Page 29 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)
Wind Eater
DEVI
W e ride in silence, the wolf-led sleigh cutting a clean path through the snow. Seth sits beside me in the toboggan, nestled close.
“Isn’t this fun?” he grunts, as I jab his chest for the twelfth time in minutes, my fruitless attempts to stay on my side of the sleigh felt deeply in my cramped limbs. Each bump sends us crashing into each other—elbows, knees, bruises—until he wraps an arm around me. “Let’s try something else.”
He slowly, meticulously, shifts me over his thigh until I’m lying between his legs, steadying us both and stopping the jarring back-and-forth.
“Better. Now relax, you’re stiff as steel.”
“So are you,” I quip, rubbing my ass against his erection.
His voice dips into a husky drawl. “Mm. You’re not playing fair.”
There. While he’s busy lusting after me and plotting new ways for us to fuck, he’s not asking questions about the mission Elio saddled me with or the secret blade strapped to my thigh.
I press my lips together not to engage further, shutting down any further attempts at conversation, trying to keep my mind as blank and still as the landscape.
But my thoughts keep drifting back to last night.
To his glorious, naked body blurred by the steam of the shower.
How fierce he looked, standing on the other side of that glass pane, ready to smash it to bits.
How delirious I was, coming harder than I have in decades as he devoured me with his eyes.
The hot curses that spilled from his lips when he stroked himself to completion.
The mess he made, ropes of cum splattered against the glass.
All terrible mistakes.
I almost gave in, almost let him touch my body without pretense, and that can’t happen again.
I can’t have sex with him, not if it means feeling that way again, like I could forget what his mother did to me, forget that he’s my enemy, forget how much I hate him just to momentarily satisfy the ache in my bones.
Seth Devine is a weed. A beautiful, invasive, pollinates-everything-in-reach weed.
I won’t let him add me to the endless flock of women he polluted with his seed.
The way my body answers to his kiss fills me with self-loathing.
As though I’ve become some pathetic, broken thing that craves what nearly destroyed me.
As though my scars, my humiliation, my pain…don’t matter.
To open my heart to him would be worse than weakness. It would be an unforgivable betrayal of everything I’ve fought for and everything I’ve lost. It would be like handing him the same arrowhead his mother used to ruin me and begging him to cut deeper.
I’ve been tasked to kill his brother, to betray him, and trade his trust for my freedom. And I will. Because anything else would mean defeat.
“He saved you last night,” Percy whispers in my ear.
My loyal Faeling is perched on my shoulder, his gaze glued to the large hand resting comfortably on my stomach. “You don’t have to work this hard to hate him, not if you’re hurting yourself at the same time.”
“Shush.”
He only saved me to win my trust, because we’re not already married.
Starting the moment this nightmare of a sleigh ride ends, I’m done with fake kisses, convenient cuddles, and impromptu voyeurism sessions. I’m trading all that for locked doors and personal bubbles. Strict boundaries. From now on, every physical touch between us will be strategically calculated.
Seth grazes the hollow of my neck as if daring me to break that silent vow, his other hand heavy on my belly. “Relax, witch,” he murmurs.
His command settles over me like a weighted blanket, and I melt against him, my head lolling over his chest. I’m exhausted—from the lack of sleep, the unsated lust, the turmoil I’m hiding behind my blank stares and tired sighs.
I drift to sleep, enveloped in the treacherous heat of Seth’s body. Seth’s scent. Rain and steel, and the faint, earthy trace of blightroot, a plant that only blooms where lightning has struck.
When the sleigh glides to a sudden stop, I jolt awake.
“Easy, guys. Easy,” our guide—the musher—calls to the ice wolves.
He yanks at the reins, but the alpha veers into a half-circle, turning away from our destination.
The sleigh tips, and the three of us are thrown into the snow.
Seth and I get ejected from our cocoon and land hard on the icy crust of the Frozen Hills.
I grunt, crushed by his weight, but he swiftly rolls to stand.
“Are you alright?” he asks, offering me a hand.
I rise to my feet without taking it. “Of course.” My boots find traction on the ice. I dust the snow off my pants and coat and untangle a morsel of ice from the bun on top of my head.
The musher spits out a mouthful of snow. “Something spooked them,” he mutters, walking over to the lead wolf and petting his head. “You okay there, Ulrik?”
Steam rises from the alpha’s black snout as he tosses his head toward the void ahead. The other wolves pace restlessly behind him, claws scraping the snow, and let out high-pitched, nervous coos.
“Good thing the beasts have more instinct than our guide, or we’d be dead,” Seth whispers. “We’re here.”
A hundred feet ahead, the Uaithe cuts through the earth, its depths too far to see.
Its signature lightning-bolt shape isn’t visible from this vantage point, the span of it too vast to grasp from the ground.
This chasm keeps storms from reaching the ice of Wintermere, or vice versa.
A narrow bridge without rails stretches across the divide, built by ancient Fae and worn smooth by time.
We say goodbye to our guide and the clever wolves, dig our bags from the overturned toboggan, and finish the rest of the journey on foot.
“Whatever you do, don’t look down,” Seth says with humor.
No wind stirs near the abyss—only the weight of silence and the echo of distant thunder.
Percy cowers under my tunic until he’s nestled safely near my heart, and I step closer to Seth.
I’ve never struggled with vertigo, but this is different.
Oxygen feels sparse. I can almost hear my name on the wind, its spectral call beckoning me closer to the edge.
All the hairs on my arms stand on end. A strange beat drums at my ears, soft at first, then clearer.
Faint whispers of my fears. Of dying before I can reclaim my crown, of being forgotten and erased by time, as if I’d never existed at all.
The trench hums a dark melody woven into the wind, and the vacuum left behind it sucking me in.
I stop near the rock base of the arched bridge just as Seth begins to cross. The backpack’s straps dig hard into my shoulders, and a trickle of nausea washes over me.
“Wait.”
Seth turns around, unbothered by the gaping holes on either side of him, and a prickle of déjà vu sends my world spinning. My mouth goes dry. A vivid image overlaps with my vision—him losing his footing, slipping, then tumbling down to his death.
And dragging me with him.
Cold sweat gathers at the back of my neck. “I need a minute.”
Seth returns to my side and raises an arm to pat my shoulder, but I sidestep away from him, away from the Uaithe, and turn my back to them.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I dig my nails into my palms, eyes screwed shut. “This place isn’t natural,” I say, breathless. “There’s something deep inside that trench— A power.”
I tighten the loose scarf around my neck and tuck the ends into my coat, as if it could protect me from a presence that tugs at the very threads of who I am.
Seth nods. “They say anyone who falls into the Uaithe screams for minutes before being crushed at the bottom. That any bird foolish enough to fly into its depths never comes back out. Sound bends in strange ways on the fringes of the chasm. Locals call it the Wind Eater—said to draw in our breaths, our memories, our very souls, and keep them, if we’re not careful. ”
“Well, that cheered me up to no end,” I bark, not feeling better about this creepy-bridge-without-rails situation.
He licks his lips. “Here, take my hand.”
“Stop doing that.” I slap his offered hand. “I mean— I’m fine. It’s just a bout of vertigo.”
I will myself to walk toward the bridge, this time careful not to look down, keeping my gaze fixed on Seth as he strides ahead without hesitation.
“As soon as we’re on the other side, stand close to me,” he warns, his voice cutting through the eerie stillness of the Frozen Hills. “You wouldn’t want to be toppled over by the wind when it comes, and fall into the crack.” He spins around to witness my slow, painful progress.
“You’re freaking me out on purpose. And showing off, might I add.”
The hint of a smile touches his eyes. “Perhaps. Or maybe I’m distracting you from the lure of whatever power lies at the bottom.”
My steps are lighter, quicker than before, and I hate that his shenanigans are working.
On the far side of the bridge, hundreds of wind turbines spin slow and steady, their blades slicing through the gray sky.
The gigantic Aeolians are scattered along the rugged cliffs, drawing power from the storms that crackle constantly overhead.
At the base of the descending valley lies a city beside the sea.
Deiltine is an industrial hub carved into the rock, its borders chiseled one violent storm at a time.
We finally reach solid ground, and a blinding sense of relief washes over me. The storm here, though fierce, is not as suffocating as the emptiness of the Uaithe, the fear of being sucked in relenting.
Rain beats at my face, the sudden change in weather blinding me for a moment, before Seth envelops us in a protective bubble, an umbrella of sorts, that keeps us from the fury of the elements.
Only Storm Fae can reach the heart of the valley, making it one of the most inhospitable regions of the continent, second only to the cold, barren peaks of Wintermere’s highest mountains.
Seth stands tall beside me, his face lit with happiness as he opens his arms to the violent beauty of the Stormlands. “Welcome to Deiltine.”