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Veyka’s chin dipped sharply. “Good.”
It was good.
Children were rare among the fae. Not rare in the way that they didn’t exist at all—most couples had at least one child over the course of their lifetime, often two and sometimes more. But unlike humans who rarely lived to see a hundred years, who couldn’t reproduce for half of that, fae could have children anywhere over the course of five hundred years or more. One child born every hundred years was considered impressively fertile.
The last thing Veyka and I needed was a child. Even if the odds were against it.
But that wasn’t what had me wondering— “Why are you telling me now?”
Veyka shrugged. Casual—but not really. She’d uncrossed her legs, her hand rested on my wrist. Was she monitoring my pulse? She wasn’t certain what my reaction would be. She was nervous.
“It seems like the sort of thing one should share with their mate,” she said.
That’s what this was about—the shift between us. The words we’d shared in the faerie pools. This was another way for my mate to tell me that she loved me.
But I couldn’t resist needling her.
“Yet you haven’t said anything before,” I pressed.
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this going to be an argument?”
“No,” I said, dragging her against me. “We have a thousand years, Veyka. I plan on spending the first three hundred or so fucking you on every surface in the goldstone palace.”
“Then we’d better get this nonsense with Avalon finished. That is a lot of surfaces to cover.”
“Are they always like this?” Isolde’s high-pitched voice cut in from behind me.
Isolde and Cyara stood side by side at the entrance to the tunnel. But it was Lyrena who answered, clambering out of the alcove itself.
“This is mild,” she grunted.
Isolde just smiled. “I suppose I shall have to accustom myself to it, then.”
Veyka’s hand landed on my arm—a preemptive attempt to quiet my beast’s complaints about being interrupted.
“Why is that?” she asked.
“Taliya did not tell you?” Isolde’s white eyes sparkled with excitement. “I will be your guide to Avalon.”
Veyka’s gaze cut to me, sharp as a razor. “This should be interesting.”
81
GUINEVERE
There was no need for a dungeon.
Gwen wanted the entire elemental kingdom, all of Annwyn, every realm that might exist, to hear Igraine’s screams.
There was no punishment great enough for what the Dowager had done.
Murdering Arthur.
Torturing Veyka.
Killing Parys.
She’d been too late. Seconds. Seconds she’d wasted running after Merlin. Futile.
