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CHAPTER XLIX

AISLING

Blood red, Aisling’s bare feet crushed fallen berries as she danced. The music floated through the air like the herb-dense smoke from a toad’s pipe, feverish in its intensity. Every Sidhe, every forge-born beast, guzzled sparkling wines, ciders, and meads, eyelids falling as they celebrated Aisling and the eve of the war’s finality.

Each of the Sidhe sovereigns were in attendance too. Tara spun with the music’s rhythm, mushrooms sprouting where her ankles graced the floors. Dagda, Nuada, and Lottie lounged on thick beds of moss-like cushions, whispering and laughing between sips of punch. Katari, Percy, and Mac Cuill took turns knocking an apple from atop a tortoise’s head, lending a bow and arrow from a nearby fox swimming in the central pond, spilling over the edge and off the side of Castle Yillen. The stained-glass dome far above their heads shielded them from Niamh’s rains, now coupled with the stars in celebration. Arcs of color brightening the spectacle as Aisling danced.

Galad, Peitho, and Gilrel were there too, lost between the folds of gaiety. Aisling met their eyes on several occasions, something silent passing between them.

The sorceress wore a three-headed wolf headdress, her gown, white as snow. She clasped the hands of badgers, of weasels, of raccoons, of rabbits, and of the Sidhe, spinning in circles that made the air dense with magic.

Aisling ignored the pains in her joints, the tears in her muscles, or the aches in her heart.

Nevertheless, tonight, she’d enjoy the Sidhe world the way she had the first time, watching their unruly, savage celebrations through the eyes of a mortal girl accustomed to stone and iron. So she drank the pints of Leshy’s tears Gilrel had offered her, pinched her nose, and fell into the festivities without a second thought.

“As soon as this is over, you may visit me in Oighir,” Fionn said, dancing beside her. His silver hair was loose around his shoulders and his robes untied at the chest. He was a chip of ivory in a mosaic of emeralds, the contrast jarring to behold. “If it still stands.”

“Oighir?” Aisling asked, entranced.

“Aye, Oighir. My kingdom at the edge of the world,” Fionn said.

Aisling stumbled on several large stones. Fionn reached for her, grabbing her elbow and steadying her.

Aisling hadn’t yet considered what her life would be like if they survived this war. After she’d obtained and won everything she’d ever wanted. What then? she asked herself.

Fionn twirled her beneath his arm, eyes drifting to the Sidhe sovereigns watching their intimacy from the periphery of the celebration.

“You could still be my queen of fire and ice,” Fionn continued. “All of Fjallnorr and the North will be yours to rule and lead.”

Anduril didn’t buzz or hum with heat. Instead, the belt was calm, peacefully settled on her hips.

Aisling imagined herself in Oighir—in Fionn’s world of glistering ice and blizzards, where beasts slumbered and the forest was powdered by the cold. She’d don robes, gowns, and armor embroidered with battle-ready bears, ornate snowflakes, and silver trims. She’d govern a land both frostbitten and far from all else. At the edge of the world.

Aisling’s feet stopped dancing.

“Is something wrong?” Fionn asked.

Aisling searched his face.

Aisling shook her head. Her mind was swathed with voices—with memories that shifted and morphed like gnarled trees growing too quickly for their size. She’d known the Sidhe king of the greenwood, Lir, had bewitched her somehow. Had plagued her with a lust she could scarcely deny.

Aisling felt a bubble of panic rise up her throat. She’d trusted the son of Winter and this Gods Forsaken belt and now, she felt the first ice-thin cracks spider through her heart. Anduril was corrupting her, taking her body as its own.

Was she imagining it? Was the weight of prophecy, skewing her mind? Or was there truth in what she felt?

“Aisling,” a voice sounded, tearing Aisling from her thoughts.

The sorceress turned to find Galad and Gilrel approaching her side, narrowed eyes considering Fionn closely.

“You should retire for the evening,” Gilrel said. “You’ll need your rest in the coming days.” Galad nodded his head in agreement, placing a gentle hand on the small of Aisling’s back.

“Where is Lir?” Aisling asked, the words falling from her lips before she understood them herself. As if the Sidhe king’s name found the tip of her tongue of its own accord.

Galad and Gilrel exchanged glances. Fionn, on the other hand, scowled, silver eyes freezing over. The son of Winter said not a word, grinding his fangs together in anticipation of their answer.

“He prepares for the end,” Galad said. Both his and Gilrel’s eyes wandered up and toward a tower floating at the height of Castle Yillen. It was one of the few whose windows were gilded with warm light.

“Can I speak with him?” Aisling asked. The moment the words fell from her lips, Fionn reacted. He moved lissomly, wrapping his hand around Aisling’s waist and knocking Galad’s away in the process.

Galad frowned, both he and Gilrel noticeably bristling.

Aisling’s heart leaped, but her mind resisted the impulse to sink into his side. She bit her tongue, growing angry in her confusion.

“Galad and Gilrel are right,” Fionn said, breaking the silence. “You need your rest. Let me take you to your rooms.”

“We’re more than happy to do so,” Gilrel said, stepping in front of their path.

“No,” Aisling interjected. “I need to focus on the Goblet and so, I prefer solitude this evening.” The sorceress smiled sweetly, exchanging glances with Fionn, Galad, and Gilrel. But while Fionn’s posture was hard and restrained, Galad and Gilrel offered knowing, smug smiles, nodding their heads at one another.

“ Mo Lúra receives as she requests,” Galad said. “Her word is final.” The knight gestured toward the threshold to the rest of the castle, making a path for the sorceress.

Aisling bowed her head at Fionn, not glancing back as she retired. Still, she felt Fionn’s gaze follow her to the doors, into the darkened corridor, until, at last, the door shut and his sight was severed.

The castle purred with the muffled bedlam from Niamh’s festivities, their dancing, their drinking, their howling undoubtedly burning the midnight wick. Aisling wandered through Castle Yillen afraid to find her chambers for she knew what awaited her. Before Aisling could fall into sleep’s chasm, she’d lie awake, reminded of Lir, of her clann, of the Goblet, of the Sidhe, of Dagfin standing before her. Thoughts she’d avoided well enough until now. So she wandered further, growing lost in the castle till she could no longer find her chambers even if she so wished.

Aisling roamed the corridors like a ghost, slipping between rooms. At last, she found a wing she recognized, the cross-vaulted ceilings spreading into a great arched entryway that led into the throne room.

Aisling approached the doors, hesitating before pulling their handles. Both doors were already cracked ajar, a ribbon of light leaking into the hall. The sorceress listened closely for several breaths. She took off her headdress, holding it between her hands so she could better hear who occupied the room beyond.

To Aisling’s surprise, she heard not silence, not music, not conversation but weeping—labored breathing punctuated by soft sobs, wracking their keeper. And whilst the rain wept relentlessly and the stained-glass portraits cried at all hours, nothing compared to the sorrow that wracked this miserable creature.

Curiosity took hold and Aisling peered inside.

The threshold’s hinges squealed, and the moment Aisling laid eyes on Niamh curled into a ball before her throne, so, too, did the Seelie queen lay eyes on Aisling. The Goblet of Lore sitting beside her on the dais.

A heartbeat passed and Niamh collected herself, unfurling from her position on the ground. She straightened her gown, smoothing the sheets of clouds on her lap.

“I apologize,” Niamh said, addressing Aisling for the first time. “I didn’t realize any still wandered Yillen at this hour.”

Aisling shifted awkwardly, pushing the doors open fully.

“Come in, please.” Niamh welcomed her, still wiping tears from her eyes.

“I should return to my chambers,” Aisling said. “But first, I’ll take the Goblet back for safekeeping.

The Seelie queen of Rain’s eyes darted to the chalice before finding Aisling once more. A fleck of panic in her eyes—of fear.

“No, no,” Niamh replied. “It will do well in my keeping. I’d meant to speak with you before tomorrow regardless.”

Aisling stilled, arms hanging at her sides and unsure of what to say. The sorceress glanced around the throne room, noticing for the first time that there was not one but two thrones cresting the dais.

The last Aisling had occupied this room, there had only been one throne.

Niamh followed Aisling’s line of sight, softening her gaze when she looked back at the sorceress.

“That was the throne I’d designed for Ina,” she said. “Before I realized she’d never truly join me here, of course.”

Aisling’s brows lifted. “You intended to rule the Other with Ina?”

Niamh considered the thrones more closely. “With my entire being.” The raw truth of her words buzzed with the draiocht , the Forge acknowledging their purity.

“Come,” Niamh invited Aisling, waving her arm for the sorceress to enter more fully into the hall.

Niamh lifted her dress slightly, ascending the dais. The Seelie queen took her seat in one of the thrones. She sank into its structure, perfectly tailored to her body.

“Join me,” she said, tapping the throne beside her.

Aisling dithered for a breath, eyes darting between the Seelie queen and the empty throne. A pit formed in her stomach, staining her gut with dread. She did her best to swallow it, yet her instincts hadn’t led her astray thus far.

Aisling toyed with the wolf headdress in her hands, hesitating a moment too long.

“Is everything alright?” Niamh asked, her voice, hardened and sharp.

Aisling straightened, glancing one more time at the second throne before approaching.

“Of course,” Aisling lied. “But I should be returning to my chambers with the Goblet. It’s late?—”

“Nonsense,” Niamh said, waving her hand as if shooing away Aisling’s protests.

Aisling swallowed hard. Niamh grinned, but it lacked all warmth. Her trove of shimmering teeth, stolen from the maw of a forest ghoul and stacked behind pale blue lips.

“You must learn to channel your magic if you’re to sip from the Goblet,” Niamh said.

“How does one channel magic?” Aisling asked.

“With practice and time. Both of which you don’t have. But your strength alone could be enough to either destroy or protect the gateway if wielded properly,” Niamh said, her voice straining with emotion. “These thrones are more powerful, more impactful—” She stopped herself short, her thoughts suddenly trapped inside her throat. “Even these thrones were once channels of power. All things are. The wind, the trees, the heart—our most powerful weapon.”

“I don’t understand,” Aisling said, unafraid to hide her discontent this time.

“Yours and Lir’s power when combined will destroy everything—but it’s possible yours alone is enough to protect the Forge on its own,” Niamh said, leaning forward in her chair. Aisling stepped back instinctively, her tongue turning to ash in her mouth. “We both recognize your power, your potential. As did Ina. You and I, Aisling…” Her voice trailed off, attention darting to the figure who stepped into the hall.

Aisling followed Niamh’s eyes.

Lir leaned against the archway with his ankles crossed, twirling his axe easily.

The room grew several degrees hotter, forcing a shudder from Aisling. The sorceress blanched.

“How villainous,” Lir said, straightening. He tipped his head back, amused. And without knowing how, Aisling recognized the sharp cut of his smile and the bloodthirst it implied. He summoned his draiocht , snatching the Goblet with his vines and returning it to Aisling’s waiting hands. The sorceress smiled despite herself, appraising the Goblet she’d won anew.

“Leave us be, Lir,” Niamh said, a vein pulsing in her throat.

“And pray tell me,” Lir said, “why would I do that?” The Sidhe king padded forward. Niamh turned rigid as stone. Her eyes fixed on Lir as he approached. Instinctively, he stopped a pace before Aisling, his shoulders, shielding her from Niamh.

“This doesn’t concern you, mo Damh Bán ,” Niamh said. The Seelie queen gripped the arms of her throne till her knuckles turned bone-white.

“How not?” he asked, the depth of his voice sending shivers down Aisling’s spine.

“You are neither champion nor king to Aisling here, and so, we owe you no explanation,” Niamh bit.

Lir took another step forward, twirling his axe between his fingers. Niamh appeared to count his steps, expression hiding her anxiety well.

“I serve the Lady Aisling as sorceress, as queen, as curse breaker, and as knight. As should you. And so, an indignity to Aisling is an indignity to me. You dishonor her and I make you suffer.” Lir lifted his brows, asking if she understood him.

Niamh shifted.

“Arrogance doesn’t become you, mo Damh Bán ,” Niamh said, holding Lir’s gaze. “Remember you made an oath .”

Aisling looked up at Lir from where she stood, studying his expression. He concealed his thoughts well, his face betraying nothing. But there was an unforgiving, vengeful forest growing beneath the cool shadow of his exterior. A fury Aisling both recognized and understood.

The Sidhe king of the greenwood turned on his heel. “Nothing unbecomes me,” he said, motioning for Aisling to join him as he coolly started toward the door. He placed his hand gently on the small of her back and pushed. Once Aisling surrendered and stepped forth, he pulled her tightly against him by the waist. Aisling’s heart leaped and the bridge of her nose flushed. His touch, burning through her gown and scalding her skin.

“You’re fortunate the mortals storm our world another day and not this eve; unlucky is he who sheds blood before battle,” Lir said as they arrived at the door. Lir paused, turning and facing Niamh, fuming still at the dais. “Nevertheless, never rest and always wonder if the next corner turned is your last. My hand, your end.”

Niamh parted her lips, following Aisling and Lir with her eyes. Aisling cast another glance at Niamh, wondering what she’d meant. Wondering if Aisling could wield the Goblet alone, after all. Or was there some magic to hers and Lir’s union that spun fate, destiny, and the universe toward its end regardless of the choices she made?

Lir led Aisling onto a balcony. They floated at the edge of Castle Yillen, connected to no other turrets until the next pathway arrived at their door. At once, Lir whispered a spell beneath his breath.

“ Helliacht sec tru saera deste .”

Aisling turned to Lir, searching for the manifestation of his magic. A boom sounded to her right, knocking the tower to the side. Aisling stumbled, quickly caught by the Sidhe king. The sorceress found her footing, spinning to find a giant tree knocked from another level and onto theirs: a bridge.

Lir picked Aisling up, holding her behind the knees and around her back. Aisling’s first instinct was to strike him for touching her. Aisling still believed he’d somehow bewitched her, her body burning from the inside out in his proximity. Her draiocht grew feral and tempestuous, eager to bite.

The Sidhe king walked them both across the fallen tree and onto the next platform. The downpour made the bark of the tree slick, but Lir walked nimbly and easily across.

Lir leaped onto the next level, Aisling still in his arms. This part of Castle Yillen was overgrown with different species of moss, wildflowers, lily pad ponds, and weeping willows, all hugging the spindly tower at its center.

Lir walked them to the door nestled at the base of the tower, crowned with archivolts. Sidhe markings were etched across its surface—protection runes, Aisling recognized. The door, on the other hand, was latched with a tangled system of roots, braided together.

“Where are we?” Aisling asked. Lir set her on her feet gently. He approached the door and the latched roots immediately unlocked, slithering apart.

“My rooms,” he said, stepping inside.

Aisling considered leaving then. She could slip away and take refuge in her chambers until the break of dawn. Exhaustion tugged at her body from the floor, her eyelids growing heavier. And still, against reason, she stayed.

The sorceress followed the Sidhe king inside and out of the rain.

As soon as one stepped across the threshold, the tower spiraled upward in an intricately carved staircase. They climbed up, emerging into a large bedroom at the top of the turret.

Aisling inhaled, soaking in the room.

It was humbler than Aisling would’ve imagined, neither covered in a king’s precious gemstones nor metals. Instead of pillars, ash trees grew crooked yet tall, supporting the slanted ceiling of the dilapidated tower. And the rain that dripped from the holes was gulped by the ellwyn that spread like a disease over everything: the paint-chipped walls, the pointed windows, the beams that ribbed across the ceiling in great vaults.

Aisling stepped into the room, her feet brushed by fallen petals, by the grass between cobbles, and the hand-woven rugs.

Lir shut each of the windows, his flowers preening when he neared.

“You’re welcome to rest here for the evening,” Lir said. “Tonight, this is the safest edge of the castle for you.”

Aisling glanced over her shoulder at the door. It was still open, inviting her to leave if she so wished.

“I may not trust Niamh,” Aisling said, “but neither do I trust you.” Against her will, Aisling’s eyes flicked to the solitary bed at the edge of the room, pressed against an enormous rosette window. She swallowed, an image flashing across her mind’s eye like lightning: Aisling—clad in a ruby gown and veil—stood in a tent, lit by the soft glow of flower bulbs. Lir towered across from her, a bed between them.

This is your imagination and nothing more , Anduril said. This is a fantasy .

The image possessed her—the memory . Her draiocht singing to itself gleefully inside her.

The corners of Lir’s lips twitched up.

“I hadn’t planned on staying,” he said as if reading her mind.

“Good,” Aisling said without pause. Lir’s smile widened, but he turned his face away from her.

Lir waved his hand across the garlands of flower bulbs, bubbling around the windows and across the bed’s canopy. They grew in bundles that spilled down the bedposts, blooming before Aisling’s eyes with light.

Aisling smiled despite herself, trying and failing to hide it.

Lir’s expression stilled, eyes widening slightly as his gaze lingered for a breath longer than usual.

Aisling averted her eyes, turning to the unlit candles frozen mid-melt. She picked up one and blew softly, lighting the candle and all others with violet flame.

The room was gilded by both fire and flower, their draiocht thick and ripe in the air.

Lir leaned his back against the wall, crossing his arms. He appeared cool as summer evening breezes, calm as undisturbed woodland ponds, and yet Aisling felt the thrashing inside him. Felt his draiocht seeking her own. A forest’s tempest, trapped inside him.

“Tomorrow is the last moon of the storm season…the war will most likely commence at daybreak if not sooner,” Lir said, his voice abandoning all levity.

Aisling approached him, studying the way he stiffened the nearer she grew. A vein snaking up his throat.

“Rest while you can,” Lir said, eyes darkening while he watched her move. Aisling relished his attention. The sensation of his eyes memorizing the nuances of her body was like fingertips to bare flesh. As if only she existed: Aisling, the enemy of his heart.

Run, flee, escape, walk away, Anduril pleaded.

Aisling shuddered, her draiocht flaring wildly inside her as it’d never done before. She drew closer, her feet guiding her toward the Sidhe king as if bespelled.

“Where will you rest?” Aisling asked, her voice sleepy.

Lir straightened against the wall, knocking over a stack of books beside his elbow. He glanced at the commotion for a brief second, returning his eyes to Aisling as if she might vanish if he looked away too long.

“It’s not your concern,” he said, his voice rasping at the edges.

“Is it not?” Aisling asked, almost a whisper now that she was near enough to see the racing of his pulse. The snow winds, the only sound outside the crackling of Aisling’s candle wicks. “You’ve failed to conceal your tricks to me and now that I know with certainty you’ve hidden something from me, bewitched me, betrayed me somehow. You and everything you are is my ultimate concern,” Aisling said, chest to chest with the Sidhe king, forcing her to tip her chin up to meet his sage eyes above.

“Ask me then, sorceress faerie,” Lir said, leaning his head down and toward her. “For despite oath or bargain, by the Forge, I am incapable of telling a lie. So, ask me for the truth.”

Aisling gathered her thoughts in armfuls, struggling to focus when in his presence. This close up, the Sidhe king was no more than a dream, a legend, a mythic figment of her imagination, kindled by the tales of fantasy she’d hungered for as a child. He was the dark knight she’d clung to in the recesses of her most sacred wishes and the wild savage she’d felt inside herself.

“Do you love me?” Aisling asked, holding the Sidhe king’s eyes. Her breaths grew heavy, the beat of her heart throbbing even in her tongue while her body buzzed with adrenaline. It was strange this exhilaration—this connection between them––pulling her toward him by an intangible thread. What she felt was inexplicable, unfathomable, and without reason. A thirst only he could slake, bringing sweet salvation to her lips by the mouthful if he so wished it.

The forest green of Lir’s eyes were flecked with pain. His mouth bent oddly as if resisting the laws that compelled his tongue to speak the truth and the truth alone.

“Yes,” he answered at last.

But like a spell spoken, their draiocht surged upward, the flower bulbs overcome with light and the candles blazing despite their small wicks. The Goblet beside them both, thrumming with excitement in the presence of their combined power.

No , Anduril roared, squeezing Aisling’s hips painfully and biting into her skin.

“Then why can I not remember?” Aisling asked, rising onto her tiptoes so their noses brushed against one another. Lir shut his eyes the moment she touched him, holding onto his arm for balance. “Why has the memory been cut from my mind and not my heart?”

Enough , Anduril screamed drawing blood from Aisling’s skin.

Lir opened his eyes, pupils drowning out his irises. His expression was heart-stricken, appearing and disappearing just as quickly.

“Because this cannot be,” Lir said beneath his breath as if forcing out the words.

“What cannot be?” Aisling asked, her lips a breath from his own, pulling the truth from between his fangs.

“You and I,” he said. “You and I are ruinous.”

Listen, listen, listen, listen , Anduril said.

“Since when does the high king of the Sidhe fear destruction, power, might and the devastation it leaves in its wake? Are you more virtuous than the tales my kin would have me believe?” Aisling asked, her body heating. “Where is my dark knight?”

My . The word fell from Aisling’s lips as second nature. A detail that hadn’t snuck past the Sidhe king undetected.

Lir shook his head. “It isn’t heroism that compels me,” he said, his gaze deepening the longer he held her eyes. “Not long ago, I was bespelled by a sorceress who donned the guise of a mortal princess. Violet-eyed, she cursed me with one glance, transforming all my desires, all my muses, all my thoughts into one unholy jinx alone: her.” Lir brushed her lips with his own. “You,” he clarified.

“And so, thief, violet-eyed sorceress, you have bested me,” Lir said, speaking into her lips. “Have mercy on my soul, for it swore an oath to serve you until the end. A heart for a heart,” Lir said. “My soul, your own. All that you covet, my heart’s labor.”

Aisling pressed closer to him.

“Then have me,” she said, her body leaning into him so every part of them touched. She needed him to reach out and hold her. To fold his arms around her and bring her close. To bring his lips to hers and taste the desire sticky on her tongue.

Still, Lir resisted, his body as hard as stone before her. Her fires raged, melting the candles to puddles throughout the tower. The trees inside groaned, bending and warping the shingled roof of the turret.

“I cannot,” Lir said between clenched teeth. “My oath is binding.”

“I don’t understand,” Aisling said.

“You will,” Lir whispered.

Aisling shook her head. “Serve me then. Serve me and break the oath you promised.”

“I cannot,” Lir repeated, grimacing as if in agony.

“Then you break another oath!” Aisling shouted this time, her draiocht swelling inside her throat till she believed it might burst. She needed to remember. She needed to understand what’d dug its claws into her memory and scraped away at her heart.

“I’d cut out my tongue to be your liar,” Lir said. “I’d forsake all that I once pursued or chased. I’d condemn both realms to keep you,” Lir said, his voice growing rough as he spoke. “Unless you are the cost of it.”

Aisling paled, her draiocht grumbling awake and smoking from the nostrils.

“You refuse me,” she said, her voice hard and jagged. “You refuse me when you alone bear the power to release me from this disease of the mind. You’ve bewitched me and so, you shackle me and imprison me in this cavern of ignorance.”

Lir flinched as if physically struck. The sage of his eyes bled with grief and raw compassion. As if he understood the years of solitude pacing the corridors of Castle Neimedh, the days shut behind iron doors, or the banquet of lies her clann fed her since she was a bairn. The secrets that’d left Aisling alone and wandering in the dark.

Aisling turned, ripping herself from the Sidhe king. She started for the door, eager to distance herself so she could stew in her frustration alone.

Anduril hummed with triumph.

Lir grabbed Aisling’s wrist just before she stepped out of reach. Lithely, he spun her toward him and before Aisling could protest, he brought his mouth to hers.

His left hand reached round her waist and firmly pressed her against him. His right hand cupped her jaw, tilting her chin up so his kiss could deepen. Aisling stiffened, flushed, and held her breath, her flesh, prickling with the needles of fate sewing madly.

Aisling’s draiocht pulsed with energy, kindled by Lir’s magic interlacing with her own. Her draiocht roared, clicking its bones as it unfurled and rose onto its hind legs. Her draiocht shot forth from her soul, lighting her in flame.

The fire grew outside of Aisling’s control, crawling atop Lir and swathing them both in her violet magic. Yet, Lir never hissed nor reeled in pain. Instead, he held her more tightly, fingers sliding from her jaw and into her hair. His kiss, both hungry and possessive. They were a comet, smoldering in the mouth of Lir’s tower.

Aisling gasped, appraising Lir. Usually, if the Sidhe king touched her flames, he burnt. Here and now, their magic mixing like a cauldron’s brew, he lit flame alongside her, flowers growing between each of their curls simultaneously. An ancient, hallowed ritual taking place as Lir kissed her again: the fog that’d cloaked Aisling’s mind, lifting.

An oath is kept and an oath is broken , the Other howled in the storm winds.

Stop, please, please , Anduril screamed, bleeding her once more.

Her memories, freshly polished, were suddenly bright and clear in her mind. They slipped from the darkness they’d been hidden in, rising again as richly as they’d once thrived. Aisling exhaled into Lir, tears blooming from her eyes with relief.

Lir kissed her more thoroughly, picking her up and holding her tightly. Every kiss, sucking Anduril’s influence from her veins like a snake’s venom expunged from the body.

The Sidhe king stroked the back of her thighs, turning and pressing her against the wall of the tower where he once stood. He brought his mouth to her neck, kissing her deeply and as his mouth traveled, his fangs scraped the soft edge of her throat.

Aisling shivered, her body moving against him slowly with a will of its own. He cursed, matching her movements and tasting her lips. He ran his hands up her dress and took hold of her bare legs. His abdomen tightening as he thrusted, hips rubbing against the inside of her thighs.

Aisling sucked in a sharp breath, tangled her fingers in his hair while her back arched into him. Lir groaned, slipping his hands further up her slip until they held her waist on either side. Aisling pushed the remaining fabric aside and unbuckled his belt. Every kiss, expanding their lungs with more power than they knew how to control. They blazed, flooding the room with flame and flowers till the tower shone like a star. The Other, thumping with the rhythm of a drum as Lir entered her.

He held her steady by the waist, pushing and pulling against her. His jaw clenched, every muscle cording in his body while his head threw back. Both their eyes, reflecting the outcomes of omens, of prophecies, of the future yet told. Pleasure, wracking them both through as their hunger accelerated—their combined power rising to a crescendo.

Aisling reached out, grabbing whatever was close by for support.

Stop, please , Anduril shouted. This time, the belt gripped her as tightly as it was capable, forcing a scream from her lips.

Aisling reached for the belt and its clasp. She hesitated a second, meeting Lir’s eyes.

Aisling ripped Anduril from her body.

No , Anduril shrieked, its voice already melting into the memory of the Forge.

Its possession rid Aisling of her strength but also its curse. Her body flared with her draiocht , she and Lir a combined comet of fire and flowers, joining into one.

Lir acknowledged Anduril on the floor only briefly before returning his full attention to Aisling. He moved more quickly, harder, possessively filling her with each stroke. His breath heavy and his chest glistening with both their sweat combined.

The omens, the prophecies, and the curses, taking shape as they intertwined. As they braided their draiocht and fed off the other’s obsession. Pleasure vibrating through both their bodies in great pulses of pure satisfaction.

She loved him unequivocally. Tragically. Hopelessly. Whether it be destiny that compelled her heart or herself, she knew not. Perhaps she’d never know. She only knew that whatever breaths remained in her body would be spent loving those she cared for most. And there was no greater adventure, no greater purpose, and no greater power. Her pursuit for everything was completed the moment she handfast the nightmare before her.