Page 67 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

“I figured as much. Keep looking.”

“Always.”

“I’m sorry for this,” Lachlan said quietly to Pippa. “I was trying to keep you unbound, but being bound to Cai would be worse.”

“I know.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I am not queenly material, Lachlan. Even temporarily.”

“I don’t agree,” he grumbled. “But as it is, it lends you a certain protection.”

“I suppose. I don’t have to make grand speeches, do I?”

His mouth twitched. “No.”

“Thank God for that.”

When they returned to Thorn Hall, the mists were so thick that Pippa felt lost even in the front gardens. She had to search for the stone walls, the black timber. It smelled like spring even as it glittered with frost. The inherent contradictions of Fae.

Of Lachlan.

Ruadhan and Arcadia landed moments later and followed them inside. Lachlan had not spoken yet, only tracked the swirl of the mists with a grim twitch of his jaw.

“It’s like a fruit market in here,” Ruadhan grinned, looking around at the blackthorn thickets heavy with berries, apples, and peaches entwined with vines of glassy green grapes dangling from the ceiling.

Pippa resisted the urge to take a handful of raspberries, uncertain as to the rules now. “I know Elphame tries to keep mortals, but I’m already bound. Can I eat the fruit now?”

Lachlan nodded, though he did not look well pleased. “You can.”

“Did you know, little queen, that magic responds to the king?” Ruadhan asked. “Weather, trees, fruit.”

She could tell he was trying to needle Lachlan, but she didn’t know over what.

“If Elphame is trying so hard to keep you,” he went on, biting into an apple. “Then that means…”

“Shut it,” Lachlan said.

Ruadhan’s grin did not falter. Arcadia rolled her eyes. “That’s why even the kitchens at court have been making jam for days now.”

“And this is why I took you to my country house,” Lachlan said drily to Pippa. “Far less chatter.”

“Chatter—You ingrate,” Arcadia muttered. “That Redcap pissed himself, and the smell will linger in the cellar for days.”

“You really got nothing useful from him?”

She shook her head, annoyed. “The binding spell was too strong for me to break. It was stronger than his fear of me, which is annoying.”

“And no luck on a man who recently lost his hand?”

“Nothing but mists.”

The look they exchanged was telling. Pippa stayed quiet, observing how they spoke to each other, how there were clearly secret things being said between the words. And how Lachlan seemed to lower his guard with them. But he still snuck glances at her as if making sure she had not slipped away. She might have if it weren’t their wedding night.

As it was, she had questions. Many, many questions.

For one, what, precisely, was expected of her?

She had no illusions, never had. And she happened to enjoy being a spinster. But Lachlan made her fanciful. And the way he kissed made her positively stupid. The mere memory of his mouth on hers could make her breath catch. But a professor and Fae lord would not court a village witch and Librarian, even if that village was Hallow. Not with her penchant for setting herself and everyone around her on fire. Never mind anything else—he would live in constant terror for his lecture notes and parchment scrolls and medieval tomes. She could not do that to the books.

Not that it signified. This marriage was not real. It was a tactic. A kindness. And though she did not know precisely what being a king of a Fae court entailed, she could guess. He would marry a queen or a sorceress. Someone to be reckoned with.