Page 63 of Immortal Game

Ciara glanced over her shoulder, as though hoping to find the source of Shea’s irritation. “I’m afraid you will have to be more specific.”

“I get that you’re compelled to protect me, and I get that both of us benefit from finding out how Midir’s eye works. But the team round is over, and you’re here talking to me. That’s what I don’t get.”

Ciara’s face crumpled with confusion. “What is it that you don’t understand?”

Finally, it burst out of her. “What were you about to say last night before you kicked me out? I thought you’ve just been hanging around me because you had to, but I…”

Ciara’s lips parted. “I thought it was obvious. I am not a selfless creature by nature, Shea. But oath or not, I would not have let you die.”

Shea did not trust herself to reply. Ciara’s gaze felt like a solid thing, trailing along the side of her neck, the curve of her lips, and then, finally, her eyes. Shea was painfully aware of the narrow space between them.

“Would you like me to swear a new one?”

Shea’s breath caught. “What?”

“I will swear an oath to you,” Ciara said, “if that will satisfy you.”

“No, I…” Shea could hardly process what she was saying. “Why would you do that?”

Ciara’s expression morphed the longer Shea stared. At first, it seemed to suggest Shea was an idiot for asking such a ridiculous question—and a moment later, that Ciara herself was the bigger fool.I can’t believe this is happening, it said.I can’t believe I’ve walked into this.“About five years ago, a mortal girl defeated me in a game of chess.”

Shea huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. I recall.”

“I meant what I told you earlier. That loss consumed me.There was a part of me that could not fathom being bested by a mortal in anything. It was my duty, after all, to prove the superiority of Tír nAill. I intended to carry it out. I’d lost before, of course, but never to someone my age—and never in such an embarrassing fashion. I suppose I was afraid of losing, too, when I believed I could get my brother to pay attention to me if I played well enough.”

Ciara had told her all of this before, but she looked at Shea imploringly, as though beseeching her to let her finish. Shea could find no reason to object, and so, she held her silence.

“When I was clearheaded enough, I asked about her and got my hands on many of her games. I’d never seen anything quite like them. They were brutal—brilliant. Here was someone who came from nothing and fought her way to the top. Someone who changed her circumstances through sheer force of will. Someone who seemingly wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything. I admired that. Yes, it consumed me. First with humiliation, then with a kind of… obsession. It felt to me like one of the doomed, romantic stories I longed to experience myself. A faerie royal, taken with the talent of a mortal maiden.”

Ciara laughed self-deprecatingly. “When I finally got the opportunity to know her, she surprised me. Her success was not owed to any kind of ruthless ambition. It was because she was fighting for someone she loved. Her bravery was not because she wasn’t afraid of anything, but because fear seemed an inconsequential thing entirely. When it came to the people she loved, there was nothing she would not do. Beneath all that bluster and impulsivity, she had a remarkably kind heart. She made me want to believe I could be someone worthy of that kind of devotion.”

Shea could only stare at her. It was… mortifying, to hear this flattering account of herself. Even more mortifying to imagine herself a character in a faerie story. That was Aideen’s domain, not hers. And yet, heat crawled up her face. Her heart felt full to bursting.

“More than anything, I realized how lonely she was,” Ciara said quietly. “As lonely as I was. Once, I believed that chess would be the path to earning if not affection, then attention. But the more I played, the more I understood that talent isolates you. At these heights, it is so cold. Sometimes I wonder if that must be so.”

Shea thought of how Ciara had reacted when she threatened to quit.Well, then, what amIsupposed to do?Shea’s voice wobbled when she asked, “What the hell are you saying?”

“If it is not abundantly clear by now, I am wretchedly fond of you. Worse, I fear there is no one in this realm or any other, mortal or fae, that is capable of understanding or challenging me as you do.”

“But the tournament…”

“Shea.” Ciara’s voice rooted her in place. “The tournament is the very last thing on my mind.”

Her hand rested atop Shea’s, where it clung desperately to the swing’s rope. Her gold-lidded eyes were molten and as black as deep water. The desire shining out of them was all-consuming, almost desperate. It made heat pool deep within Shea. It made her ache until she could think of little else but eliminating every inch of space between them.

Ciara leaned closer, until Shea she could feel Ciara’s breath against her lips with every word she spoke: “You feel it, too.I know you do. Tell me I am delusional, or give me what I want.”

Huskily, Shea replied, “You’re delusional.”

Ciara smiled, dark and inviting. Very delicately, she skimmed her fingers against Shea’s cheek until they cradled her jaw. Shea could feel the gentle rasp of her calluses where her weapon fit in her hand. The softness and strength of Ciara’s touch sent shivers through her. Ciara angled her chin up with reverence.

And then, Ciara kissed her.

It felt like taking a bite of faerie fruit, like following a song through the ghostly mist, like running full tilt through the windswept heath. Wild and sweet and dangerous. How had she ever lived without this? This was far better than arguing with her.

Ciara kissed her with a languid hunger that set Shea ablaze. Her lips tasted like honey, and her teeth grazed Shea’s lower lip, drawing a sound from low in Shea’s throat. She needed her closer. She needed to erase any space between them. She lifted Ciara by the waist and guided her into her lap. Her weight settled over her, deliciously heavy. Shea let her hands wander along Ciara’s ribs, her hips, the tops of her thighs. She savored every hitch of her breath, every soft sigh. If this was an enchantment, she never wanted to resurface.

When they at last pulled apart, Ciara leaned her forehead against Shea’s. The curtain of her hair fell around them, filtering the dying sunlight. Shea’s world burned a glorious, hazy red. She twisted one of Ciara’s curls through her fingers.