Fragile Eternity (Wicked Lovely 3)

She wiggled her fingers then, beckoning him. “Come now. If you’ll accept the deal you’re seeking…”

Seth took a step toward her. “And I’m still me? When I’m out there and here? I’m not your subject out there either?”

“Correct,” she confirmed. “Examine my words, Seth Morgan, and choose now. This isn’t an offer that will last if you walk away from me today.”

Am I forgetting anything? He’d read enough on faery contracts to know that they always looked better than they were. Mortals had been bargaining and losing through loopholes for as long as they’d had dealings with the fey. He’d been paying attention when Aislinn sorted through faery politics; he’d borrowed books from Donia; he’d talked to Niall. The key was in precision.

One month a year, a kiss, and eternity with Ash.

He couldn’t see any way that this was a bad bargain. Except… “Are all the months I owe you in a row?”

When Sorcha smiled this time, it was actually breathtaking. Here, then, was the faery queen he’d expected to see. That glimmer of emotion softened her faery perfection, and he saw in her that same wicked, lovely temptation that Aislinn and Donia exuded.

“No. One month of fealty in my presence, and then you leave Faerie and return to the mortal realm for eleven months there.” She let a glamour fall over her until she looked like every dream he’d ever have—perfect and untouchable and somehow deserving of worship for it. “You may, of course, petition me to stay here for those eleven months as well.”

Seth reached up and gripped the charm Niall had given him. He squeezed until he thought the smooth stone might cut into his skin. It was little, if any, use in this moment. “Don’t hold your breath for that.”

“Do you choose to accept my offer, Seth Morgan?”

He shook his head as if to clear the spider webs that seemed to be wrapping around him as she spoke. “I do.”

“It’s your choice. Come to me if you would choose this. Do you choose to accept this, Seth Morgan?”

He came closer, letting himself be pulled toward her by tendrils he couldn’t see. Intangible fibers wrapped around him; they would weave him to her, assure him a place in a world of purity, protect him from the taint of mortality when he was outside Faerie.

And she is Faerie. She’s everything.

“I do choose this,” he said for the second time.

“To be subject to a faery queen is to give every breath at her command. With no hesitation, you offer your fealty and presence here in Faerie for a month each year as long as you draw breath?”

He was kneeling on the earth in front of her, touching her perfect hand. In her eyes, moonlit slivers beckoned. He’d be destroyed by them if he erred. He let go of the charm he’d been clutching so he could reach out to her.

My queen.

“Will you give me your last breath if I ask it of you? Do you choose to accept what I’m offering you, Seth?”

He shivered. “I will. I do. I choose this.”

“Then give me my kiss, mortal.”

Sorcha waited. The Summer Queen’s mortal knelt at her feet, clutching her hand, and unable to shake free of her residual glamour, despite his charm, despite her gentleness. She held her appeal in check, but this mortal was meant to be hers. She’d seen it when he first stood in front of her, boldly asking for the gift of immortality. She saw it now when she looked to the future. Seth Morgan belonged to her, to her court, to Faerie. He mattered—and he needed to be not just a faery, but strong as few faeries were.

As he faltered, she debated the wisdom of how she’d chosen to make this so. It was of her own self she was giving. He had no need to know that or to know what a rarity it was. Simply because she could engender a transfer didn’t mean she often did so. Mortals simply didn’t become faeries, not without being bound to the faery who’d shared an essence with them. There were two ways to do so—as a loved one or as chattel. If he came to her more out of pure selfishness, she’d offer him only selfish use. If he offered more selflessness than self-gain, she’d return that generosity.

“A kiss to finalize our bargain, to unmake your mortality…” Sorcha didn’t let her hopes into her voice. She wanted him to be worthy of what she was giving to him; she believed him to be so. He could still turn away; he could fail her in this moment.

“You’re not her,” he whispered. “Only should kiss her.”

“Be strong, Seth.” She kept her glamour in check. “If you want this, you must give me my kiss.”

“Give you a kiss.” His words weren’t slurred or unclear, but they were slower.

Sorcha couldn’t reach out. She couldn’t take his will-power. The choice was his; it was always theirs. “Seal the bargain, or reject the offer.”

His eyes were unfocused; his heartbeat was rapid. Then he quirked his metal-decorated brow, and she saw a spark of something unexpected.

“Yes, my queen.” He held her gaze as he turned her hand palm up. Then, he gently kissed her palm. “Your kiss.”