Tithed to the Fae: Fae Mates - Book 1

by Chant, Zoe

  Light spilled from beyond the arch. Cuan trotted through, and the muffled thud of his hooves pounding over grass changed to a deafening clatter. Tamsin had to put up a hand to shield her eyes, blinded by gleaming white marble.

  “Disgusting,” someone hissed.

  Tamsin dropped her hand, and discovered a small group of high sidhe glaring at them from the other side of the hall. Or rather, to be more exact, glaring at Cuan. None of the fae bothered to give Tamsin so much as a glance.

  From their faces, you’d think he’d just lifted his tail and taken a steaming dump in the middle of all this white marble.

  But no, that wasn’t quite right, Tamsin realized. The fae nobles were looking at Cuan as though he was an enormous pile of horseshit that had just been tipped into the elegant room.

  Cuan ignored the scandalized expressions. He paced past the group, hooves ringing on the tiles.

  “Uh.” Tamsin lowered her voice, bending over his neck to get as close to his ear as she could. “I’m kind of getting the impression that it isn’t the done thing to bring a horse into the sidhean.”

  “A horse would be fine.” He didn’t stop. “If that was all that I was, we would not attract a second glance.”

  “I can walk, you know.”

  “Yes. And I can carry you.”

  Which he did, despite the stares and whispers, until they reached his own room. Tamsin stared past her dangling feet at the floor. It seemed a very long way down.

  “Um,” she said again. “Could you—?”

  She’d intended to ask if he could kneel, or at least hunker down a bit, but the words were only halfway out of her mouth when his back disappeared from underneath her.

  She yelped, but she’d only fallen a few inches when strong arms caught her. Very carefully, Cuan set her back on her own feet, though he kept one hand braced under her elbow.

  “Really, Cuan, I’m fine.” She tried to prove it by striding into his room—and the floor slid out from under her feet. Only Cuan’s hand on her arm kept her upright. “Uh. Okay. Maybe I need a moment, actually. I feel a little weird.”

  “As I suspected,” Cuan murmured, steering her to the bed. “You are in battle-shock, Tamsin.”

  “But I haven’t been in a battle,” she got out, through teeth that were suddenly chattering. “I-is it just me, or is it r-really cold in here?”

  “It is you, though I will build up the fire.” He wrapped a huge fur blanket around her shoulders, piling up more to support her back. “And you have been in a battle, for hours upon end, whether you have been aware of it or not. You have been in constant danger from the moment you arrived in my world. There is only so long that your body can stay at the peak of alertness, poised to fight or flee.”

  Her legs seemed to have stopped working. She only just had enough strength to release Angus before sinking back into the soft furs. Her pet poked her cheek with his cold wet nose, whining in worry.

  “It’s okay, baby,” She petted him, as best she could with her hand shaking like a leaf. “I’ll be fine. Just…need a minute.”

  “What you need is peace and safety.” Cuan was over by the fireplace, chivvying the smoldering embers into a roaring blaze. He hung a copper kettle on a hook over the flames. “Alas, what I can offer is tea.”

  “Tea would be amazing.”

  It turned out to be herbal, but by that point Tamsin would have drunk boiled pine needles. She cupped her hands around the steaming mug, sipping the fragrant brew gratefully. Slowly, heat penetrated through to her bones, stopping her shivers.

  Cuan sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching her. He’d removed his sodden armor, hanging it up to dry, but his wet, crumpled shirt still clung to his broad shoulders. She realized she was staring at the lines of his faemarks, half-visible through the translucent linen, and jerked her eyes up again.

  He caught her gaze, holding it. She was struck again by how different his eyes were compared to his animal forms—deep green and guarded, revealing almost nothing of his thoughts. The flickering firelight cast half his face in darkness, hiding his expression.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Much.” Tamsin lowered the mug with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I feel stupid, collapsing in a puddle like this.”

  He shook his head, his long hair shifting over his collar. “Dragged into a strange place, surrounded by danger…the only wonder is that you have not faltered before now. You have a will of pure iron, Tamsin. But even iron will crack eventually, when subjected to constant blows.”

  “The whole Neifion thing hit me harder than I thought,” Tamsin admitted. “The way he messed with my head, without me even being aware of it…if you hadn’t stopped me, I would have jumped straight onto his back without a second thought.”

  “Kelpies cannot help the allure that they cast. And he truly meant you no harm.”

  “I know, but still. If he had, there wouldn’t have been anything I could have done to stop him.”

  She shuddered, taking another sip of tea. No matter how she tried not to dwell on it, she couldn’t help going back to that moment when Cuan had knocked her away from Neifion. How awareness had flooded back, that sharp instant of horrified realization of what she’d almost done…

  “I hate this,” she burst out, unable to stop herself. “All this glamour stuff, I mean. The one thing I’ve always been able to count on is myself. But now I can’t even trust my own mind. It makes me feel so helpless.”

  Cuan stood up, so abruptly that for an instant she was certain he’d detected some threat. But he didn’t summon his swords. He only bowed to her, deep and low.

  “I will have food sent to you,” he said, straightening again. “Please, stay within these chambers. You will be safe here until I return.”

  “Huh?” She was talking to his back. She sat up, tea sloshing over her hand. “Cuan, wait! Where are you going?”

  He paused at the door, glancing back at her. His face was set in the same expression as when he’d fought for her—calm, focused, and utterly certain.

  “To do something,” he said, “which I should have done when you first arrived.”

  Chapter 16

  A tray arrived, brought by a squat little man who scurried off before Tamsin could give him even a single word of thanks. To her relief, the food was nothing like the elaborate, almost-certainly-glamoured dishes served at Maeve’s feast—just a simple bowl of chicken stew, warm slices of bread dripping with salty butter, and a creamy round of goat’s cheese.

  “Of course, it could still be magic,” she said to Angus as she fished out pieces of chicken for him. “For all I know, we could be eating dry leaves and slugs right now.”

  Angus licked his nose, clearly untroubled by this possibility. Then again, he did consider kitty litter a delicacy.

  By the time the door opened again, every bowl had been polished clean, and Angus was asleep belly-up in front of the dwindling fire. Tamsin was half-dozing herself, but she jolted upright as Cuan slipped into the room.

  “My apologies,” he murmured, closing the door behind him. “That took a little longer than I’d thought. Though it was also easier than I expected. The guards apparently do not anticipate anybody wanting to break into Lady Maeve’s dungeon.”

  Tamsin blinked at him. “Okay, I can’t say I’m surprised to learn that Maeve has a dungeon, but I am now really worried about what you were doing breaking into it. Please tell me it’s not a sex dungeon, at least.”

  From the way Cuan’s mouth hung ajar for an instant, sex dungeons were not something they had in fairyland.

  Cuan shook his head a little, a wry look crossing his face. “I am not certain I want to understand what you mean by that. In any event, I assure you, I was not infiltrating the cells themselves. I just needed to obtain something from the torture chamber.”

  “Not reassuring, Cuan.”

  “I possibly could have phrased that better.” He offered her a leather pouch. “Here. I have a gift for you.�
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  Tamsin eyed the pouch without taking it. Cuan was holding it outstretched between the very top of his forefinger and thumb, as though it contained a live cobra.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing that can harm you,” he said, stressing the last word. He laid the pouch down on the bed next to her and stood back. “On my blood and honor, I swear it. Though I apologize in advance for, ah, how it looks.”

  Gingerly, Tamsin pried open the bag. She shook it and out fell…

  “A bondage collar?” she said in disbelief. “Are you sure Maeve doesn’t have a sex dungeon?”

  “What possible use would a collar be during—” Cuan stopped, massaging his forehead. “I would regret asking, wouldn’t I?”

  “Possibly.” Tamsin smirked. “Possibly not.”

  She picked up the strip of black leather. It was very definitely a bondage collar, albeit a very upmarket one. The leather was soft and supple, studded with a series of small, gilded spikes. It had a couple of rings for attaching…well, whatever one wanted to attach. There were a lot of possibilities.

  The collar dangled open at the moment, but could be clasped by a delicate gold padlock that looked more ornamental than functional. There was no key, nor any hole for one that she could see. The whole thing could have been a tastefully erotic piece of jewelry.

  She waved it at Cuan, about to ask him what, and more importantly, why—and he flinched as though she’d snapped a whip at his face. He’d retreated to the far side of the room, back pressed against the wall.

  “Uh.” Tamsin lowered her arm. “Why are you looking at this thing as though you expect it to lunge for your throat?”

  Cuan’s jaw clenched. “Turn it over.”

  Perplexed, Tamsin did so. On the reverse side, the collar was plain, apart from a line of dull gray metal rivets. If someone was wearing the collar, the rivets would be pressed against their skin…but they weren’t sharp. It was hardly a torture device…

  At least, if you were human.

  “Iron,” she breathed, getting it at last. “Cuan, this is cold iron, isn’t it?”

  “So humans do still remember that piece of lore.” Cuan peeled himself off the wall, stepping closer. “Yes. Steel and other alloys do not trouble us, but no fae can tolerate the touch of iron. Lady Maeve occasionally locks this around the necks of those who…greatly displease her.”

  Tamsin looked up into Cuan’s grim face. “Has she ever done it to you?”

  “No,” Cuan’s voice dropped, roughening. “But I have seen it done. Iron does not physically harm us, but it is…not pleasant.”

  The collar suddenly looked a lot less pretty. Tamsin dropped it with a shudder, rubbing her fingers against the bed furs as though she’d been touching something greasy.

  “Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to put that thing on you,” she said. “And much as I’d like to see Maeve get a taste of her own medicine, I doubt we’d be able to wrestle it onto her.”

  Cuan huffed, looking a shade less grim. “Please do not even try it. Our situation is dire enough without bringing the entire sidhean down on our heads.”

  He picked up the collar, though Tamsin could tell it was an effort. Holding it with extreme care, he stretched it between his hands, holding it up to her neck.

  “You must put it on,” he said. “It’s enchanted so that only the one who locks it is able to open it again. If you put it on yourself, no one will be able to remove it without your will.”

  Tamsin frowned. “But what good will that do? I’m not fae. Cold iron won’t have any effect on me.”

  “No.” Cuan’s shoulders were tense, every muscle in his arms flexed and rigid, as though he was lifting a huge weight rather than a delicate strip of leather. “But while cold iron touches your skin, no fae will be able to glamour you.”

  “Are you serious?” Tamsin exclaimed. She reached for the collar, but he stepped back a little, keeping it out of reach. “Why didn’t you get me one of these before?”

  “Because…because…” He closed his eyes for an instant, apparently steeling himself. “Because when you wear this, you will be able to see through all glamour. Including mine.”

  She felt as though he’d punched her under the ribs. She couldn’t breathe for a moment, hollowed out by betrayal.

  Betty was right.

  I shouldn’t have trusted him.

  “You told me you weren’t using glamour on me,” she whispered through numb lips. “You swore you weren’t.”

  “And I am not, and I never have,” he said instantly, tone firm and forceful. “And I would not, even if I could. Never.”

  Despite his words, he had the look of a man confessing his sins on his deathbed, with no hope of forgiveness. His faemarks stood out stark and black against his ashen skin.

  “I told you the truth,” he said quietly. “But I was not honest with you.”

  Cuan’s throat worked. His feet moved apart a little, as though he was bracing himself to receive a blow.

  “Touch the iron.” He held out the collar. “And you will see me as I truly am.”

  Chapter 17

  He was a coward.

  At the last moment, as Tamsin’s fingers brushed the iron, he closed his eyes. He couldn’t help it. These were the last few moments before he lost all hope, forever. Even a single second was precious.

  He heard the soft click of Tamsin fastening the collar around her neck.

  There was a pause, then she said, warily, “You don’t look any different to me. Are you sure this thing works?”

  Cuan drew in a deep breath, held it for one last moment, and exhaled again. And then he was truly out of time. He owed Tamsin the truth. To delay any longer would be yet another betrayal of her trust.

  He opened his eyes.

  Tamsin’s hands flew to her mouth. Her own eyes went wide and shocked. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he forced himself to meet them steadily. Letting her see all of him, at last, without concealment.

  “Oh,” Tamsin whispered. “Cuan. Your eyes.”

  It had been decades since he had shown his true form even to himself. But he knew all too well what she was seeing now.

  He had the eyes of a wolf. Gold and feral, with pupils that shone in the dark, reflecting back light. Animal eyes in a high sidhe face.

  Beast eyes.

  Tamsin stood up. He’d been braced for her to recoil in horror, but to his shock she stepped closer. The iron collar winked in the firelight as she tilted her head back, studying him.

  “They look exactly the same as they do when you’re a horse or a wolf.” She frowned a little, gaze flicking over his face as though expecting him to have sprouted fur and fangs as well. “That’s all you’ve been hiding? Just your real eyes?”

  Just?

  “Eyes reveal the soul.” He turned his head, unable to endure her scrutiny any longer. “I may walk and talk like a man, but strive as I might, I will never truly be one. I learned as a child to conceal my true nature, so as not to revolt civilized people.”

  “If you mean the high sidhe, I wouldn’t call them civilized,” Tamsin muttered. “Can’t other fae see through your glamour?”

  He shook his head. “A personal glamour is like a garment. Any high sidhe can see that one is wearing it, but not what lies beneath. It is possible to remove another’s glamour by force, but it would be like tearing off their clothes against their will. A grievous liberty at best, and a killing offense at worst. And almost all high sidhe enhance their appearance one way or another. Most people assume I am simply altering my eye color to something more fashionable.”

  “Have you ever shown anyone else?”

  “No.” High sidhe honesty compelled him to add, “Not by choice, at least. But there is one who knows my shame.”

  Tamsin’s breath hissed between her teeth. “Maeve.”

  “Yes. She ripped my glamour from my skin, once, when I first presented myself to her and begged to join her court.” He gave her a
thin, tight smile, without looking at her. “Why did you think she calls me beast?”

  “I’d say because she’s a bitch, but that would be an insult to female dogs.” Tamsin sounded honestly outraged on his behalf. “That…that…elf. How dare she do that without your consent?”

  “She had a right to know the truth of my nature. It was dishonest of me to even attempt to conceal it from her.” He made himself meet her eyes again. “And from you.”

  Her expression softened. “Cuan, you don’t have to apologize for that. I understand why you didn’t want me to see you like this.”

  Of course she did, now that she knew his hideous true form. The pity in her face lanced him to the heart. He turned away, putting his back to her.

  “I still should have shown you,” he said roughly. “You deserved to know what I truly am before I even proposed the possibility of us mating. But I hid the ugly truth from you out of cowardice, and shameful self-interest. I knew that if you saw my real nature, you would never agree to the mate bond.”

  He felt the light touch of her hand against his arm. Though he outweighed her twice over, he was powerless to resist as she turned him around to face her again. In the dying firelight, her face was a mystery, all shadows and soft curves.

  He dropped his gaze, focusing on the soft pulse at the hollow of her throat. That way he could imagine that she was looking on him with kindness, or at least not disgust.

  Cowardice again, he thought savagely…but still could not lift his eyes.

  “Cuan,” she said, very softly. “You gave me iron, knowing that it would let me see the truth at last. Why? Why now?”

  “Because you should not feel helpless.” His hands tightened into fists. “You are a warrior and a queen, and the strongest woman I have ever met. It is wrong, wrong, that you should ever feel otherwise. Even for a moment.”