Page 14 of A Beastly Court

“Thank you, Ossian,” I told him, meaning every word. “You’re very kind.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not often called that.”

“I don’t know why.”

“I do.” Leaning forward, the fae king braced one large hand on the bench on either side of me, caging me in his arms. The stern instructor of earlier was gone, replaced by this rogue and his penchant for stolen kisses. “Kings are demanding”—he kissed my throat—“and arrogant”—he swirled his tongue in the hollow of my collarbone—“and selfish.”

“And presumptuous?” I asked, catching his hands as they tried to unbutton my coat. I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have a secret silver project to work on? And me a curse to lift? Plus a magic tree to become?”

“Or we could just fast-track the return of your magic by other means.” Sliding his arm around my back, he swept me to the side and laid me back against the bench, positioning himself between my knees. His hands smoothed down my legs, scrunching up my dress as his eyes shone with hunger.

Memory roused with a sense of déjà vu as the golden haze threatened to overcome my inhibitions, but a little tug on my heart and a tiny voice whispered, No.

A gentle kick to his chest left a frosty outline of my boot against his leather apron and forced Ossian back enough so I could cross my ankles. Pillowing my hands behind my head, I fought for nonchalance and just barely succeeded. “We discussed this. Letting you bed me might open another pathway to my magic via the fated mate bond. But we have no way of knowing if that will even break the curse on me. Nor if it will cause the curse to pass on to you too.” If the both of us were cursed, we’d never get into Elfame.

He tapped my knees, prompting me to unhook my ankles and allow him access. “Well we certainly won’t know if we don’t try.”

My legs remained firmly crossed, resolute against the golden haze lapping at the edges of my consciousness, lulling me into submission. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You mean, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to free your magic? What a magnanimous king I am.” Ossian braced his hands on either side of my head and leaned down, kissing me in that fierce way of his. “Then make haste, love. I don’t know for how much longer I can resist keeping my hands to myself.”

It took more effort than I cared to admit not to react to his words. So much of me wanted to succumb to what the golden haze promised, yet that little voice… Thankfully my voice was strong when I replied, “Bye, Ossian.”

He snorted, nipping my earlobe before straightening. It was so sharp I thought he drew blood, but there was no stain of red on his lips. “Enjoy your cold rosy purgatory.”

I popped upright like a winter spruce who’d just shed the snow from its boughs and said with peppy cheerfulness, “I will, thank you.” The cold wouldn’t bother me. I had more freedom in this tiny courtyard than I had in that entire castle, and I was going to savor it.

Ossian gave me a suspicious look. “Did you finish all of your tonic today? You’re acting… different.”

“Maybe I’m excited to be outside? Maybe I get a little punchy when I don’t get enough sleep and drain what energy I have fighting mice and bears?” I shrugged. “I’d like to focus what little I have left on this stupid curse now, if you don’t mind. Shoo.”

He eyed me for a moment then grunted his acknowledgement. Careful not to touch the barbed wire of the roses, the fae king left, and I most definitely watched him leave, my lower lip pinched between my teeth. By the Green Mother, he was stunning. And yet, despite all the time we spent together, so much of him remained a mystery.

Like the gemstones on the golden wire necklace—why would a fae king as powerful as him need so many magic caches? Unless it had something to do with his exile? And that big blue one at the necklace’s center? It was always glowing, always channeling, though the smaller ones only twinkled with power every once in a while. And if he had so many, why didn’t he offer to use those caches to help set me free? Or let me use the crystals I had charged? It’s not like I couldn’t recharge them when I was stronger. My own amazonite pendant was drained—though I couldn’t remember why—otherwise I would’ve used it myself. As it was, I was too exhausted at the end of the day to even remember to charge it.

And there were times when I caught him running a hand through his curls, which I’d normally attribute to anxiety or frustration, but as strange as it sounded, it looked like he was feeling his scalp for something. And always in the same two spots, as if he expected to find horns growing there.

Stranger still, sometimes his shadow looked different, his legs reverse-jointed at the knee like a deer’s.

The glow of copper light from the keyhole roused me from my ponderings, the sound of retreating footsteps spurring me to focus on the reason I was here.

“First things first, and second things second. Lift the curse, then open the portal to Elfame,” I said aloud, as if I needed the reminder. I’d made Ossian a fae bargain to open that portal, since ancient magic prevented him from doing it himself. He’d been against the bargain, but I’d insisted out of love. Though, for the life of me, I didn’t know why I’d restricted myself to a deadline of three days before the winter solstice.

A date that was rapidly approaching. Thistle thorns.

There was nothing for it. Peeling off my gloves, I stuck them into the coat pocket before I carefully took hold of the rambler roses. With my magic more or less sealed off, any injury I sustained, even thorn pricks, would have to heal the long way.

The last thing I saw was my exhale misting against the backs of my hands, and then I looked inward.

Hello, friend, I greeted the oak tree of my magic.

The chain mail net of Grandmother’s curse, each link shaped like a leaf, dulled the tree’s golden-green glow. Stole it, rather. It was a clever piece of magic—my own core sustained the net. It was a parasite with adhesive tendrils like those of a five-finger ivy vine along a walnut tree, fusing and climbing ever higher. But unlike a five-finger ivy, which a gardener could rip clean off a tree so long as the main vine wasn’t too thick, I had to detach it link by link.

Unless I had a powerful cache like the Hawthorne ember to draw upon.

That’s where the green life energy from the roses came in. A green witch could tap that, borrow it, and I was hoping to weaken entire sections, not just individual links.

Instead of grounding as I had done so many times before, since my feet were shielded by leather and blocked by stone, I turned my attention to my hands. Handing, the act of grounding myself through my hands. In theory. But why not? It was this same agility of mind that would help me merge with the oak tree once it was free and become… whatever I was supposed to be.