Page 68 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

“You are very quiet,” Lachlan murmured when Arcadia and Ruadhan started to bicker good-naturedly.

“Just thinking.”

Hedgewort appeared with a basket of wine and breads stuffed with cheeses and apples. There were blackberries wrapped in mint leaves, raspberries filled with soft chocolate. Hazelnuts and roasted chestnuts rolled in sea salt. His cheeks were rosy with pleasure at seeing Arcadia and Ruadhan and the chance to feed them. Pippa accepted a knot of bread, only because when she declined, he looked as though he might weep. She also ate a handful of raspberries just to placate him.

Ruadhan asked for a nettle wine, which Pippa suspected was simply a ploy to help her. Then he added to Lachlan, “Why are you still here? We know our way around, and your bride doesn’t want nettle wine. It’s disgusting.”

A bride.

Lachlan’s bride.

Just a tactic, she reminded herself.

Lachlan slanted his friends a telling glance. “Don’t break my house,” he said before walking Pippa down the long hall to her chambers. Flower petals rained down on them all the way to her door. Frost decorated the walls.

“Thank you for coming to my aid tonight,” Pippa said, feeling awkward. Was she supposed to invite him into her bed now? Or her to his? There was so much to discuss. But she was so weary, hollowed out by Fae magic and a shared peach, and goblin blood on the dance floor. She felt like she could sleep for days. Weeks.

“I’m sorry you had to marry me,” she blurted out instead. She often read of women who were confident and self-assured and wondered what that might be like.

“I’m not,” Lachlan said simply.

She frowned even as she felt a rush of warmth at his words. “You must be.”

“Must I?”

She scoffed. “Lachlan, do not pretend that your shining ambition was to marry a Tithe with no family connections to speak of, in the middle of the night, all because she accidentally ate some fruit.”

“My, you do have a romantic streak.” His smile was brief, crooked. Devastating. “Goodnight, Pippa,” he added without kissing her or touching her in any way.

Surely it was relief she was feeling. Not disappointment.

She was too tired to lie even to herself.

“Goodnight, Lachlan.”

As it turned out, Pippa could not, in fact, sleep for days or weeks. She could barely sleep for even an hour. To lie still in the huge feather bed and close her eyes was an impossible feat.

When a knock sounded at the door, it startled her so thoroughly that she fell out of bed in a flail of limbs and with an inelegant shriek.

The door slammed open.

“What’s wrong?” Lachlan burst inside. There was a dagger in his hand. He looked more than a little wild.

Pippa, heart racing, stared at him. “You’re what’s wrong!”

He stilled. “You screamed.”

“After you startled me.” She tilted her head, her heart racing for a different reason. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did she have to remember exactly what it was like to have his mouth on her breast?

He frowned. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Never you mind,” she said primly. Her hipbone and her elbow smarted. She pushed her heavy hair out of her face.

She knew this was not an ordinary wedding night, but this was ridiculous.

Lachlan stalked toward her, the fitful light from the sconce near his shoulder casting his cheekbones into daggers. Those sharp lines, sharp eyes… But the softness of his bottom lip made it impossible for her to look elsewhere.

He reached down to help her back to her feet. She was acutely aware of her chemise, of the expanse of the bed behind her. The mists softly pressing at the window. The beat of her heart again, picking up for a different reason entirely.