Chapter 10 #3
He couldn’t resist gently pressing his thumb into her swollen bottom lip, intrigued with the way it gave under the slight pressure. His claw rested perfectly in her slim philtrum, a wicked point against her perfect iridescent skin.
“And what about you, agae? How have you come to be here?”
He felt her swallowed and didn’t like how she pulled back at his question.
She didn’t retreat far, really, but it was still too far.
His wings itched to curl around her, to offer her comfort and warmth, but he saw in the vulnerable way she sat there, shoulders hunched, that if he moved too much, she’d flee.
“I’m…not an everyday fae,” she finally admitted, using his words from before.
That was obvious, but Attalus merely nodded, encouraging her to continue.
In halting words, she told him, “Centuries ago, the last Queen killed her family. Her own daughters and sisters—everyone. So that none could take her place. My family was in the countryside when it happened. When the soldiers came for us, my mother and sister pushed me across the border. Then drew off the…”
The story grew more horrible with every word, each image dropping from Leita’s lips as though they were poison. Lips he’d just kissed uttered such horror…and called him back to the day of his own mother’s death.
“I watched my father rip out my mother’s throat,” he said before he could stop.
For the first time since she’d started speaking, Leita met his gaze. Her expression and resolve hardened, and she nodded. “Then you understand why I had to kill her. The Queen.”
Attalus nodded. He would’ve given anything to be the one to slay his father—not for the dais, but for his mother. That Araxos was the only one strong enough to actually deliver a killing blow still ate at his insides.
“Last autumn, I was found and…persuaded to return to the faelands. We killed Amaranthe, and as the last of the royal line, I had to…” Taking in a big breath, she said, “I am the Fae Queen.”
Attalus’s ears rang with the admission. The Fae Queen. The most powerful being in the land, possibly on the continent. The Fae Queen was his mate.
Through his stupor, he managed to ask, “Then why are you out here alone?”
Leita shrugged, her gaze flittering away. “I’ve been…struggling to connect with the faelands and its magic.” She scrunched her lips, obviously unhappy to say it. “I thought, out here, I might do better.”
Attalus nodded, as if he had any clue what it meant to connect with the magic of the land.
This was all…
Fantastical. Beyond belief.
It really did smack of divine meddling. What were the odds if not? He didn’t like gambling, but on this, he’d take that bet.
When she next looked at him, it was with shy consideration. She didn’t move closer for a kiss, instead waiting for him to say something.
She waited so long, she eventually said, “Say something.”
The air rushed out of Attalus’s lungs.
“This is excellent,” he decided, his grin uncontainable. “It solves so much.”
Leita frowned. “I don’t see how.”
The vision was still hazy for him, too, but an idea was forming. Excitement heated his blood, and he sat up on his knees, trying to explain.
“The situation can be handled diplomatically. Send envoys to Highhome, tell Araxos I’m your azai, and that the matter must be dropped. Savrakae respect the mate bond. Even Araxos must bend to it, especially if the bond is with another powerful monarch.”
He might’ve said more, but her expression curdled anything else on his tongue. He didn’t think she’d necessarily be thrilled by his suggestion, but the utter distaste pulling at her lips made his hearts skip out of sync.
“I’ll do no such thing.” She stood up, stepping out of his reach, to emphasize her point.
She left Attalus reeling. “Why? It’d surely solve the issue.”
“Telling an angry dragon where to find his quarry will solve the issue? I think not.” Rounding angrily on him, Leita said, “What it’ll do is bring an army to my border, which is already weakened. I can’t ask the faelands and my people to fight a war right now.”
“So you…won’t defend me? Our future?”
“I didn’t say that.” Leita threw her hands in the air, her frustration palpable. “And I didn’t ask for any of this. Not the Queenship, not the faelands, and not a fugitive dragon prince for a mate.”
She was in danger of truly offending him now. “No one asks for tragedy or hardship,” he argued, standing to be equal with her. “All we can do is deal with it.”
“Well, I’m still dealing with the last hardship thrust upon me.”
Oh, her little fangs were indeed sharp. “Forgive the inconvenient timing, my Queen,” Attalus sneered. “If I’d known, I would’ve tried to wait a year or two before being framed.”
Leita’s expression soured further. Good. It wasn’t loving or good of him, but he wanted her to feel the sting of his words as he did hers.
“You’re impossible,” she growled, “totally unserious.”
Her accusation hit home, striking between his hearts.
When she turned to storm away, he let her go. He’d no stomach for more. There was apparently such a thing as too much truth, and he’d sorely found it.