Fragile Eternity (Wicked Lovely 3)

“Which are?”

She walked over and handed him a washcloth from a basin beside the bed. At first, it looked like she was going to wipe his face, but she held it out. “The cold will help your head.”

He laid it over his eyes for a moment. It smelled minty. “Will I feel miserable the entire month I’m mortal?”

“No.” Her voice was soft. “But your body is trying to understand the extra energy that’s coiled inside you. Your senses will be different as a faery. Your gifts will be startling. The knowledge that most faeries are born possessing is being woven into your unconscious mind. If you were just to stay here, it wouldn’t feel like this. The process could go more slowly.”

“Woven?”

“With a few threads from Olivia’s starlight. It makes things quicker, but it stings a bit.”

He lifted the edge of the cloth from over his eyes to glance at her. “A bit?”

She had moved back to the window and was tearing up the blossoms she’d collected. “And the faery’s essence that you received is stronger than most. That too makes the change more challenging…. I’ve done what I could to ease the pain.”

The tone of her voice was very different from what it had been when she’d spoken to him before. Her expression was sculpture-stiff, but she was vulnerable. Fragile.

Seth sat up and stared at his new queen. “You’ve given me everything. Because of you I can be with Ash. I can be there for Niall. I can survive being in their world.”

The High Queen nodded and her look of worry receded. “Few faeries will be strong enough to be a threat to you,” she said. “I’ve made sure of that.”

“Why?”

“Because I chose to.”

“Right…so that month here…” Seth hated bringing it up, but right then all he wanted was to see Aislinn. “Do the six days unconscious and my first few days here count too?”

“Yes.” Sorcha poured steaming water over the blossoms she’d plucked.

“So twelve of my thirty days are over?” He rolled out of bed and was briefly amused as she turned and quickly threw a robe at him.

“Yes.” She poured the blossom tea and handed him a cup. “Drink this.”

Seth didn’t even think to hesitate. He couldn’t. His queen had given him a command: he obeyed. He swallowed the vile drink, and then he scowled. “That…I just…I couldn’t tell you no.”

She smiled. “You’re mine, Seth Morgan. You’d give me your heart if I ordered it.”

She owns me.

He’d watched Niall, Donia, Keenan, and Aislinn with their faeries. It wasn’t like this. He hadn’t thought it would be like this when he’d sworn fealty. Is it different because this is Faerie? Is it her? Me? He scowled at her. “I didn’t know.”

She walked back to stand in front of the window again, once more keeping her distance from him. “If I choose to, I own your will, your body, your soul. Would you have changed your answer?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Good.” She nodded and stepped from the room into the garden. “Bring another cup of tea.”

She didn’t ask him to follow, but he knew that he should. It was expected.

Barefoot, wearing pajama pants and a robe, carrying a cup of disgusting tea, he followed Sorcha into the garden with no hesitation. She was his queen: her will was all that mattered.

He had to walk faster than he liked in order to catch up. “So I’m what? Your pet? Your servant?”

Sorcha’s look was bemused. “I don’t keep pets. Faerie isn’t as twisted as it looks from out there”—she made a vague gesture toward a faraway stone wall—“we are civilized in my court.”

“You own me. I’m not seeing how that’s civilized.” He sipped the noxious tea. “It isn’t like that for other rulers.”

“No?” She made a moue of confusion and then shrugged. “I am different. We are different.”