Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
What’s happening? she thought, her face crushed against his hard chest and her back pressed against the wall.
The ground bucked. Rock pushed up under their feet. The wall shoved at her, but he held firm, keeping her pinned. She could feel his heart thundering. Two metallic clunks sounded deep within the ground, one and then the other, before the sound died away. The quaking of the cavern subsided.
Tarian’s breath came loud and quickly. More dirt rained down from the ceiling.
That—he pulled back, looking deeper into the cavern—was the Celestials cheating.
What does that mean?
He stepped away and took her hand, pulling her with him. She didn’t have the time or inclination to allow the delicious feelings to materialize from the warmth and pressure of his hand holding hers. Sorry, I might have to be like one of your action stars. I need to keep you close without sparing you my attention.
I know how to walk closely to someone. It’s not likely I’m going to run now.
Run? Not likely, no. Something stepping out of the shadows to grab you? Very likely.
That shut her up. She held his hand tighter.
Celestials have the power to change the heart of the fringe, he said, each footfall slow, like he was hesitant to make too much noise. She followed his lead. They haven’t done it in…decades. More.
And they just did it now?
Sounded like it, yes. We’ll know in a moment.
They really didn’t want her and Tarian making it into Faerie. In feeling the power of the crystal chalice, they must’ve known its potential to help fae over the fringe.
Just so, Tarian murmured in her mind.
When does the magic of the crystal chalice wear off?
He barely spared her a glance as they neared the area where they’d previously had to turn back. To her, it all looked the same. Fungi and moss illuminated the rough ceiling and jagged walls. Small weeds struggled out of the dirt near the base.
Never, he said, tugging her forward. The magic stamped you. Now you bear its mark, like you bear mine. I will also make my mark visual, however. Official. Otherwise, you’d be used by the royals and then their guards. A pretty human, such as yourself, won’t go unnoticed. I’d end up having to kill half the palace when coming to your aid.
I wouldn’t live long enough, she ground out, her whole body burning in anger. The first person to touch me would die, and they’d surely have me executed shortly thereafter. There are some things worse than death.
I know well, he said ominously.
She wondered about that as they walked, his incredible cautiousness for the first time she’d ever seen. Then her thoughts veered to what he’d said about his mark. She’d let his talk of claims roll off her shoulders, having seen the proof of what he’d do if she violated their absurd agreement, but he hadn’t mentioned a magical stamp upon her flesh. He hadn’t told her specifically that his magic would remain laced into her skin. It couldn’t have been like a Demigod’s mark, glowing and ethereal—noticeable. Her family hadn’t said a word, and that was something they definitely would’ve noticed and picked apart.
The mark is not for humans, he said. Though that would be helpful if the fae are to dabble among them. It is for my kind. It denotes ownership. You are mine. You will only be touched by me. Handled by me. As I’ve said, repeatedly, I don’t share. My magical stamp, and my mark, will affirm what’ll happen if they cross the line with my property. In case you’re still not clear, it’ll mean their death. Gruesomely, if I can spare the time.
But…what about the green guys? They didn’t seem troubled by any claims.
No, they didn’t. And look what happened to them. A visual mark will help those too stupid to notice the magical claim.
And you don’t plan to release the magical claim and save yourself the grief of my kissing my way through the castle?
His look at her was dark and tortured. I would love nothing more than to choose how long that claim will last. To not apply it at all. That magic is not because I am fae. It is because I am, myself, trapped. Part of my servitude in the court comes with what the queen and her minions think of as a joke. A curse, by all accounts. Once affixed, I cannot release that claim. It is a brand upon you—upon any of my lovers. If you should grow tired of me and want to choose another, you’ll be forced to repeatedly see your lovers die by my hand. I’ll be magically forced to oblige. My first and only love felt the sting of the entrapment acutely until the court tired of their games and ended the claim themselves.