[Wattpad Picks: Editors' Choice]
Saoirse's blood dances with iron and trickery, a secret she has managed to sheathe from all faery alike.
Until now, that is.
When Saoirse's cunning and charade is shredded to bits by the malevolent interfering of fa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE KING WAS BEAUTIFUL AS ALWAYS.
Only now, he wore no cloak and no crown. And no shoes, Saoirse determined silently, scrutinizing him. Golden hair that looked to be touched by a whimsical paintbrush tumbled about his inherently symmetrical, beautiful features; touched tawny here, umber there, strokes of silver, a cascade of honey, a shimmering thread of copper. His garment was of a raw, silky, sumptuous color whose depth could only be reflected, and badly at that, by the word topaz. It stretched across broad shoulders, and without the shield of a cloak, Saoirse could so the muscle quilting his length. Still, build like most of their kind, he was tall and svelte rather than bulky. His features were, per usual, humbled by an inscrutable expression that softened the edge of his majestic, noble structure. Ebony eyes peered at her, watching her just as keenly as she appraised him; as if looking for a difference in demeanor from when they had last looked at each other.
He wore the raiments and air of a Prince, Saoirse determined--a facade not yet sharpened by the perilous blade of cruelty borne of ruling a Court with nimble yet exhausted fingers. Saoirse's throat bobbed with a jagged swallow. A smirk broadened his carved mouth and Saoirse came to the distinct, acute realization that she had never been in more danger from The Alder King than she was now.
"Fascinated, are we?" The Alder King's whisper breezed over her cheeks, curling into the shell of her ear.
Saoirse's eyes snapped towards his. "To my own peril, I'm afraid I must admit so."
A peal of robust, sinuous laughter parted his lips and startled Saoirse. Her eyes widened. Who was the faery who stood before her? Evidently not the King for the King's eyes glittered with slumberous cruelty and his mouth bore a deep snarl; he was jaded, wicked, and he certainly did not laugh. Saoirse's hackles raised, her body strung up taut, and her thoughts were prickled with unease.
"And just as freely, I must confess, your behavior is odd." Saoirse's lips tucked into a wary smile, aware that she was prodding the beast slumbering beneath the surface. "Frightening, even."
A shiver slunk down her spine, dragging its nails, piercing her flesh and bone, as his wicked grin flashed with a cunningly and coldly. "You once declared me incapable of feeling, did you not? I strove to remonstrate your assumption."
Finally, it struck Saoirse. Just like she, there were two distinct halves to The Alder King. For so long, she knew only one half. At some point, he determined her worthy enough to be witness to the other side of the coin. A ripple of unease nearly dragged her undertow. What had she done to deserve such a thing?
Saoirse didn't stir. "I declared you, a faery king, to be cruel and unfeeling. However, what you are before my eyes now, I can't quite ascertain."
