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  He takes a deep breath as the turul screeches loudly enough to hurt his ears, then dashes forward, using the very tree he'd made love to the Queen against earlier as leverage to launch himself into the air and onto the turul’s back. Thankfully, the mighty bird is distracted by Echo, and if Varis weren't at least reasonably convinced the cat was on their side, he would be too. The markings on her fur are lit up and almost sparking in the darkening air around them.

  Varis only spares a heartbeat to watch her before leaning forward and slicing the turul’s throat, but the beast lunges for Echo a hair’s breadth too soon and Varis doesn't manage a clean cut. He's thrown from the bird’s back and lands roughly, his axe falling somewhere to his side. Aine screams, but the combination of her light energy and Echo’s lethal claws have the turul finally falling lifeless to the forest floor.

  Varis tries to catch his breath as he rolls gingerly to his feet and checks his companions for injuries. Echo looks smug, sliding her long, slender tail over the dead turul’s beak as she turns her back on it and slinks away back into the trees. Aine, however, looks pained. He can see clearly that she's not bleeding and nothing seems broken, but he knows without her having to say it that this isn't physical pain.

  “I'm sorry, Your Grace. Believe it or not, I go to great lengths sometimes to protect the creatures of your world.”

  “You don't understand. Each court has one of these birds — one — and this wasn't mine,” she says slowly.

  Varis looks back at the corpse. “What do you mean, it isn't yours? You're telling me that it traveled here from a different court with a fowl?”

  “I don't know. But I'm sure that it wasn't here for any good reason.” She fixes her skirt and walks over, plucks two feathers from the bird’s wing and examines them. “This was Braya’s turul. Not Sontar’s.”

  He searches his mind for why he remembers that name. “The Star Court? Is there any chance that her turul was simply trying to breed with yours?”

  Aine closes her eyes and breathes softly, but Varis can see her eyes dancing behind her lids. “I’m not sure. I've never known Braya to be a violent queen, but then again, neither was I. We may have more enemies than we think,” she mutters.

  “We?” Varis steps closer to gently remove the feathers from her hand. “Are we a ‘we’ now, Your Grace?” he asks teasingly. Something about her expression makes him back off. He can't place it, but there's something in her eyes that tells him he's off base. “We should move. If she did mate with yours, I don't want to be here when yours realizes we’ve murdered his family. There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

  If he thought that was the right thing to say, he was wrong. She shuts down, shoving his axe back into his hand and grabbing her bag, then stomps off toward the tree line. Varis sighs, staring up at the sky, wishing he'd have kept his mouth shut. He looks around to make sure they picked up everything they dropped in that scuffle and follows her at a distance, wondering whether or not he shouldn't just swan dive off the boat and take his chances with the creatures that live in the Baldes Sea.

  No, probably not, he tells himself. Aine might be fierce and infuriating, but there has to be worse than her in those depths.

  He spots Echo slinking through the foliage just to their left and shakes his head, already doubting his decision. What Reeve was thinking sending her along, he's not sure, but he's positive it'll be something he puts his brother in a headlock for if he ever makes it back to Ostusen.

  When they camp for the night, Aine sleeps alone, which he supposes he deserves. Instead of attempting to sleep himself, he stays awake and plots — plots what he's going to do when they reach the Lunar Court, what he's going to tell his King when he returns to Ostusen with the wrong Fae head in a bag, and where he’ll go if he manages to escape Balian’s wrath for betraying his strongest ally. The tasks ahead seem insurmountable, but if there's one thing he knows for sure... it's that he's not the type of man to throw in the towel. One way or another, he will survive this and live to tell the tale, no matter who he needs to kill to make that happen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As they near the edge of the Sun Court, Varis is exhausted. Not just of walking, hiding, and barely sleeping, but of trying to figure out what he did to offend Aine this time. The lack of proper alcohol isn't helping in the slightest, but that's something he's starting to get used to after weeks of traveling with the Queen. “Are you going to talk to me yet?” he asks.

  “I’m not not talking to you,” she quips. “You’re the one who said we should keep the talking to a minimum when the forest is thick.”

  He did say that, but they haven’t had to rummage through foliage all day, yet she still hasn’t said more than two words to him.

  “And now the forest has thinned.” When she keeps walking, Varis jogs to get in front of her and stops dead, facing her. “Aine, talk to me.”

  “About what?” Aine practically stomps her foot when she’s forced to stop. “About how we shouldn’t have had sex? About how you’re going to kill the King and there’s still a very high chance you end me as well? Or how about how the fact that we’re mates is so laughable to you you’d joke about it minutes after you were inside of me?” Those purple eyes widen in shock, and her jaw snaps shut just as Varis’ drops.

  “That's a lot to unpack,” he says when all other words forsake him. “Should we start from the top? You kissed me first, not the other way around. You walked your little sex dreams into my head, and you're going to tell me you regret having sex with me? Also, should I remind you who put me up to killing Sontar? It wasn't my idea.” He turns slightly; not one part of him wants to address the next item, but there's one he can't ignore. “And... what was the last thing? Oh. We’re what?”

  “Never mind.”

  Aine attempts to walk past him, completely averting her gaze, and he doesn't stop her. He doesn't move, either. “Aine,” he says quietly as something strange spreads throughout his body. Suddenly, everything and nothing makes sense. “Come back.”

  He can sense her hesitation without even looking at her, but she ultimately listens and stands in front of him once more. Varis searches her face for any sign of trickery or deceit and finds none, but what he does find makes him frown. “You hate the fact that we're mates,” he says simply. “That's why you're angry with me, really. You wish it wasn't me.”

  The fact that she looks pained only confuses him further. “No, Varis. I don’t hate that it’s you. I fear it. I came on this trip knowing I would probably never go home again, but now, I can’t stop thinking about what’s to come. I hear rejection is the most painful death there is, and I—” Aine stops, tears welling in those purple eyes “—well, I don’t really want to die from rejection. Better you chop my head off and be done with it.”

  “Oh.” Varis hates himself for the thoughts that run through his head next. With this knowledge, all he needs to do is kill Sontar and leave Aine behind and all of his troubles will disappear, and yet... part of him accepted a long time ago that he'd never be able to follow through with killing her. “You hid it well, Your Grace. How long have you known?”

  “You mean how long have I been absolutely positive? Since I kissed you the first time. Did you feel it?”

  Varis starts to shake his head, but stops as he calls that day back to him. The truth is that yes, he felt something, he just didn't know what it was. “I didn't realize we were mates, but yes. I knew I never wanted anyone else touching you the way I was touching you. That you felt better in my arms than anyone else... I honestly thought you were just that good.” He clenches his jaw as he studies the leaves below his feet, doing everything he can to stop this information from drowning him. She's a Queen. I'm a bastard, he reminds himself. “This can't be right.”

  “As I said... chop my head off and be done with it.” Aine shoves past him, but this time, he reaches out to grab her arm.

  “Aine, stop walking away from me,” Varis snaps. “You can't drop this on me, tell me to
kill you, and walk away without—”

  She shoves him, freeing herself from his grasp, and then shoves him again. “So bloody infuriating! What kind of mate would be ‘right’ for you, Varis Kester? Some Ostusen whore?”

  “For me!” Varis’ eyebrows shoot up. “Sure, I’d take Jeskar over just about anyone, but that isn't what I m—”

  The frustrated screech that Aine releases makes him flinch. “Jeskar?”

  The purple in her eyes darkens with rage, and Varis ignores the spark of genuine fear that races up his spine. “I said just about anyone, not over you!” He sighs, knowing there's likely only one thing he can do to get through to her. Then he kisses her.

  Unsurprisingly, she pulls back, but her restraint only lasts three seconds before she’s slamming their mouths back together and climbing up into his arms. Varis lifts her with ease, laying her down in the dirt right where she just stood, and once again loses himself in her. Stealing these moments with her truly puts them at risk — he shouldn’t lower his guard out here in the open — but something deep down tells him they’ll be okay. Echo may not be his biggest fan, but he knows she would protect them, and he has a feeling Trystrel is nearby, too.

  Aine squirms under him, and this time, Varis is thankful for the easy access the skirt she’s wearing provides. He’d teased her for its impracticality when she’d put it on, but at this moment, he wants to thank her for it instead. With her on her back, he’s in a position where he can take his time with her and kiss down her body. The shirt lifts with ease and the smell of her skin under his nose is so comforting he completely forgets they’re miles away from a bed.

  “Varis,” she moans, arching off the ground when he kisses even lower. He finds himself wanting to kiss parts of her he’s never wanted to kiss on a woman before, and when he does, the noises she releases go straight down to his toes. Aine tugs on his hair when she can’t take it anymore and then she flips their positions, returning the favor better than any dream could have imagined.

  As perfect as it is, he needs more, needs to be back inside his mate — and although the terminology should scare him away, it doesn’t. It only solidifies how badly they both need each other. “A-Aine, get on top of me.”

  When she does as told and he’s finally sliding back into her, his rough hands find her hips. The smug smile on her face brings one to his, and for a little while, they aren’t The Queen and The Fae Hammer; they’re simply Aine and Varis. They’re two people in love, and the harder they fight that fact, the harder things will become. It doesn’t matter if they’re from two entirely different worlds; they're mates, and there isn’t any reality where either of them can deny that anymore.

  The rhythm she finds as she rides him is better than any paid company he’s ever had, and he watches her come apart at the seams once again. Varis palms her breasts as they bounce above him, but it isn’t enough, he needs to feel more of her, so he sits up and sucks along her neck and chest. The first time his release threatens to end this perfect moment, he fights it off, but he internally curses himself when it builds again soon after.

  Varis grips her hips once more and starts moving into her, needing to be as deep inside the most beautiful woman in the world as he can get. Aine moaning his name again is what ultimately pushes him over, and Varis scratches down her sides and spills into his mate with a long, low groan. When she finally stills, their lips find each other in a slow, passionate kiss, and the gesture says more than either of them ever could with words. For now, it's enough.

  Finding a good place to camp is easier this time since they unknowingly made love only a quarter mile from the cleanest stream they’ve come across on their travels. They eat, drink, bathe, and wash their clothes, but when Aine puts on some pants instead of another skirt, Varis frowns. “Good thing there are still things we can do with those pants on,” he jokes.

  When she smiles and cuddles close for the night, their fight finally feels far away. “Very true. Sleep well, Varis. Wake me with the sun.”

  “I'd wake you with something else if you hadn't insisted on wearing pants,” he teases quietly, laughing as she smacks his chest. “Apologies, Your Grace.” He kisses her forehead. “I'll wake you with the sun.”

  Yet, Varis oversleeps. Once he's pulled under, he's content to stay wrapped around the curves of Aine’s body and ignore everything that's yet to come — but when he does wake, it's because he remembers the truth of their situation. He sits up abruptly and Aine yelps as she's unintentionally pushed off his chest.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks quickly, feeling around the cool ground for her knife.

  Varis rubs the spot she was just drooling on and doesn't meet her eyes. “You said you knew for sure that I was your mate when you kissed me. When did you first suspect it?”

  “The first time I looked into your eyes,” she admits. “I didn't want to believe it at the time. Why?”

  He stands, running a hand through his messy hair then dragging it down his face. “You suspected I was your mate, and still, you made me swear an oath that would kill me — kill us both — if I failed. Do I have that right?”

  “Varis, it's not that sim—”

  “It is that simple, Your Grace,” he snaps. “That's quite a gamble, even for a monarch.”

  A pang of regret lances through him as he begins to pack their things, but he doesn't have it in him to apologize as she falls silent. Somewhere deep down, he knows he's not truly mad at her — he's scared. Scared to fail, scared to succeed, scared of the growing attachment that he isn't sure is real. She'll die if he rejects her, and yet, part of him rebels against the idea of being forced to love someone. It feels like magic, dirty, tricky magic, and he hates it.

  But he loves it, too.

  He knows that sex will never feel as good with someone else. That simply holding someone will never make him feel as safe or as at home as holding her does, and the fire behind those amethyst eyes both infuriates and floors him. She's witty, smart, and trapped him within seconds of him setting foot in her room — the first to ever get him in such a vulnerable position. She's his perfect match, but is he hers?

  “What are you thinking about?” she prompts quietly. “Talk to me, Varis.”

  “You got the rotten end of this deal, Your Grace. If I were you, I'd curse the gods that decide who belongs to you. As mates go, you couldn't have been handed a worse one.” He scoffs, deciding to let it out instead of keeping it bottled up. “I'm the property of King Balian. Do you understand that? I'm his property. I was sold to him like a head of cattle so my father and his wife could feed Reeve. I'm not a prince, or a lord, or a king. I'm not even Fae. I'm a human, bastard boy sold to a bloodthirsty King and sent to do his bidding. I killed your guard’s son and didn't bat an eye. I would've killed you and slept like a baby after I carried your head back to my King and stuck it on a pike for all of Ostusen to see. I'd have killed your handmaiden, your guards, and every Fae in your court if I had to, because that was my job. My life. Your gods were feeling particularly cruel the day they chose me for you.”

  Aine nods, her lips pursed in a thin line that doesn't do them justice at all. “Are you through, Hammer? Why not just get the rejection over with now? Leave my body in the river we bathed in last night and be done with it. If I'm gone, your oath is null and void.”

  The shakiness in her voice gives away that utter, complete truth. She didn't have to tell him that. Didn't have to give him the out, and yet, she has. “I'm not rejecting you, though I can't for the life of me figure out why you're not rejecting me.”

  “Because the gods don't make mistakes, Varis Kester. Yes, you've killed more of my kind than I care to think about. But you were acting under the orders of someone else, not doing it of your own free will. You said it yourself, you were Balian’s property. How can I judge you for doing something you were sworn to do, when I'm asking the same of you? Don't shut me out because you've been told your whole life you're not worthy of love. That's my decision to make and no one else�
��s, and I say you are.”

  Her voice is steadier now, and Varis wants to believe her whether he's willing to admit it to himself or not. “It won't matter if we both die at the end of this tale,” he says quietly. “Let's revisit this if we both still have our heads in a week.”

  “How very Hammer of you, Hammer,” she says sarcastically. “Why should we try and squeeze some joy out of this?”

  Instead of answering, he finishes packing their bags and takes a swig of water from his canteen. Truth be told, he can't be both Aine’s mate and the Fae Hammer when he goes into Sontar’s castle. He needs to choose one, and they're too close to it now to allow for any second thoughts. He’ll apologize for it later... if later ever comes.

  CHARTERING A BOAT TURNS out to be easier than Varis anticipated — they simply steal it, instead. That decision spawns yet another argument, but Varis doesn’t let it stop him from dropping a handful of coins on the dock and taking it anyway. Trys makes himself known just prior to their departure and Varis tells him to fly a few miles down the coast and warn them if the pirates Aine fears happen to make their way to the Baldes, but Echo sneaks onto their boat to his dismay. He mumbles to himself as he gets situated with the oars, guiding them carefully to open water instead of throwing the shadow cat overboard.

  The hours-long trip across the channel begins to take a lot out of him — and Aine being seasick doesn't help, either. Her body cycles through nausea and healing itself just to become nauseous again, so Varis rows as quickly as he can. “Just hold on, Your Grace,” he pants. “Another hour or two tops if my arms don't fall off my body first.”

  “Don't you need your axe hand?” she asks, holding her stomach. “We've got a lot riding on that hand right now.”

  “Wish you were riding it instead.” Varis chuckles at the eye-roll he receives, but she can't hide the smile that brings. “Shame you chose pants again. Having you splayed out and wet for me might make this trip a little more enjoyable.”