Page 9 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)
Scoundrel
SETH
T he gossip around the Royal Academy was that meeting Devi Eros for the first time was like being kicked in the nuts while a nymph went down on you. Nymphs are vicious beasts that don’t exactly cater to the sexual needs of the Fae, so I’ve always struggled to understand the comparison.
But I do now.
A wild cascade of red locs flows down her back, burning as fiercely as the woman herself. Some claim she moves like an ensnarer vine, others like a serpent, but all agree on one thing—no one walks away from her unchanged. She’s dangerous.
Her freckles scatter across her face like embers left behind by a dying fire. They form a constellation of deep-brown clusters across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, as if the gods themselves had traced their fingers there, marking her as their kin.
I wish I could kiss each and every single one of them.
The fitted bodice of her black dress molds her luscious curves, while the airy, flared skirt shifts just enough to reveal the alluring shape of her buttocks.
By the looks of it, she’s not wearing anything underneath.
The scent of her arousal lingers in the air, and my mouth dries up, thirsty for it.
“Tea?” she asks, handing me a tiny, steaming cup with no handle.
An intricate white and blue fleur-de-lys adorns the sides, and I swallow hard. I’m in a witch’s hut, being offered tea by a woman who wants my entire family dead, but still, I bring the cup to my lips. “Sure.”
Steam curls into the air, carrying the earthy smell of the burgundy, honey-tinged liquid. The first breath is bright, citrusy, with a freshness that lingers at the back of my throat. Beneath it, a quiet bitterness is threaded with the taste of crushed stems and dried hay.
My cock pulses in my trousers, and while my interest lies solely in the tea I could drink off her body, I welcome the calming balm it brings. The aftertaste of poppies blooms on my tongue, faintly sweet, a whisper of something floral, like petals left to wither in the sun.
I take another sip. “Do you want to lull me to sleep, Violet?”
“Never call me that,” she clips, her tone sharp.
My brow lifts. So far, she’s been careful not to let me glimpse any emotion besides irritation. I can tell she’s a talented poker player from the cold way she dismissed her lover and the fake, sugary smiles she uses to cover up any hint of humanity.
I offer her a dismissive shrug. “It’s your name.”
Violet “Devi” Eros is a name spoken like a curse in my mother’s court, a myth draped in flesh and blood.
Growing up, the men whispered about her beauty, even though the mere mention of her name was treason.
They said her piercing eyes could worm their way through a heart with a single look, and that her smooth brown skin glowed under the sun.
Devi might have lost her crown, but she’s still the one and only Queen of Hearts.
The tea helps with the lust, the pain in my groin subsiding, which I suspect was the whole point. But her matching cup tells me I wasn’t the only one that needed to simmer down.
She moves away from the bar, retreating to the farthest corner of the kitchenette, her hands curling around her cup. “You’re bluffing. Freya would never let me come back. She’d send her armies after me the second she learned of my return.”
“She’s fond of me, you know. I’m her only child.”
“That’s not enough.”
I tilt my head. “How isolated are you? Have you heard from Faerie recently?”
Devi lifts the cup to her lips without taking a sip. “I heard about the chalice being melted, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”
I shift to brutal honesty. “If my mother doesn’t survive the wounds she suffered during the attack on the capital, it’s likely that her magic will revert back to you.”
Devi chews on her bottom lip, eyes half-mast, then breathes, “How do you figure that?”
“Educated guess.”
She finally drinks her own brew, relieving me of the fear it might be poisoned.
“Seems like I only have to sit tight and wait for her to croak, then. Why should I risk my life and return to Faerie now?” She braces her elbows on the counter between us, the motion dragging my attention down to her cleavage.
Being presented with the ultimate model of beauty and lust is a test of will. I have to play this right, or I might fall into the trap I’ve been running from my entire life: lusting for something I’ll never be allowed to have.
I know she’s my enemy, and if I ever forgot, the grievances pulsing in her silver-flecked irises would beat me over the head with it. But I can’t help myself.
She’s the embodiment of rebellion, wildness, and recklessness. Everything I grew up being warned against. A criminal, a temptress.
I can’t look away.
“What happens if you, the Fallen Queen, regain power?” I let the words settle.
“My mother’s advisors once served you. They’re terrified of reprisal.
Each of them commands an army of archers, and I hear they’d rather not risk your ire.
In a matter of days, it’ll be open season for you.
And the one who brings home your head will be hailed a hero.
” I set my cup down with a deliberate clink .
“If you don’t believe me, ask Elio. He wants me to escort you to Wintermere, so he can protect you. ”
Devi’s fingers tighten around her cup. “That’s why Elio sent you.” Her voice is quiet now. “But why not kill me yourself?”
A humorless laugh scrapes my throat. “Err—Elio didn’t just mention your tracking skills. He told me about your past. How you almost sided with the Lord of the Tides, once upon a time.”
Her spine stiffens. “Elio should mind his own secrets and leave mine unspoken. You can show yourself out.”
“Wait. Elio only told me because my brother is the Lord of the Tides’ second-in-command, and I’m desperate to find him.”
She pauses mid-turn, one brow lifting. “Maddox? That’s hard to believe.”
“Not Maddox. My younger brother. He’s barely of age but powerful. He was recruited into the Tides by your old friend, Morrigan.”
Devi bares her teeth but sinks back onto the stool. “Rye isn’t my friend. Not anymore.”
Morrigan “Rye” Quinn was the reason Devi stood trial, the reason she lost everything. If she hadn’t been Oberon Eros’ only living heir, they’d have killed her outright.
“But you were one of them, weren’t you? A Tidecaller?” I ask, testing the waters.
She purses her lips. “The Lord of the Tides used to be a close friend of mine, that I’ll admit.”
“Could you find him?”
“Mm. Maybe.”
I tap the knife’s edge of my hand against the table, knowing this is my last chance to pitch.
“Faerie is splintered. Winter, Shadow, and Summer stand on one side, while the Red Queen has renewed her alliance with Ethan Lightbringer.
My mother will cling to her crown until her dying breath, and she's close with Ethan, too. Storm is poised to break the tie. The winning side will decide how the rebels are dealt with, how our laws, alliances, and magics will be reshaped now that the Eternal Chalice is no more. Whatever happens in the next few months, Faerie will never be the same again.”
“You’ve got that right.” She pauses like she’s choosing her next words carefully. “The Tidecallers used to advocate for democracy, but the way magic works makes passing down crowns impossible.”
I take another swig of tea. “I don’t disagree that democracy wouldn’t work, but why impossible? You passed down your crown, didn’t you?”
Some secrets never make it into books. They say becoming king is like having your eyes opened to the Faerie sight a second time, and Devi is one of the only people alive, besides the seven reigning monarchs, who truly knows what that means.
A shiver quakes through her. “Let’s just say that for the magic not to fester, the roots running through the earth and culminating at each realm’s Hawthorn need a living vessel to enact their gods’ will.
Whether that’s a king or a queen, the vessel is bound to it forever, no matter what.
And as long as the seven crowns exist, people will fight over them. ”
“Seven crowns are better than one. Doing away with them altogether would bring nothing but ruin. We saw what happened when the Mists’ Hawthorn was scorched.
I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” I pause, thinking of what the Mist Fae endured.
“My brother is chasing a pipe dream. Destroying the Eternal Chalice wiped out our only chance to elect new rulers. Now, the gods’ will determines who takes the throne.
” I lean in, almost reaching for her hand but stopping at the last second.
“We have to lead by example, show that even enemies can come together for the greater good.”
She doesn’t soften.
I clear my throat, wary of her distrust. I don’t want to oversell it either and make it seem as though I’m trying to manipulate her. “I’m a pragmatist, and I don’t want to live in a world where Ethan Lightbringer and his Red Priestesses rise to power again. Do you?”
She purses her lips. “Are you plotting against your own mother?”
“I’m saying that with your help, we might sway the crowns’ response, negotiate a truce with the Tidecallers, and end this war before it begins.”
“And what do you get out of it?”
I catch a grin from surfacing. “Aren’t I allowed to have strong, altruistic beliefs?”
She snorts.
I tilt my head back, my gaze flying up to the ceiling in surrender.
“Ugh. I love my brother. I don’t want him executed, and I certainly don’t want to see Faerie razed by war, but I have no real seat at the table as it is.
” I wet my lips. “With you by my side, the Spring Court will be united once more, and stronger for it. The High Fae that are still secretly on your side will rally, and when my mother dies, you’ll be queen again. ”
Her eyes slip shut, and she licks her lips, the scenario I’m proposing both sweet and forbidden. “But you wouldn’t want Freya to die at my hands,” she murmurs.