Page 95 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

Chapter Twenty-Five

The words were already fading.

The spell was just a moment of assistance when there were no spelled quills or scribes at the ready. It was not meant to last. Pippa could not twist around enough to make out the words written under her shoulder blades, and there was no time regardless.

No help for it.

She shrugged into a dressing gown embroidered with moths that had appeared one day in the armoire. It was peacock blue and quite the prettiest thing she had ever seen. She rushed down the hall, trying not to feel self-conscious. She was not seeking out Lachlan as Pippa, or even as a Librarian. She was a witch with a fading spell that he needed. It only made sense.

She knocked on his door, pleased when it sounded brisk, practical. Not at all flirtatious. They had come together in the grotto and in the garden, even in the Library, but never spoke of it afterward. He gave her pleasure that made her knees buckle and then blithely carried on with his day.

The door swung open to reveal Lachlan with tousled hair and the soft shadow of his beard at his jaw. His eyes were frozen violets, frozen lightning. “Pippa.”

“May I come in?”

He stepped aside, eyebrows lifting. “Of course.”

His chambers were simple but luxurious. There was mist at the window and frost lacing the walls as if to keep it out. But there were also soft chairs by the fireplace, which was flanked by two marble owls, their wings outstretched. Thick carpets were scattered on the flagstones, patterned with the ivy leaves of Hallow. She curled her toes into the knotted threads and tried to smile like a woman who was perfectly comfortable strolling into a king’s bedroom long past midnight. She was hardly concerned for her reputation, not with all the other things that could go spectacularly wrong. And they were, technically, married.

And he had kissed her everywhere, after all.

She struggled not to blush, not to yearn.

“I cast a spell at Mr. Yarrow’s cottage,” she explained instead.

“Yes, I remember. He was putty in your hands.”

She rolled her eyes, feeling suddenly more comfortable. “Not that.”

“What, then?”

“I recorded everything he recited from the Red Grimoire.”

“You did? Brilliant girl.”

“But it’s an old spell and it does not last long. I cannot transcribe most of it in time, as it’s fading away already.”

“What can I do?” he asked. “Do you need more paper? Ink?”

She shook her head. “I need another pair of eyes.” She turned around, letting the dressing gown slip down her shoulders. She heard his sharp inhalation, saw the gleam in his eyes in his reflection in the mirror set against the wall before her.

He stilled. “Wisp.”

“Yes?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not a bit. A Librarian trick, is all.” She didn’t know why she was whispering, only that he had stalked toward her and swallowed up all of the air, all of the light and sound. His breath ghosted over the back of her neck. “I have paper and a pencil,” she said. “You only have to read out what is there so I might write it down.”

He read the fading calligraphy over her naked back in a husky, deep voice that she felt as much as she heard.

“A little lower, wisp.”

She let the dressing gown drop completely, and the bright silk pooled around her feet.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and she saw the truth of it in the reflection of his face. She was naked, on display, and he was fully clothed down to his boots. For some reason it made her feel desirable. Especially when his fist clenched at his side. “You are killing me.”

She beamed at him. She couldn’t help it.