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Laurel

The origins of the Prophecy of the Thayarian Queen are unknown. There is no record of the seer who spoke it, and the earliest records are oral histories passed down through generations of Thayarian fae. There are some who argue it is nothing more than a wives’ tale, a story told around the cooking stoves of females to give hope in dark times.

A Brief History of Modern Thayaria

The next morning, I’m dressed in tight leather leggings that hug my curves and a cropped deep green sleeveless tunic. There are straps that wrap around my torso to support my breasts. It’s a practical choice for training, but I also know the effect it has on my figure.

He’s betrothed. And annoying. And your enemy. Scolding myself, I braid my hair down my back and skip makeup entirely, but I don’t change my clothes. Grabbing a black, fur-lined cloak for warmth, I aerstep to the Velmaran apartment. They’re getting used to my sudden appearances. This time, they don’t even flinch when I intrude on their breakfast.

Seated at the dining table, casually discussing their plans for the day, they tease one another lovingly. A familiar pang of wanting grips me. I shove it down, then smile at Silene, who jumped up from the table and is walking over to greet me. The guilt I felt after dressing myself only intensifies, and I vow to keep my cloak on today and to keep my distance from Hawthorne.

“How are your conversations with the rebels going? Are they ready to introduce Hawthorne to their leaders?” I ask. She beams.

“Yes! We have a time and place as of yesterday. We were so excited to tell you.”

“That’s excellent. Great work, really. You’ve had a productive week.”

“So…” she says, lowering her voice, “You and Thorne are going to train today.” I suddenly fear she’s noticed what I can no longer pretend isn’t flirting between the Prince and me. I brace myself for her to remind me of their engagement, or threaten me, or plead with me to stop flirting with him. Instead, she says with a wicked, conspiratorial grin, “Don’t you dare go easy on him.” With that, she practically skips back to the dining table, leaving me once again curious about the nature of their relationship.

“What was that about?” Hawthorne asks her.

“Oh, I was just telling Laurel to kick your ass today,” she says exuberantly. Hawthorne bursts out in laughter, and I can’t keep my eyes off him. The laugh reveals a new side of him, a vulnerability he rarely shows. Something deep in my belly turns over. “Ready to kick my ass, Your Majesty?” he asks me, a glint in his eyes.

I stiffen. “Uh… yes,” I say awkwardly. Apparently, I don’t know how to interact with him if I’m not flirting. “We have to make a stop by the kitchens first. Need to get food for lunch.” He looks at me confused, brows furrowed, then gestures as if to say, lead the way. I concentrate on the aether pulsing through his body, then aerstep us both to the door outside of the kitchens. “Stay here,” I tell him, walking into the humid and busy room. The cooking staff are used to my random appearances. A human woman with brown hair and freckles spots me first. She smiles, then stops what she’s working on and gestures for me to follow her into the pantry. “I’d like to pack enough for two today, Sarah.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” She grabs a woven basket and loads a loaf of bread, several apples, a hunk of cheese, a bottle of Thayarian ale, and two smaller containers with stew into the basket. “We also have cake today, Queen Laurel,” she says with a glimmer in her eye. “Chocolate.”

I giggle with glee and give her a big grin. “You know me well. Two slices of the cake, then.”

When the basket is finished, she hands it and two water skins over to me. “Enjoy your day, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you. You too. And you let me know if you need anything from me,” I tell her pointedly, looking at the head baker who I know has a prejudice against humans. She blushes, but nods.

I find Hawthorne leaning against the wall when I return to the hallway, the perfect picture of masculine charm. His broad shoulders strain against his tunic above his crossed arms, and his assessing eyes scan up and down my body as I walk toward him. I ignore the way it makes my spine tingle, determined to keep today flirting free. He grins with mirth when I reach him, like he’s intentionally trying to annoy me.

“Ready?” I ask.

The Prince lowers his upper body into an exaggerated bow, one of his favorite gestures of late, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yes, Your Majesty.” I roll my eyes, then aerstep us to my usual training spot, not even thinking twice about bringing him to a place that’s so special to me.

When we arrive, he frowns as he surveys the environment, shivering in the northern air. “Where are we?”

“The Spined Moors—the northernmost part of Thayaria. It’s sparsely inhabited, so this is where I train my magic.” The wind howls, and the Prince puts his hands in his pockets, trying to disguise his discomfort. “I’m sorry, it’s much colder here. I should have warned you. Here.” I will the gusts to stop blowing. “Maybe stopping the wind will help.”

“It does, thank you,” he says as his eyes search mine. I let out my own shiver as those mossy eyes assess me, though I pretend I too am cold and rub my hands together to disguise the real reason. “Laurel, did I do something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, why would you think that?”

“It’s just—back in the apartment, you were so pleasant toward Silene, and then, I don’t know, it felt like you closed off when I spoke with you.” There’s the tiniest glimmer of vulnerability in his expression before he quickly locks it away behind a wide smile, the mask of the nonchalant prince returning. “I know I’m prone to making an ass of myself, but I don’t think I did this morning, at least not yet. And then you didn’t even laugh at my bow.”

I stare at him, deadpan expression firmly in place. “You were clearly trying to annoy me. It worked.” We both know I haven’t answered his question, but he doesn’t press it further, only widens his perfect grin. I ignore the way it makes my blood heat.

“Well, at least I annoyed you. That’s always my backup plan if I can’t get you to smile.” He winks. I can’t help the twitching of my lips at his remark. It’s impossible to stay stoic around this male.

“You’re a light and water channeler, is that right?” I ask, trying to change the subject back to training and magic.

“I am. But I’ve never been able to combine the two, like you did at the ball. It’s either light or water, never both. Teach me your ways, witchling,” he croons, eyes dancing with mirth. It takes the centuries I’ve spent as the Witch Queen to keep my lips from twitching again.

“Focus on how the two conduits are similar or how they might exist in the same space,” I instruct. “Water and light are both gentle in small quantities but can also be deadly with enough volume and force. Try to connect them in your mind first before attempting to channel.”

With a nod, his eyes close and his brow furrows in concentration. His lips part slightly, and the sun hits his face at just the right angle, illuminating that hard, angular jaw and the closely shaved beard that lines it. He looks… remarkably handsome. Devastatingly so, and I can’t keep my eyes from scanning up and down his toned frame, admiring every inch of him. He’s wearing navy fitted trousers that show off the strong muscles in his legs and backside, and an equally fitted cream tunic that strains against the muscles in his arms as he moves his hands up to conjure. A stray lock of his hair falls across his face, and I reach out to brush it away before I know what I’m doing. His eyes suddenly open with my hand in front of his face. His lips twitch, like he knows exactly what I was doing. “Can’t keep your hands off me, witchling?” That cocky grin makes me clench my fists to keep from punching him in the face.

“No, I was… uh… just going to conjure light and water into my hands to see if that helps you.” The excuse tumbles out of me too quickly, and I internally groan. Trying to restore some modicum of dignity to myself, I do just that, so flustered the magic sputters for a moment before two swirling balls of water and light appear in either hand. “Focus on bringing them together into a gentle mist of light,” I murmur, cheeks still heated from embarrassment. That pesky piece of hair drops in front of his eyes again, but he shakes his head to move it out of the way, returning to his task without teasing me anymore. Thank the aether .

His attention focuses on the two orbs. The ball of water slowly moves from my right hand and covers the light, then both grow larger, moving out and away from my body until a glowing mist surrounds us. We’re encased in shimmering light, and he looks every inch the Shining Prince in the gleam. He smiles at me through the bright mist, unadulterated joy erupting across his features. The smile resembles the ones I glimpse briefly when he’s laughing with Silene and Fionn, the practiced, simpering pursing of his lips nowhere to be seen. My breath catches in my throat, and I’m frozen to the spot as his olive eyes find mine. We stare at one another, something shifting between us.

My cheeks hurt, and as I bring my hand to my face, I realize it’s because I’m beaming, the kind of smile I rarely—if ever—display. It only makes me grin brighter, and now it’s Hawthorne’s turn to look up and down my body. His smile disappears and his expression heats, eyes burning with a fire that makes me want to squirm. He takes a step closer to me, his own large hand reaching for me before dropping it.

“Look at that. You’re a good teacher,” he murmurs, voice low and throaty—intimate, I think. It’s the voice of a lover in the dark, praising and assessing and seductive and wicked all at once. I imagine that voice whispering dirty things to me, words I’ve never fantasized about as something inside my chest flutters.

“Good,” I say, and the word comes out breathless and lilting. “Keep practicing.”

With that, I turn, walking away from him before I forget who his father is, keeping my eyes locked on the mist barrier as a reminder of everything I’ve lost at the hands of his kingdom. I make it all the way to the edge of the cliff, half a mile away, before my emotions are fully locked away again behind my own misty wall.

When I return from my walk, Hawthorne is fully engaged in his training. He continues to create and destroy the phenomenon of lighted mist, losing himself in the exercises for nearly an hour, while I admire his dedicated practice. He clearly enjoys training his magic. That’s something we have in common.

With nothing else to do, I run through my own magical exercises, calling aether and releasing it. All a study in measured control. Remarkably, my magic somehow feels lighter and easier to conjure today. The heaviness I’ve felt lately is nowhere to be seen. I chalk it up to finally having a real plan to take down the rebels. We stay like that for a while, side by side, comfortable in the silence. Finally, when it seems Hawthorne can complete the exercise with ease, I say, “Good job. You’ve mastered it pretty quickly.”

“It’s all because of you, witchling.” His features beam back at me.

I blush. Trying to cover my reaction to him, I narrow my eyes and say flatly, “Are you actually combining them, or just channeling both at the same time and using their proximity to make the mist look lit up?”

He winks. “What’s the difference? This is more progress than I’ve made in centuries. And I find that the appearance of magic is sometimes just as powerful as the magic itself.” To prove his point, he surrounds us in another misty glow.

I burn away the water, leaving only a few orbs of light behind. “Because if they aren’t combined, a water channeler can remove the water and expose you for the fraud you are.” I give him my own wink. “It’s a great start, but for them to really work together, you need to think of them as one small piece of a whole, one part of the larger aether that flows in and through everything around us.”

Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that.

He frowns. “Aether only flows through the leylines.” The floating balls of light disappear.

I’ve said too much, but I have no choice but to move forward. “That’s a misconception, actually. The aether flows most strongly through the leylines, but everything around us has a tiny current of aether. Well, everything magical around us, and that includes basically everything but humans. The aether is pure magic, and our entire world is made up of that magic.”

He studies me, eyes keen and assessing. My body hums under his scrutiny. Olive eyes draw me in as he asks, “Are you… more sensitive to aether? Is that your power? Because I’ve never heard or read that fact, and I grew up with access to the most extensive magical library in the world.”

“Something like that,” I say quickly and dryly as I gesture for him to try again, desperate to divert the attention away from me and my magic. But then I remember Admon’s words, his advice to let the Prince in, so I give him a small offering. “Focus on the aether in the leylines, channel it into either conduit, but then release it. As it dissipates, concentrate on what it feels like right as the aether leaves. That feeling, that exact moment, when you know the aether is there, but you aren’t channeling it, is what it feels like to sense the aether in the world around you.”

He closes his eyes. The surrounding light intensifies for a moment but then returns to normal. I see his brows furrow in concentration. Those mossy eyes open wide with shock, and I try not to think about how it makes his features soften. “Holy fucking aethers,” he whispers.

I smile. “What, did you think I was lying?”

“I thought there was a non-zero chance you were tricking me. How—how have I never known this? Why hasn’t this been written about?”

I shrug. “I can’t say for sure, but I suspect Thayaria has more aether than most places, even not concentrated in the leylines. So, it would be much more difficult to sense it elsewhere. I also think it takes a powerful channeler.”

“Are you saying you think I’m powerful, witchling?” he practically growls, taking a step toward me, eyes bright.

I roll my eyes, trying to cover the fact that my toes are curling in my boots. “Everyone knows you’re one of the strongest light channelers in a millennium, princeling. I’m just stating a fact.”

“Is that so?” His words are low and deep, and his eyes now shine with a hungry gleam. “Just so we’re clear, witchling.” He takes yet another step, and I’m unable to move, unable to tear my eyes from his. “I’m not one of the most powerful light channelers. I’m the most powerful light channeler in recorded history, and the records in the Velmaran archive date back an eternity. None have been born with power like mine, and were you not born at the same time as me, I’d be considered the most powerful fae to ever live. Lucky for me, that title—and all the bullshit that comes with it—belongs to you.”

My back arches, my body bending in orbit around this powerful fae. The temptation to give into whatever sparks between us anytime we’re near one another is overwhelming, the desire to let those strong arms wrap around me almost overpowering my senses. But then I remember Mazus and Silene and all the reasons this cannot happen, so I take a step back, the distance between us a chasm.

“I’ve taught you a fun party trick, now you’re up. Show me your light tricks, oh Shining Prince ,” I say with a mocking tone to cut the tension.

His grin is practically feral this time, an expression I’ve never seen before, filled with heat and lust and primal need. Before I even sense the aether moving around me—something that should be impossible with my power—he wraps my wrists in ropes of light and uses magic to pull them above my head. They’re firm, but gentle, and the light somehow caresses me while it binds me. He takes a step closer, and the ropes pull even tighter, raising my arms so high that my back arches and my breasts push out from my body, front and center as he takes me in. My breath catches, and the image of him using those ropes of light to pin me to my bed flashes, unbidden, in my mind. My core heats, and there’s a pulsing between my legs that I absolutely do not want to think about. I push the image away, but it returns as he slowly stalks closer to me, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Our surroundings are charged with magic, and one of us—I’m unsure who—has conjured the glowing mist again. This time, it’s thick, blocking out everything around us and making his eyes glow like two unholy green orbs through the haze.

He’s close enough now to lean down and murmur in my ear. “How’s that for a trick?” he asks, voice deep and sensual again. I swallow, my mouth dry and my lips parting as I shiver.

Feigning indifference that I absolutely do not feel, I shrug. “It’s okay.” Then I will the light to unwrap from my wrists and wrap around his own, pinning him in the same position. That pulsing between my thighs intensifies as I reverse the power dynamic. “Nothing I couldn’t do myself,” I whisper in his ear.

His pupils dilate and his jaw ticks, clearly enjoying this as much as I do. He dissolves the light pinning his arms above his head, never taking those now nearly black eyes from mine. He slowly leans in close, and the most intense and maddening smell wafts over me. Citrus, jasmine, and lemongrass. I close my eyes and inhale, and when I open them again, his body crowds mine, the large frame all I can see or sense from within the mist. The Prince of Light leans down and whispers in my ear, his hot breath tickling my neck. “Well, then, witchling, I will endeavor to show you a trick you can’t perform on yourself.”

I try to hide my shiver at his innuendo, but he senses it. He leans in even closer to me, and our breath mingles. I can’t keep my gaze from his lips. They’re full and pink from the chilly northern air. It would be so easy to close the distance between us, to give in and let us get whatever this is out of our systems. We’re completely alone out here, isolated from anyone or anything who might hear or see us. I relax into his body, letting his heat wrap around me. He inhales deeply, like he too is trying to breathe in my scent. His hand wraps around my waist and tugs me close, burning my skin, and I let out an involuntary gasp of air. He growls low in his throat as he leans into me, like he’s about to kiss me, and I want to let him. My mouth parts, my body heats—

And that is the catalyst I need to pull away.

“We should eat some lunch,” I say, breathless, untangling our limbs and feeling the lack of him next to me like a missing limb. I walk to my favorite flat boulder and open up the basket of food, trying to shake the way his touch made me feel. I repeat the facts that would make anything between us an impossibility. He’s engaged. He’s the son of an enemy who still haunts my dreams, who arranged for us to meet at the same time that the magic of my kingdom is declining. I’m using him to get what I need before I’ll have no choice but to find a solution to the fact that eventually he’ll go back to Velmara and could be compelled by Mazus with the aether-voice to reveal everything he’s learned in Thayaria. I’m sure kissing him is not what Admon had in mind when he advised me to build a real alliance with Prince Hawthorne.

Taking the containers of stew out of the basket, I will them to heat, then pull out spoons and the remaining food. Hawthorne stares at me, confusion and what I think might be fear written across his expression for only a moment before he lets that mask slide back into place, where it belongs. He smirks as he sits across from me, like he’s been caught trying something he knows he shouldn’t do, and it angers me. It was probably all a play by him, a way to prove to me that even I’m a victim to the good looks he uses as a weapon. I must have looked so foolish, simpering and breathless by just the simple act of him getting close to me. I push down my embarrassment and let my annoyance and ire rise to the surface.

I hand him his food items with more aggression than necessary, and we eat in uncomfortable silence, though he continues to observe me like he can’t quite figure me out. When we finish the stew and bread packed for us, he finally speaks.

“What was my father like, during the war?” The question takes me aback, especially after what just transpired between us. Now it’s my turn to study him closely, trying to determine the motivation for the question and if there’s a specific answer he’s seeking. Despite my behavior toward him the last few hours, I have to keep my guard up, though I will try to use the opportunity to follow Admon’s advice and be more open than I would usually be.

“He was a formidable opponent. We lost. He won. I just happened to be able to kill or shove his entire army out of my kingdom before the consequences could set in.” The truth, nothing more. If he is Mazus’s spy, this information won’t reveal anything. If he’s not, the answer doesn’t give him anything the rest of the world doesn’t already know.

Hawthorne seems thoughtful, gaze fixed on his lap and brows furrowed. “What was he like before the war, when he was courting you?” Now I snort, trying to hold back laughter.

“Courting me? Is that the story in Velmara?”

“Yes,” he says slowly, confused. “That he was courting you, and you were close to marriage, but then one night you got extremely upset and lost control of your magic. The rest… well, I guess you know the rest.”

“That’s not exactly how I remember it,” I snap. He holds up his hands in surrender, and I take a deep breath before continuing, though it does little to calm the raging storm inside me. “I only met him once, before the war. The ‘courting’ you mention was a single ball. A single dance, really. He made his offer to my father that evening.” Hawthorne looks stunned, and I can’t help but laugh at his slack jaw and wide eyes. “There are many different sides to a story, princeling. But this is the truth. He greeted me, we danced, he made an offer to my father, who then asked me if I wanted to accept. I thought on it for a few days for propriety, but I had no interest in marrying a crusty old fae my best friend and I referred to as Mazus the Moldy.”

Hawthorne sprays water out of his mouth as he erupts in a deep belly laugh. After the laughter continues for several more seconds, I can’t help but join in, and soon we’re both leaking tears as we cackle. Then Hawthorne says, “Mazus the Moldy,” and we start the process all over again. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard, and for this long, and I have to ignore the tiny voice inside of me that whispers that I like the way our laughs sound together. I’m wheezing by the end, unable to catch my breath from the silent convulsions in my body.

“Witchling, you don’t know what you’ve done. I’m absolutely going to accidentally call him that in some Council meeting one day, and he’s going to murder me on the spot.”

“Maybe that’s my goal,” I say as I bump his shoulder with mine, and he beams.

“So, you met my father once, you said no to his marriage proposal. Was there even any display of uncontrollable magic by you? His so-called reason for launching a war against Thayaria.”

“Nope,” I say with a shrug, diverting my gaze from his. “It’s certainly not outside the realm of possibility that I could have lost control, because I was overwhelmed by my power back then. I had no idea what I was doing. But the only time I ever truly lost control was… well, when I chucked thousands of Velmarans out of Thayaria, killed even more, and erected a barrier of mist around the whole country.” I look down at my lap and pick at a thread on my leggings. The mood sobers.

“So why did he invade Thayaria, then?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I have my suspicions, of course. But he certainly never revealed anything to me. Even at… the end… before I—you know— did the mist. ” I wave my hand in the direction of the coast. “He maintained that I was too powerful to be left alone, that he had a ‘duty,’ as he put it, to unseat me. Labeled me a witch and convinced everyone my magic was immoral. I think he just didn’t want to be the second most powerful ruler alive. I think—I don’t know, I could be wrong about this—but I think he was afraid of the threat my power presented.”

“And your parents?” he asks, tentatively. “What—”

“I don’t want to talk about them,” I say firmly before he can even get the full question out. I might be trying to open up, but that is a step too far. Instead, I dig in the basket, then pull out the chocolate cake as a distraction. “Enough talk of your father and the war. We have cake to enjoy,” I say with a grin, then hand him his slice.

“Cake?” he asks, brows furrowing.

“What, do you not have cake in Velmara?”

“No, we do. You make it sound like it’s more than just, well, cake.” He shrugs.

“ Clearly you don’t understand the magical properties of chocolate cake. We’ll finish your lessons for the day with a practical lesson. Eat the cake, that’s the lesson.”

He rolls his eyes but takes a bite of the cake. “It’s good, I’ll give you that. But I prefer frozen ices and candies much more.”

My mouth drops open, aghast at his dismissal of my favorite food. I shake my head, and we finish our lunch in silence, though this time it’s comfortable and not awkward. When I’ve taken my last bite of the delectable treat, Hawthorne leads me back to the unofficial training circle we’ve been working in.

“Can you make weapons with light?” he asks.

“I’ve never tried.” I concentrate, then gather the surrounding light into a honed dagger.

“Good,” he praises, voice low, and it lights something up inside of me. I’m annoyed with myself with how easy it is for him to affect me. “Now send it toward me.” I try, but it dissipates before it makes it to him. He loves that. “Well, well, well,” he remarks, “we’ve found a weakness in the witchling’s magic.” I roll my eyes, but he continues. “Try concentrating on the intensity of the light in as small a space as you can manage. It’s similar to the concept you mentioned before. When large amounts of light are channeled into small spaces, it becomes destructive. Visualize the tiny hole you’re sending it through, then blast the light into it as you move it.” I try again, and this time the light reaches Hawthorne, but he easily disintegrates it. “Good. You’ve gotten the basic concept. Now you just need to work on the intensity and your speed and get to a point where you can consistently maintain those two things.”

We continue training for another hour. Hawthorne must also have remembered his betrothed and all the history between our kingdoms, because he keeps a healthy distance between us for the remainder of the session. When we’re both tired, I aerstep us back to his apartment and leave him with a promise that we’ll continue with our training in the coming weeks.

Back in my room, as I wash the sweat and grime from my body, I feel airy and light. Like I could float away at any moment and lose myself in the late afternoon sky.