Page 62 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

And Lachlan suddenly there and seething with the kind of cold fury that shattered cities.

“Thorn,” Cai said, sounding smug. “Looks like you’ll have to share. She took the fruit from my hand. I have claim.”

“And I’ll take your hand from your body,” Lachlan replied.

But first, he slid his arm around Pippa’s waist, drawing her close. She wanted to run, wanted to sway closer toward him. Wanted, wanted, wanted.

She also wanted to blame it on Faery magic, but she could not, not to herself. It was simply Lachlan Thorn.

“Trust me, wisp.”

“I do.”

He shook his head even as the sound of horse hooves rattled through the hall. “You shouldn’t. Haven’t I proven that?”

He was no doubt right, and yet she did. In this place with the gleaming teeth and excited whispers and sugar-dusted fruit, she trusted him. “You’re very pretty,” she said.

He groaned. “Fucking fairy fruit.” Lachlan brought a peach up to her mouth. “Just a taste. For me.”

She bit through the soft skin and ripe flesh. The juice was tart and sweet and tingled through her. She heard dogs howling, owl wings slicing the air, laughter. Music that made her want to weep. The taste of pomegranates was obliterated. Nothing mattered but the peach and Lachlan’s mismatched eyes on her.

He pressed the fruit into her hand and then bit into it himself, lips grazing her fingertips. The air between sparkled gold with Fae magic. Owls flew in through all of the windows and doors, like ghostly witnesses.

Lachlan angled his head toward the Fae guests clustered around them like grapes waiting to be plucked, but his gaze stayed on her.

“May I present to you my wife, the Lady Thorn.”