys release white smoke to the sky, the heavy fumes swallowing the twinkle of spiraling snowflakes.

Tundra feels smaller at night. The street narrows on our way down the slopes, the townhouses huddled closer together near the heart of the city. Their snow-capped rooftops cast long shadows on our path.

A few locals pass us by, their hurried footsteps confident and without thought, their faces half-hidden beneath scarves and hoods.

I’ve never seen this part of Tundra, never ventured beyond the shops nestled outside the castle gates.

Royal Fae usually travel between different parts of the kingdom using the sceawere, and it’s bizarre not to simply step into one mirror and out of the next.

The coming war will force the rulers of the continent to reinvent their entire way of living.

The easy banter from before has given way to an insidious silence, and I steal another glance at my companion. The mischievous prince who trespassed into my shop is gone, replaced by a brooding Storm Fae.

Tundra’s main sanctuary rises at the center of town, its dark stone walls covered in droves of twisted, leafless white vines coated in frost.

Leona slows before the large doors and presses her hand to the wood, activating some kind of hidden mechanism. With a low groan, the ancient wood stirs and cracks open just enough to allow us entry. Seth and I follow a pace behind her, our shoulders brushing.

“You didn’t have to come along, you know,” I whisper without missing a step.

The frost-carved runes etched into the doors shimmer as we pass through the threshold, and Seth huddles closer. “I know.”

I wait for him to add some justification. Maybe say he came to maintain the illusion that we’re becoming fast friends, laying the groundwork for whatever comes next. But he remains strangely quiet.

The healer leads us past the waiting room and welcome counter into a large area in the back that’s sectioned off into a dozen cubicles by tall partition screens. She guides us to the nearest one. A simple chair is set up near the cubicle’s entrance, and I tip my chin toward it. “Stay here.”

Seth’s mouth curls down. “I have to tell them about Luther’s wolves. It might help.”

“You can tell them from this side of the screen.”

I’m not sure if he’s being nosy or just doesn’t like being left behind, but I sure as hells don’t know what to do with the caring look on his face.

“Oh, alright.” He sinks into the uncomfortable seat, and I hand him my fur coat before following the healer to the other side, Percy perched on my shoulder as we enter the cubicle.

The healing room is a striking blend of modern and traditional fixtures.

A deep sink stands beside a sleek white countertop, and a special ever-burning lantern—no doubt enchanted by the Sun Court—casts light rivaling the brightness of a cloudless day.

A cushioned leather examination table, designed for the patient to sit on or lie flat, takes up most of the space, flanked on either side by a myriad of drawers in various sizes.

Leona removes the makeshift bandage she secured earlier and cleans my wound again, then hikes up my sleeves to examine my cupid scars. This woman has the keen eye of a healer, and my skin tingles under her scrutiny.

“Don’t mind them,” I say quickly.

Her rich brown eyes search the depths of my soul. “Do you know what caused them?”

“Of course I do.”

My curt tone discourages further discussion, but she presses on, lowering her voice. “Scars of that number and magnitude usually suggest a difficult childhood…or a violent lover.” Her gaze shifts to the partition screen for a split second.

I take the edge off our conversation with a small smile. “I’m alright. Seth isn’t violent. Just annoying.”

Fae can’t lie, so she’s relieved to hear it, I’m sure.

Leona presses her lips together and squints at the scars once more. “If you told me what they were from, I might be able to help.”

“I’m beyond help where those scars are concerned,” I say firmly.

“Just sit here, then. I’ll get the Master Healer.”

She adjusts the partition screen to give me a bit of privacy and grills Seth about his brother’s wolves before heading off in a flurry of faint footsteps. Healers are a class of their own. They come from every Fae Court, known for their exceptional selflessness and good nature.

The silence hums in my ears, and I’m acutely aware of Seth’s presence a few feet away.

The legs of his chair scratch the floor. “What’s going on in there?” he says.

“Oh, just come in.”

I dangle my legs from the ledge of the exam table as he slips inside the room with his brows pulled together. He runs a hand up my bare arm, tracing the silvery scars, and his pupils dilate, his purple-flecked eyes overshadowed by a tempest of black swirling clouds. “What happened to you?”

“Don’t start. It’s none of your business.”

“I make it my business. There’s so many of them... Like your arm got chewed up by a Razorback Mauler before being tossed through a shredder. In my book, whoever did this to you deserves to die?—”

“Shush,” I cut him off.

Leona returns with two colleagues in tow, and Seth steps in behind me, the heat of him radiating against my back as he rests a hand on my shoulder.

His grip is both comforting and aggressive—his fingers digging in as though he wants to press the name of my tormentor out of me, like juice from a blood orange.

I could taunt him with the truth—that his mother’s curse is the root of it all. It’d make for a perfect jab, but it’s too personal, and I won’t reveal my inability to use magic without summoning all hells, not if I can help it.

The three healers examine my arm before the one wearing a dark grey robe adorned with a gold-threaded sash clears her throat.

“You’re lucky, the venom hasn’t entered the bloodstream.

We’re going to clean the bite with frost apple juice, but I’m afraid it’ll be very painful and unpleasant.

To be blunt, it’ll feel like we’re sawing it off, but combined with our healers’ magic, it should rid you of the scars, too—the ones in that region of your arm that is. ”

“Isn’t there a less painful or unpleasant option? Analgesia, maybe? ” Seth asks flippantly, his breathy tone stirring the sensitive hairs on my neck.

The healer focuses all her attention on me. “No. And we have to do it now, before the poison spreads.”

“Do it.” I wave Seth off. “You can go.”

He inches closer. “I’m staying.”

“You’re not one of those controlling men, are you? Because I could never marry a man like that.”

“Is it controlling to keep you company?” he deadpans.

“I just don’t get what use you are.”

The healers apply a cream to the rest of my arm to protect it from the treatment. “Do you want him to go?” one healer asks.

My mouth opens to tell him off, but before I can speak, he slips his hand into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world and whispers into my ear, “Just hold my hand, witch.”

I press my lips together.

“If we are going to convince my mother that you like me, even a little, you are going to have to get used to physical contact,” he adds quietly before turning to Percy. “What about you, Perce?”

In the blink of an eye, Seth’s scowl vanishes—replaced by a cocky, devil-may-care smile. My Faeling opens his mouth to scold him for using the pet name, but Seth adds, “B-man looked pretty flustered when he saw you. I’d never seen him like that. He looked about to faint.”

Percy grins from ear to ear. “He did, didn’t he?”

“And that greeting? So squeaky. If he wants us to think he’s moved on, he’s not fooling anyone.”

They exchange a conspiratorial glance and share a snigger. A shiver runs through me. Blimey… Percy and Seth getting along? That’s a surprising twist I didn’t see coming.

They gossip happily about Percy’s ex-boyfriend, and I suspect they’re both trying to take my mind off what’s happening to my arm.

The master healer spreads an icy mixture over the bite marks under the watchful eyes of her colleagues, teaching them as she goes.

I grit my teeth against the white-hot pain.

The semi-liquid juice worms its way into my flesh like a living thing, frosting the edges and freezing the rest. A trickle of nausea slithers up my chest.

Ice burns deeper than flames.

Seth squeezes my hand, and to my horror, I squeeze back.

The heat of his palm brings a shred of comfort, which I hate.

I’m not used to relying on anyone or showing vulnerability, especially not in the presence of strangers, and I’ve got half a mind to throw him out of the examination cubicle before I completely embarrass myself, but the pain stops suddenly.

“All done. You did phenomenal. Most patients faint or scream, or both,” the master healer says.

“Thanks,” I grumble.

I’m used to pain, but I chew on my lips not to say so, unwilling to discuss my scars further.

“Can we go now?” I ask curtly.

The woman presses her lips together at my rudeness, but she nods. “Yes.”

Seth lets out a small chuckle on our way out. “You’re not used to saying thank you, are you?”

“I’m not used to asking for help.” I bite the insides of my cheeks. “Or getting it.”

The words taste strange, like admitting to a flaw I didn’t know I had. I’m a grown, independent woman, used to facing life head-on and not expecting any favors from anyone.

Seth doesn’t say anything else, and we return to the castle in stilted silence. His hand comes dangerously close to the small of my back a few times as Percy guides us through the maze toward the guest wing, a section of the castle I visited during my time as queen.

Sara’s waiting for us on the parapet. “Byron warned me of your arrival. Is everything good with your arm?” she asks.

“No need to cut it off just yet,” I joke.

She takes us through a side entrance, where long white marble hallways snake around a few lavish apartments. The sharp smell of ice and pine hangs in the air, cold and clean.

“Good,” she says with humor. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

We follow her to the end of the corridor. “Here for you, Devi. Seth, you’re right at the end of this hallway.” She hands us each a key. “Can I get you anything else?”

Seth grabs my hand, brings my knuckles to his lips, then twists it over and pecks the underside of my wrist. “Closer rooms?”

“Goodnight, Seth.” I push him off, and he chuckles softly as he heads down the hall.

“Looks like he’s found a new mountain to climb,” Sara quips.

“Is that what he does? Climb mountains ?” I enunciate slowly, my mouth pasty from the lack of sleep and the painful healing session.

“I’d say you’re the most famous peak there is, but yes.”

I brace my hands on my hips, watching Seth turn the corner.

“I’m not opposed to a brave adventurer planting his flag on me, as long as he’s nice to look at…

” I trail off, sowing the seeds of what’s to come.

It’s easier to play the flirt when he’s not encroaching on my personal space.

I hate that he gets to me, but Seth is right.

If I want to convince everyone—including Seth himself—that we’re engaged, I need to put on my game face.

A heavy sigh whistles out of Sara’s mouth. “I wish I could relate, but to me, all men look the same.”

I chuckle wholeheartedly at that and pat her shoulder in commiseration. “Good night, Sara.”