Iseabail stiffened in outrage. “She was hounded! She was chased! She died sick and alone—”
“Exactly.” He touched her arm. “They made her life miserable, but they didn’t actually touch her.”
She glared at him. “She was killed.”
“The same way your mother was killed,” he said gently. “She disappeared in the middle of the night with no one knowing what happened.”
She blanched, and he felt horrible for bringing up her past like this. He tried to pull her into his arms, his tug insistent despite her stiffness. Eventually she relented and he was able to feel her heat against his skin, know when her breath hitched and finally released, and then press a kiss to the top of her head.
“In public, they still believe in magic and the power of your blood.”
“I have no magic!”
“Yes, you do! It’s just not the kind where you wave your hands and mumble things.” He drew her back to the bed. She’d already grabbed a robe, so he waited while she pulled it on. It helped his focus when she was covered, but he mourned the loss of the sight. “Why do you think your uncle kept such a tight hand on you?”
She shrugged. “Because I took care of the castle and saw to the health of the clan. I made sure there was food on his table and—”
He waved his hand in dismissal of that. “That’s useful, to be sure, but there are others who could do the same.”
She sniffed. “Not as well as I.”
He grinned. “Of course, not as well as you, but do you think he saw that value in you?”
Her lips pursed as she puzzled out his meaning. “He saw no good in women beyond the most basic things.” She snorted. “He liked to say that all women looked the same upside down.”
What an idiot her uncle was. “To him, your value was in the tales he spun around you. Of how you blessed the clan. I would bet the other clans did not attack for fear of you.”
“That’s ridiculous. I have no real magic.”
“You have whatever magic people believe you have. And if that is fierceness in battle, then so it is.”
“It’s a lie.”
“Only to those who don’t believe it.”
They were talking in circles, but he had made his point. Tales of magic—both good and ill—had swirled about her for her entire life. He meant to use it to regain her proper place in the Spaulding clan. With him alongside her.
“I mean to use your fame to advantage,” he said.
“How?”
He grinned. “By making you into a fairy queen and me your king.”
She snorted. “I believe you said, ‘servant king.’”
“That I am,” he said.
Then he began to caress her, unable to resist the lure of her body and the trust in her eyes. She believed in him, and that was a potent aphrodisiac. So while he searched her face for doubt, he stroked the robe from her shoulder until her breast was bared to him. And then he pressed her back into the bed.
“Allow me to show you,” he murmured as he feasted upon her breast.
She clutched his shoulders, she lifted herself into his mouth, and she gave herself to him with an openness he treasured. And when he thrust into her, she smiled at him as if he were the answer to all her prayers. How could any man resist that?
*
Two hours laterthey were fed, dressed, and ready to head north. Reuben’s still-inebriated men were sleeping it off in rooms, thanks to his very generous payment to the innkeeper. They’d follow soon. Meanwhile, the inn was overflowing with curious locals, all wanting to get a look at the fairy queen. He was about to remind her to be extra kind to everyone, but then realized she was already generous with her praise. She expressed gratitude for the efforts of the innkeeper’s daughter as her maid, she praised the groomsmen for how nicely they’d managed the horses, and she especially thanked the innkeeper’s wife for the excellent meals.
It was part of her regal charm, and he adored it.
