Chapter Eighteen #3
“You should have done it,” I say, which isn’t fair of me either.
Lark gasps and thrusts harder in my grip.
I force the next words out, trusting him, trusting not simply the truth of his words—he can’t lie anyway—but the intensity behind them.
“You could have stripped me off after the ball. Had me in your bed in just your collar.”
Lark kisses me hard. Harder than he meant to, I think, because it hurts, and for a second, I taste blood. He fucks into my hand, a growl rumbling low in his throat when he tears his mouth away.
“Do not tempt me,” he says, and his voice is lower than I’ve ever heard it. “Stealing you might spark a war.”
Fuck. He looks at me like he’d do that. Like he’d start a war just to keep me.
Our mouths collide again, hungry, desperate, and Lark comes a few seconds later. I swallow his cry, gentling the kiss until our foreheads rest together and we’re breathing the same air.
Lark smooths his hands up my sides. I let go of his cock, only to grasp his hips and pull him against me again.
“If I thought it might in any way be the best thing for you, I would keep you here,” he says.
The words don’t sting, but my heart still hurts. I’ve got no desire to stay in the Otherworld, despite everything, but if it meant staying by his side? I think I’d do it. I think he’d want me to.
“I’ll come back,” I say. “Whenever I can.”
He doesn’t answer that except to kiss me again, this time slow and sweet. The maze settles around us, all the plants letting out their own faint sighs.
It’s a few minutes before Lark stirs, getting to his feet.
He rights himself first, magic flexing as he cleans his clothes and fixes his hair.
When he holds out a hand for me, I take it, swaying into him as I stand.
His magic slides over me as easily as it did him, and in seconds, it looks as though nothing happened at all.
Except. I nudge the neck of my shirt aside and press against the throbbing spot on my shoulder.
“You left a mark, didn’t you?”
Lark’s gaze darts away. “I—That is—”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. Too quickly. Lark steps in close and cups my cheek, tilting my face up towards him.
“I can heal it, if you would prefer.”
“No!” That word comes out too quickly as well and Lark’s fingers tighten on my face. His gaze falls to my lips.
“We should return,” he says. “No doubt Oisin will be concerned about the announcement.”
“Yeah, I—” My stomach twists. “I’m going to go back into the castle. If that’s okay? I don’t know if I can…”
I can’t be on the sidelines again. I know why he’s doing this. All things considered, if we weren’t supposed to be together, or whatever a soulbond means, I’d even believe it to be a good thing.
But I can’t watch him announce that he’ll bond to another person—platonic or not—and pretend that I’m okay.
Lark’s face falls. Only for a second. His thumb brushes my cheekbone before his hand drops to his side. “Of course. But please. Go straight to my rooms. If a fae sees you wandering around—”
“I will.”
He kisses me again, a faint brush of lips against mine, before he takes my hand. The walls of the maze shiver and a new path appears. Lark leads me along it, and only when we reach the exit does he let go of my hand.
I follow him back out into the party. Fae turn our way, no doubt having some inkling of what we were up to in there. Before we can reach Ophelia and Oisin, I break off and head in the direction of the castle.
There are very few fae inside as Lark and Oisin’s announcement begins. Even the servants seem to have mostly gone outside, so no one bothers me on the way to Lark’s rooms. I sigh once I’m inside, the door shut behind me. They feel big without him. Empty.
Too big. I wander into the bedroom, but then I can’t stop thinking about the feel of Lark’s hands on my skin, so I walk back out again. The balcony gives me a great view of the party, but I don’t want that, either.
I wander over to the greenhouse door. It’s not locked, and it swings open at my gentle touch.
The devastation really is something. It would be awful enough if they’d come in and smashed everything, but to simply neglect it like this?
I reach out with my magic, but of course, all the plants are long dead. But there’s—
I frown, looking back out the way I came. Something faintly flickers in the bedroom. I wander in there, drawn to the pouch that the witch gave me. I open it and tip the contents onto a side table.
She put some herbs and stones in there. I set them aside. If we’re going to use the mirror Cassian gave me to scry him tonight—use our magic to call him via it, essentially—then they’ll come in handy.
But there, at the bottom. A handful of seeds.
They have their own magic inside them. It’s faint, hardly noticeable what with all the magic that suffuses this realm anyway, but when I push against it, it pushes back.
I look in the direction of the greenhouse again. Will Lark mind?
I don’t think so. I leave everything but the seeds on the side table and walk back into the greenhouse. I don’t have long. Best get to work.