To Wear a Fae Crown (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 2)

by Tessonja Odette

  Only one other dance compares. One with ribbons, masks, and vows, and a fae male with a sensuous smirk...

  No. None of that tonight. This dance is everything I need.

  I close my eyes, feel deeper into the drums. A new kind of fire floods me—a mixture of my life force and unfurling passion. I follow it, become it, let it rise. When I open my eyes, a purple haze falls over my vision, blanketing everyone beneath an ethereal glow. It reminds me of my journey to the Twelfth Court, and—more recently—my dreams. Again, unwelcome thoughts threaten to shatter my peace, so I push them away, focusing instead on the joy and passion, on the beauty of the purple haze.

  “You’re glowing.” Franco’s voice sharpens my mind, and the violet begins to dim. After a few moments, the scenery returns to what it was. Still beautiful, of course, but no longer filtered through the strange vision. My eyes meet the prince’s, finding them alight with wonder. He repeats his words. “Evelyn, you’re glowing. It’s like flames.”

  I slow my dancing and examine my hands. He’s right. My body has taken on a golden, shimmery aura. It’s enough to surprise me and snap me even further from my daze. In a blink, the glow is gone.

  Perhaps Lorelei hadn’t been entirely correct about Midnight Blush after all. It obviously elicits some psychoactive effects.

  Still, it isn’t enough to worry me, and before long, I return to my dance. Lorelei takes my hands and we begin to spin. When we stop, we fall into fits of laughter and tumble onto the grass. It reminds me of being with Amelie.

  Another thought I quickly smother. I’m not thinking of Amelie tonight. Not Amelie. Not Aspen. Not—Oh look!

  I let out an unrestrained squeal of delight as a pair of sleek white kitsune dart by, the first with a glass of wine over its muzzle, the second chasing the orb of flame on the other’s tail.

  Franco chuckles as he offers me a hand to help me rise to my feet. “I knew you’d have fun.” Once I stand, he turns the same hand to Lorelei, but she bats it away, shoulders slumping as her expression crumbles.

  “I miss Foxglove,” she says with a pout. “He’s supposed to be my drinking partner.”

  Franco and I exchange an amused glance. “This is what happens when you drink too much Midnight Blush,” Franco says, then lowers his voice so only I can hear. “We should take her back to her room.”

  My heart sinks at his suggestion. All I want to do is dance and drink and drink some more. All I want is drums and rhythm and the feel of my body moving without care. But a rational part of me remains intact, and it can understand the reason for his concern. Lorelei looks like she’s on the verge of falling asleep, and it can’t be safe for her to doze in the middle of a dance floor.

  Franco bends to lift her, which is a struggle as she fights him. Once she’s righted, he pulls her arm over his shoulders and helps her walk. It’s slow progress as we make our way from the revel to the palace, but I don’t mind. Every step I take carries the rhythm with me, and I continue to feel the drum, even once indoors. My hips bounce to it as Franco lays Lorelei on her bed. My arms sway to it as he walks me to my room, his hand on my lower back. I can feel the heat of his touch even through my dress.

  Too soon, we reach my door. I face him and our eyes lock, trapping us in a bubble of silence. The wine still spins inside me, burning my blood with euphoria. I don’t want to move from this moment. I don’t want any of this to end. All I want is to stare at the beautiful fae male, to avoid sleep for as long as possible. To avoid the reality that awaits me with the coming dawn.

  He grins, his sharp canines glinting in the glowing light of the hall. This time, they don’t make me flinch. Like Foxglove’s pointed teeth, the prince’s now seem charming somehow, safe, even as he steps closer. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

  “I did. Thank you.”

  Again, silence falls between us, making the distance separating our bodies feel too vast. I crave to return to the revel, to throw my arms around his neck and resume the dance right here in the hall. With the beat of the drums still pounding inside me, my body proceeds to move and sway. It’s only natural when that beat brings me toward the prince, draws our lips together to continue the song. His lips are tantalizingly soft, our kisses slow and lingering. The brush of his tongue against mine is like fuel for the Midnight Blush, renewing its ecstasy as heat ignites in my core, tingling between my thighs.

  A word comes to mind, one that encompasses the desire that has taken over. Only it isn’t a word, exactly, but a name. Aspen.

  I pull away, my pleasure drowned in a shocking sense of sobriety. My eyes fill with the prince’s face, with the hunger in his eyes. It isn’t the face I wanted to see.

  Franco is beautiful and seductively alluring, but one problem remains. He isn’t Aspen.

  A string of expletives runs through my mind ending with bloody iron. No matter how much I try to deny it, my feelings for Aspen run deeper than I can contain. Yet, at this very moment, he’s likely in bed with his new mate, his new Bonded, his new wife. And here I am with a gorgeous male who stirs my passion, yet all I can think of is him.

  Rage courses through me at the unfairness of it all. Aspen is certainly enjoying the pleasures of the flesh with someone new. Why shouldn’t I?

  Franco’s brow furrows. “Is everything all right?”

  If I close my eyes, I could pretend it’s him.

  No, that’s disturbing.

  “Yes.” I force my lips into a smile.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  Yes, yes, yes. A million times yes. Stop this at once. “No.”

  He leans in to kiss me again, but not before something catches my eye at the end of the hall. Blue-black hair. Narrowed eyes. Antlers.

  As Franco’s lips meet mine, I turn my head, and his lips graze my cheek. “Aspen?” This time I say the name out loud. But the hall is empty. There’s no sign of the Autumn King, or of anyone, for that matter. Most fae are likely still at the revel. My chest heaves as I blink at the place I thought I saw him. Of course, I hadn’t truly seen him at all. I’m thoroughly drunk on Midnight Blush. My dreams are beginning to weave into reality.

  Without me realizing it, Franco has taken a step away from me, his expression wounded when I meet his eyes. An embarrassed flush heats my cheeks. I put a hand to my forehead as I lean against my door. “I’m sorry,” I say breathlessly. “I’m clearly not in the right state of mind.”

  Franco’s face shifts into a smile, but his eyes retain the hurt I caused with my outburst. “I should let you get some sleep.” He offers me a low bow, which gives me a chance to better compose myself. When he rises, he studies my face for a moment before reaching a hand to my cheek. He gives my skin a soft brush of his fingers, then leaves.

  I hurry into my room and strip off my dress, not even bothering to toss on a nightgown. All I want to do is disappear beneath my covers, and I do just that. My mind reels from the events of the night, from the beauty of the dance, to the ecstasy of the wine. To the unfathomable fact that I danced alongside unseelie fae and never once feared for my life. Perhaps my chaperone was to thank for that, or maybe it was the Midnight Blush. Whatever the case, I truly enjoyed myself. That is, until that strange kiss. I mean, the kiss itself was delightful. But how it ended...

  Thoughts of Aspen threaten to sober me further, but I refuse to let it happen. In the morning I know my sorrow will return, but until then I seek the beat of the drum, still heavy in my veins. I let it rock me, soothe me, and pull me into the deepest, dreamless sleep.

  20

  In the morning, the drums continue to pound, but it isn’t the beat of the revel that carries the thrum. It’s a pulsing headache that has me wincing against the morning light. Even with the muted quality of the Lunar Court’s daylight filtered through the single glass window in the ceiling, it’s too much. I groan, realizing I can’t have slept longer than four hours.

  I should have known better. Of course drinking that much fae wine—or any wine—would leave me with a hangove
r. At least it isn’t nearly as bad as I felt after eating honey pyrus. And at least it was the very distraction I needed to get through the night.

  Even if it ended in such an odd manner.

  I pull myself out of bed, surprised to find I’m naked before I recall the haste in which I’d gone to bed last night. My black dress is a crumpled heap by the wardrobe. I obviously couldn’t be bothered to hang it up last night. With a shake of my head at my former intoxicated self, I hang the dress in the wardrobe and slip into my velvet robe. Every movement sends a shard of glass through my skull, but I manage to make my way to the dressing table where a pitcher of water sits. I down one glass, then another, until my throat no longer feels like sand. Only then does the pounding in my head begin to lessen.

  My thoughts then turn to Lorelei; if I feel this awful, she can’t be faring much better. Then again, being full-fae could be in her favor. Still, she was quite indisposed.

  I straighten my robe, pulling the sash tight around my waist to hopefully conceal all traces of my nudity underneath, and leave my room. When I reach Lorelei’s door, I’m surprised to find it open. Animated voices come from within. One of the voices sounds like...

  I rush inside. “Foxglove?”

  He grins when he faces me, then pulls me into an embrace. When we separate, he studies me, his smile shifting to a grimace. “Evelyn, dear, what in the name of oak and ivy have you been doing with your hair? It looks terrible.”

  I run my hand over it, finding tangles. If I’d been expecting to find anyone but Lorelei next door, I would have brushed it. However, that is the least of my concerns. “Foxglove, what are you doing here?” I look from him to Lorelei.

  Lorelei seems to be in full health, seated on the arm of her couch with bright eyes and a glowing smile. She’s obviously thrilled to see her friend, but when her eyes meet mine, there’s trepidation in them. She bites her lower lip. “We were just talking about that.”

  “We arrived before dawn,” Foxglove says. “It’s been a whirlwind, I tell you. I haven’t slept a wink.”

  “We,” I echo. “Who’s we?”

  “Aspen and I, of course. And a few of his soldiers.”

  “Aspen’s here?”

  “Yes,” Foxglove says.

  “Right now? He’s been here since before dawn?”

  He nods, a sympathetic frown pulling his lips. “I’m sure he would have come to you at once if there wasn’t so much to attend to. I only just left the throne room myself.”

  My legs turn to water beneath me, my hand flying to my chest as my breaths grow shallow. Foxglove is wrong. Aspen did come to me at once. He came to me and saw me...

  “You said you just left the throne room? Is he there?”

  “He is, but—”

  I don’t wait to hear another word. On flying feet, I tear down the hall. The palace layout isn’t entirely familiar to me, but I know I can find the throne room without guidance. I’ve visited the observatory plenty of times on my own, and the throne room is just beneath it.

  After a few wrong turns, I finally find a set of enormous double doors. Two shadowy wraiths stand before them. Guards. I’m taken aback, realizing this is the first time I’ve seen guards at Selene Palace. This can’t be good.

  I address the two wraiths. “May I have permission to enter?”

  They say nothing.

  “I am Evelyn Fairfield, guest of Queen Nyxia. Might I speak with her?”

  Again nothing.

  A lump rises in my throat, desperation mingling with frustration as my palms grow hot. I’m about to do something reckless, although I’m not sure what, when one of the doors opens.

  Queen Nyxia squints at me. “I thought I tasted violence.”

  I’m surprised by her appearance. Her black suit is wrinkled and torn in places, her silver hair no longer smooth and sleek but sticking out at odd angles. I blink a few times and open my mouth to speak. Although, now that the queen is before me, I’m not sure what to say. I should bow, offer a formal greeting, ask an intelligent question. But I can only say one thing, and it comes out like a croak. “Aspen.”

  She rolls her eyes and opens the door wider. Inside the throne room, a group of fae are huddled around a table. I recognize them as fae royals—the white wolf from Winter, the fae with curling horns from Earthen, and the blue fae with flowing hair from Wind. All are in similar states of disarray as Nyxia—wrinkled clothing, messy hair, skin covered in grime or blood. But my eyes seek the figure standing at the end of the table.

  Aspen’s eyes meet mine. His hair falls in disorderly waves around his face, and his russet waistcoat is unbuttoned, gold cravat hanging loose around his neck. I want to run to him, to fold myself in his arms like I did in my dream. His eyes, however, keep me at bay. There’s no warmth in them. It confirms my fears—Aspen really was there last night. He saw me kissing Prince Franco.

  My voice comes out with a tremor. “May I speak with King Aspen in private?”

  The wolf lets out a low growl. Aspen silences him with a shake of his head. “It wasn’t her,” he says, although I’m not sure what he’s referring to. He says nothing to me, though.

  Queen Nyxia speaks, her tone casual and exasperated at once. “We are in the middle of a very important discussion.”

  “I need to speak with him.”

  She crosses her arms and stares daggers at Aspen. With a grumble, he turns away from the table and stalks toward me. I expect him to stop when he approaches, but he brushes past me and out the door. I give Nyxia a belated bow before following Aspen into the hall.

  I find him leaning against a wall, expression bored. He watches me through narrowed eyes, taking in my appearance from head to toe. “You look like you had a fun night.” There’s no mirth in his tone as his gaze lingers over my chest.

  My hands fly to the neck of my robe, where I find it has slipped in my haste to get to the throne room, exposing a little too much skin. That’s when I realize what this looks like. I’m dressed in a robe and naked underneath. I take a step toward him. “Aspen, nothing happened last night. It’s not what you think.”

  He averts his gaze, and his voice comes out with a lazy drawl. “It’s none of my business. You are free to choose any mate you desire.”

  “It’s not like that.” A thousand arguments, justifications, and questions soar through my mind. I was drunk. I was upset you were marrying someone else. Wait, did you marry someone else? It was just a kiss. I wanted it to be you. But nothing makes it past my lips.

  “Nyxia told me about her offer,” Aspen says, punctuating each word with clear disgust.

  I shake the cacophony from my head. “What offer?”

  “That she’ll support your claim to the Fire Court throne if you take Prince Franco as your mate.” His jaw shifts back and forth, but vulnerability tugs at his carefully curated facade. “I wouldn’t blame you for accepting.”

  My mouth hangs open. “I’m not taking Prince Franco as my mate. And I’m certainly not bidding for the Fire Court throne.”

  He furrows his brow, posture stiffening. “Then why are you here?”

  “To await my mother’s trial. I needed a safe place to stay until then, and I...” I can’t finish what I was going to say. I couldn’t come back to Autumn and watch you with your new Chosen. The new Chosen I told you to accept.

  Aspen pushes away from the wall, anger twisting at his features. “You’re going back to the humans? After everything they’ve done to you?”

  I take a step back, surprised at his sudden rage. “I’m not going to let my mother die for me.”

  His hands curl into fists. “They had you strapped to a table, Evie. You cannot go back to Eisleigh.”

  I blink at him a few times. “How do you know about that?”

  “For the love of oak and ivy, I was there. Do you not recall?”

  I shake my head. “That’s impossible. It was a dream.” Even as I say it, I know my words are folly. If he remembers, then it had to have been more than that. Memo
ries flash through my mind, awakening every instance I’ve dreamed of him, the more visceral experiences blending with the horrible nightmares I’ve had of him and Maddie.

  That brings up a vital question. “Wait, why are you here? What happened last night?”

  “I left Bircharbor.”

  “Why?”

  “There was a fight.”

  “Obviously.” I wave a hand at his unkempt appearance, at the blood staining the collar of his tattered linen shirt. “For the love of iron, Aspen. Tell me what happened. Did you break the treaty?”

  “I did not fulfill it.”

  I swallow hard. “Did you refuse to marry Maddie Coleman?”

  “Yes.”

  Relief and anger wash over me at once, followed by terror for my mother. If Aspen broke the treaty, will Mr. Duveau maintain his bargain not to kill her before the trial? Will there even be a trial? Rage prevails, and my words come through my teeth. “You promised me.”

  “I promised you I’d make a choice neither of us would like. I was never going to marry the new Chosen.”

  “By breaking the treaty, you put my mother’s life at risk. She could be dead right now for all I know!” I realize I’m yelling, but I don’t care. Let the entire palace wake from my fury.

  Aspen’s lips pull into a snarl. “I may not have fulfilled your precious treaty, but as far as the humans are concerned, it isn’t broken.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “My brother fulfilled it.”

  My mind goes blank as I process his words. “Cobalt...fulfilled the treaty? You mean...”

  “He is now King of Autumn, according to the council.”