My gaze left Laurie’s, rising to the crown resting on his head.
If I opened this door with him, it would lead to the Seelie Court. To a life I’d been so eager to leave that I’d handed Viessa Folduin the throne without thinking about any of the consequences. Oh, Laurie would promise me that we could keep it separate, of course. We’d make grand promises about our future together. But I knew the demands of sitting on that throne. The heart of the matter was that Laurie didn’t fit in my world, and I didn’t fit in his.
Wishing I could avoid what came next, I swallowed and looked away, finally breaking our heated stare. “When is your coronation?” was all I said.
Laurie paused, and in that moment, as the potential of us shriveled, I swore I could feel his hope dying, too. Then he removed his hands from the railing and shoved them in his pockets. The air felt colder, somehow, even as the sun continued to climb. “Tonight,” he answered.
“Wow. You’re not wasting any time.” I bit my lip and looked down at our feet. The movement drew my attention to a tiny glow that didn’t belong. One of the embers from Laurie’s cigarette hadn’t quite gone out yet. I put the tip of my boot on it and dragged the spot of light backward.
I was still looking down at the ashes, the smear of black left behind when he remarked, “You’re judging me.”
For once, Laurie was wrong—I didn’t begrudge him for taking back his throne. If it made him happy, that was the most important thing. But I saw his comment for the opportunity it was. Crushing my pain like I’d crushed that ember, I shrugged and gave Laurie a mocking grin. “Yeah, well, it’s a hobby of mine.”
“Indeed it is.” Smiling faintly, Laurie turned his head again and squinted at the brightening skyline. “Perhaps you should ask the child’s witchy mother to put a new protection spell on this land. Your enemies seem to grow by the day, and next time one comes knocking, even I may not be quick enough to save you.”
“Don’t worry about me, Laur. I can take care of myself. Just focus on that wicked Court of yours… and don’t turn your back on Sorcha.”
I spoke with an air of finality, because I expected him to sift halfway through my sentence. Avoiding goodbyes as he so often did. But Laurie stayed where he was, standing on this cold porch. Still silent, he took off the crown and held it in his palms. Seeing him remove his crown was like watching the sun rise in the west or witnessing rain falling upward.
“I allowed myself to get distracted,” Laurie said abruptly.
I frowned, waiting for him to continue. But he didn’t—he just kept staring at that crown, his jaw clenched. It took me another second to understand. By me, Laurie meant. He’d been distracted by his feelings for me. I’d just been a diversion, a momentary inconvenience that had almost made him lose what he truly wanted.
Laurie’s revelation stung. In spite of this, I didn’t get angry. Instead, I studied his detached expression and thought of that little boy from his memories. Scared. Lonely. The throne had become all he dreamed about. The reason for everything. The purpose for his pain.
Collith looked at the throne and saw potential and obligation. Laurie looked at it and saw identity and fate.
The spell on Creiddylad’s tomb had demanded sacrifice. It had learned Laurie’s secrets through his blood, and it hadn’t taken his sister, or his beauty, or his immortality. No, the magic had taken his throne.
Everyone had a weakness. Everyone had something they would kill for and die for.
I now knew what Laurelis Dondarte’s was. To my utter shame, I felt my mind latch onto this with the same cunning and ferocity I’d seen in Gwyn’s eyes. It was as if the Unseelie Queen was a separate being that I shared a body with. It was she who wondered how we could use a powerful creature’s weakness to our own advantage.
For the thousandth time, the silver-haired faerie standing next to me smiled as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. His eyes glittered in a way that was all-too familiar. Just like that, he was Laurie again. My friend, my sparring partner, my arrogant protector. “You’ve become more like us than you want to admit, Lady Sworn,” he said. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to get sexier, but here you are, surprising me once again.”
The breath caught in my throat, and I knew even that small sound would reveal too much to Laurie. Thankfully, he was no longer there to hear it. I stood alone on the porch now, aching in more ways than one. I wrapped my arm around the wooden beam next to me and leaned my temple against it, sighing. A single gust of air curled through the dapples of frost-edged sunlight.
“I forgot something.”
The sound of Laurie’s voice made me jump. I turned, opening my mouth to ask him what he’d forgotten. Before I could say a word, he was there in a rush of warmth and heady scent.
His kiss was sudden, thorough, and just the right amount of rough. As I kissed him back, Laurie’s hands slid into my hair and became fists. Claiming me. Ruining me. Despite the cruel things he’d just said—that I was a distraction, a desire second best to the throne he so longed to return to—my hands went up of their own volition, pressing on the firm planes of his back to pull him even closer. Our bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, and I could feel Laurie’s arousal against me, evoking images of a crackling fire, its lights and shadows flickering over our bare skin. I forgot where we were or that someone could look out the window and see us. All I could think about was Laurie. His tongue, his hands, his cock. Laurie.
Only when my lips felt bruised, my clit pulsing with unsatiated need, did he truly disappear. The instant I felt the pressure of his mouth pull away, my eyes flew open. The porch was empty, just as I’d known it would be.
“Fuck you,” I whispered, but the hurt in my voice gave the words a different meaning.
At that moment, Emma’s comment came back to me. Funny, isn’t it, how love can be so easily mistaken for hate?
It wasn’t a mistake, I thought, staring out at the horizon. It would be impossible to mistake these feelings for hate or anger. I was certain of it, and that certainty was the reason why my own fear filled the air. Anyone who defined this feeling as hate wasn’t making a mistake… because people chose hate. It was so much easier. Love was painful. Love was terrifying.
As if I was trying to escape it, I retreated from the railing, turned, and launched off the porch.
And I ran.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dawn broke through the trees just as sweat began seeping through my track jacket.
Finn ran ahead of me, his white and gray tail swishing back and forth like a duster. There was a rabbit here somewhere, its footprints zigzagging over freshly-fallen snow. I caught another glimpse of Finn darting between two trees in pursuit of the small creature. His ears were perked, his body stiff with readiness.
It was the happiest I had seen him since we’d ripped a demon out of his tired, battered body.
That had been four days ago. Three days ago, we’d killed Belanor. And two days ago… two days ago Laurie had said his goodbyes on the porch.
No. Focus on something else. As I sprinted through the snow, my sides aching with effort, I thought further back than the past four days. I quickly realized this was a mistake when I found myself back in that sandy arena, listening to the crowd cry for my death. Then, in a blink, I was trapped in a white cell. Another blink, and the red glow of a brand was coming closer.