Page 32 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

Little Miss Fortune

DEVI

T he fire crackles low, its warmth slowly drying our damp clothes.

Seth strung them out on a rope, each piece swaying gently above the flames.

Smoke clings to the cavern air—earthy, bitter, laced with the sweetness of lichen and char—but it weaves through the cracks above our heads without getting too dense, drawn upward by Seth’s magic. Outside, the storm still rages.

Seth sits close enough that I can feel the warmth of him. My muscles ache from the climb, but I keep still, arms wrapped loosely around my knees. The black underwear and sporty bra Lori lent me dried fast, and the fire keeps me from shivering, but I’m still far too exposed.

Every movement is calculated, because if I shift even a little, my knee will brush his. And I don’t trust myself not to lean into it. I glance at Seth from the corner of my eye and catch him staring at my bare legs. My breath hitches, and I rest my head on my thighs, erasing him from view.

He rummages through his bag and retrieves a metal flask, unscrewing the top before taking a sip and passing it on. Nether cider. Nice.

“Truth or dare,” he says as I take a swig.

I rub off the taste of oblivion that comes with strong Nether cider, grateful for the familiar sting of the icy drink. “Are we teenagers again?”

Seth pouts in a pleading grimace. “Humor me. I’m not remotely calm enough to go to sleep, and you wouldn’t approve of the other way I’d like us to spend our time.”

Incorrigible bastard.

“Alright, but I go first. Truth or dare?” I say quickly.

“Truth.”

I resent him for how easily he chooses it, when I’m simply bursting with lethal secrets.

“Okay.” I untie my bun and let my red braids fall around my face, shaking my fingers through them to dry them off.

“Why did your father refuse to acknowledge paternity, even after your Storm magic became common knowledge? The fallout between our courts wouldn’t have been so damaging if he’d just admitted to it outright.

Disinformation and conspiracy theories just polarized the debate further. ”

Seth scratches the back of his neck. “Weeds are many in Spring, but infidelity is not viewed in the same light in Storm’s End.

Before marriage, men can do whatever they want, but after, they’re expected to honor their wives.

Cheaters get judged pretty harshly. To betray one’s mate is viewed as petty and weak. ”

“Helgar and his all-important cock, right?” I snicker. “How did the legend go again?”

A touch of humor warms his whole face, and my pulse spikes.

In this bleak, gray hole, there’s nothing to distract me from his beauty.

Nothing else to do but admire how the firelight kisses his skin, highlighting the lines of his athletic build.

Legs and thighs bare, abs rolling on an easy laugh, the man would have made a killing as an underwear model.

“Helgar, a Storm god reputed for breaking hearts and promises alike, cheated on his wife, Nyssa,” he says, his conspiratorial drawl shivering through me. “When she caught wind of his infidelity, she buried him alive, deep beneath the earth, in a cavern as cold and dark as his conscience.”

“My kind of gal,” I say joyfully, gathering my braids to one side to disperse the heat at the nape of my neck and using them to cover my chest.

Seth drags a piece of wood among the embers.

“Before sealing him in, she handed him three gifts: a cracked mirror, a black rose, and a pair of scissors. To break free, he had to sever the root of his sin—his Faehood. But Helgar would rather scream beneath the earth for eternity than give that up. It’s a cautionary tale against infidelity, but the hidden moral is that sometimes, the hardest prisons are the ones we build ourselves.

And gods are no better than us at cutting their losses. ”

I blink. “That’s not the moral.”

Seth lifts a brow. “How so?”

“Nyssa buried her husband alive. She entombed him, plain and simple,” I grumble. “It’s a story of revenge.”

His eyes dance with mischief. “Yes, but he made her do it, so it’s his fault. There’s no revenge in justice.”

Vigilante justice. The fuck-someone-else-and-I’ll-make-you-cut-your-own-cock-off moral is terrible. Such a sentence would be unimaginable in Spring, where people step out of marriages every day in the name of passion. But, it’s also kind of awesome. Deliciously unhinged.

“Damn. I really like that crazy bitch.” I chuckle.

“I thought you might.”

I gulp down a few mouthfuls of cider, mulling over the underlying message of Seth’s story. By that logic, I could justify anything, but I can’t help but be charmed by a Storm legend that puts the woman at an advantage.

“Truth or dare?” he asks.

“Dare.” There’s no way I’m giving him a chance to pry into what he thinks he heard back in Inverness. If he caught even a glimpse of my cupids, he already knows too much about my curse.

He draws absentminded patterns in the debris beneath his feet before saying, “I want you to…read my future.”

“What?”

I expected him to ask for a kiss or something scandalous, so his demand throws me for a loop.

“In your shop, there were plenty of crystal balls and tea leaves. You must be good at palm-reading, too.”

“I’m no oracle. I was just pretending for the mortals?—”

“Humor me.”

I take Seth’s hand. It’s warmer than I expected—callused, a little grimy, a fading smudge of blood near the heel. His fingers twitch when I trace the center crease of his palm.

“This is your lifeline,” I say.

“Looks short.”

“Could mean that you fake your death at some point. Start over somewhere. New name, new haircut, terribly boring wife. Maybe you take up some weird hobby, like collecting feathers to make your own quills.”

The corners of his mouth tilt upward. “Only if I get to write you love letters.”

Shaking my head at his blatant attempt to flirt, I follow another crease. “Here’s your fate line. It’s…tangled. Means you’ll most likely encounter troubles on your way to greatness.”

He leans in, eyes fixed on my mouth instead of his hand. “And what about my love line, O’ Wise Oracle?”

“A heart line that stretches all the way across the palm is rare. A great love awaits you, one that’ll never end, even in death,” I answer truthfully.

Blimey.

I don’t give much credit to the mortal science of palm reading, but I definitely should have said something silly and mocking instead—poked fun at him for his endless string of lovers.

I find myself hypnotized by the lines of his hand, the shape of his fingers. The warmth of his skin, the weight of his arm pressed close.

The fire pops. The moment stretches.

He cups my face and caresses my lips with his thumb. “What’s it like—having everyone you meet fall in love with you?” he murmurs.

“It’s horrible,” I blurt out, no sarcasm or false pretense shielding me now. Just a raw, brutal ache throbbing in my chest, like my heart was carved out, and the gaping hole where it used to beat was left to bleed. “Because they all leave in the end.”

“You’re…perfect. Body and mind. Who could ever leave you?”

“But who could stay?” I shoot back. “I’m Devi Eros. Men find an excuse— I’m a queen, or I’m too beautiful, or have too much power, or attract too much attention. I look too young. There’s always a reason.”

The silence thickens, taking on a life of its own. The dying embers of the fire glow bright orange before vanishing into smoke.

“I’ll stay. If you let me in,” Seth murmurs.

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“It starts here. Now.” He squeezes my hand, and I let go too fast, jerking away.

Percy clears his throat. “If you're done reading his fortune, we could use more kindling.”

“Your fortune,” I say, pretending I’m not rattled, “is that Percy’s going to murder us both if we don’t keep the fire going.”

Seth reaches for the ceiling to avoid smashing his head as he stands. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

I wait until the sound of his footsteps fade, and check on the blade I crammed under a rock in a hurry while his eyes were closed. I wiggle the dragon sheath out of its hiding place and tuck it away at the bottom of my backpack.

Percy winces, swaying from the balls of his toes to his heels with his hands linked at his front. “Maybe we should tell him about our mission. It won’t be easy hiding that blade from him, and the more we wait, the more he’ll resent us.”

I shoot my Faeling an annoyed glare. “Who’s got a crush on Seth now?”

“Me?” he huffs. “You almost slept with him last night.”

“I pretended to sleep with him.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “The orgasms were real enough.”

My lips part. “Orgasm. Singular,” I correct him. “And I managed that on my own, thank you very much.”

“You think I’m going to let you off the hook on a technicality?,” he says sternly. “Seth is right, you two should get this nonsense over with. You’re grumpier when you’re horny.”

“You healed him.”

“He saved you.”

“But you only heal me .” I curl a hand over my heart, feeling hurt and childish and yet oddly vindicated in my reaction.

Percy flies up so we’re eye to eye and points his index finger at me in a chiding fashion. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me so you don’t have to deal with the frazzled way your heart is beating?”

I turn away from his know-it-all grimace. “You bug me.”

“Good. Bugging you is literally my life mission.”

“Why are you rooting for Seth all of a sudden?” I whisper quickly, dropping the sarcastic facade in favor of the unease and betrayal slowly coalescing in my blood.

“ Diamantay ,” he says on a sigh. “I’m only ever on your side.

But you won’t get better until you let down those walls you’ve built around yourself.

Everyone, you included, keeps worrying about the outside—the scars, the physical proof—but it’s your heart that needs healing. And only you can fix that.”

“Having sex with Seth won’t fix me.”

“Not sex. But you have to learn how to let people in again. Seth saved your life twice, and I know what I just saw.”

“I hate him.”

“Do you really? Or have you forgotten what it’s like to feel something other than anger? To crave other thrills than revenge? Are you afraid to learn how to be you, without your magic?”

“I don’t want to be me without my magic,” I deadpan.

“Better living without magic than wasting away waiting for a miracle that might never come.”

I’m shook.

Most Fae see Percy as this singular, funny-looking creature that dresses in flamboyant turn of the century fashion while juggling dark humor and sermons, but he’s my whole world. He’s the only male who’s ever cared for me. Protected me.

He’s family. A part of my soul. And he never gives up hope.

“I only love you , Perce. You fix me.”

Tears shine in his eyes. “Yes, I do. And that’s why you’ve got to trust me on this.”

Seth returns, forcing our conversation a halt.

“Phew. Good thing we got here in time. It’s a hurricane out there,” he says, oblivious to what he just interrupted.

He resurrects our dying fire, channels the heavy smoke out, and rubs his hands together for warmth. His gaze flicks to Percy and me, both of us with our lips pursed, the end of our conversation still simmering on our downturned mouths.

Seth blows on his cold hands and extends them in my direction. “Maybe you should read my future again. Second opinions are important.”

I narrow my eyes. “You just want me to hold your hand.”

“I’m cold.” He wraps an arm around me and pulls me to him—and to my horror, I rest my head on his shoulder.

The flames dance inside the circle of stones at our feet, and a sense of serenity takes over me. It’s easy here. There’s no one looking. Nothing to prove.

Cuddling to keep warm has got to be the cheesiest trick in the book, but Seth doesn’t kiss me or fondle me—doesn’t try to push this further.

He just holds me. And I don’t know what scares me more: the fact that I’m aching to climb onto him, or this innocent, comfortable embrace… Like we’re actually close.