“I suspect it’s in the words.” He handed the book to me. “My father and grandmother both referenced their Secrets book in their personal histories, and how they wrote it in Fae so nobody would be able to read it. Apparently…”
He coughed to cover the catch in his throat. Something about this was deeply personal—maybe painful—and I had the impression he did not allow himself to feel it very often.
“Apparently,” he tried again, “it was a family tradition to teach the Crown Heir to read and speak Fae sometime after adulthood, but before they took the throne. I fear there are many things about my family that I will never know because my parents were killed prematurely.”
“Killed?” Fagan had said he’d lost his parents, but… At the same time? And if so, then all this time, he knew—more than anyone else could possibly know—how I’d felt. No wonder he wanted to punish himself so—
He nodded. “Acantha believes it was the work of fae. Many in my kingdom do.” The weight of the implication dripped off his words.Manyin his kingdom hated me because a fae had killed his parents and cursed him.
“I don’t think it was my mother.” It might have been a selfish comment to make as he shared his own pain with me, but it was the first place my mind went. He’d said she came a year after his parents’ death, but she’d never left our cabin in my memory before she died.
“I don’t believe so either.” He ran his fingers alongthe cover. “I worried, when I met her, but I’ve had a long time to think about it. She came looking for the king, and she expected to find my father. She came openly, and was more brazen than you, but I do not think she knew about his death.”
He lifted his eyes to mine. All the energetic smiles from earlier had vanished, replaced with sorrow, pain, and maybe a little anger. “Regardless, I do not blame you. And this is the only book I have written in Fae. I cannot read Fae, but I thought you might enjoy reading something in your mother’s tongue. And if you find anything terribly personal, I… I…”
I stepped closer and put a hand on his. I could not leave him alone when he opened himself up in such a vulnerable way to me. His skin positively burned—we were shorter on time than I’d realized. “I would tell you,” I said. “Or, if you’d like, we could read it together.”
He turned his hand over and gripped mine. “You… you would do that? After everything I’ve put you through?”
I squeezed his hand. His skin was almost too hot to touch. “After all the times you’ve saved my life? After all the things you’ve agreed to that I’ve asked for? After you’ve offered me… all of this?” I tightened my hold on his hand. I’d have to let go soon, but I wanted him to feel it through all the heat. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
He tipped his forehead down until it touched mine, sealing my words like a scalding torch. “Thank you,” he breathed.
“Let’s come back tonight,” I said. “It must be close to dawn.”
He let go of my hand and stepped back, a fresh look of horror on his face as he set the book on the desk. “Are you burnt?”
“No.” The heat cleared as soon as he’d moved away. “But I can tell you’re hotter than normal.”
He ran out the door and down the hall, then turned to see ifI was behind him. Relief washed over his worried look, but he didn’t take time to say anything. We ran through the library and down the same twisty corridors we’d taken to get there.
It was a good thing I’d spent my life running and climbing in the forest around our home—the king ran as fast as a bear. If he shifted in these corridors, would his scale-covered drekkan body break down the hall walls? Could he delay shifting long enough to get outside or did he just have to run fast enough to beat the sun's rising?
When we reached the indoor courtyard where all the tunnels met, we saw Forten and Mena heading toward the kitchen.
“Forten!” Aedan yelled.
The cook turned and dropped into a low bow. Before he finished straightening up, Aedan panted, “Take Callista to her room. Please.”
Forten glanced at me and said, “Of course.”
And Aedan bolted down the tunnel marked with a daisy.
Chapter 22: Aedan
Daylight—the time I spent as a flying beast—passed more slowly when I was looking forward to an event in the evening. The moment I was capable of returning to the castle, I ran through its unnecessarily long corridors, ignoring the looks of the elves I passed. I didn’t care if they saw me running for the first time in their lives. I wanted to catch Callista the moment she was available. I already hated myself for bearing a curse that required me to spend the day away from her, and I would not waste any more of the evening walking to our rooms.
When I reached our corridor, I slowed. She was in the hall talking with Mylo. I strolled up and bowed to her.
She practically bounced on her heels. “Aedan! I was hoping you would be here soon.”
Mylo’s expression grew an amused smile as he lifted his brows up and down once.
I ignored him and faced Callista. She wore a white, lacy dresswith too many buttons to count, but they made the dress cleave and flow with her body in an ethereal, whimsical way. I offered her an arm. “Callista. I was afraid you might be engaged already.”
She slipped her hand through mine as if we’d been walking together for years. “After an invitation like you left me this morning? I’m skipping dinner for it.”
“You are not.” That was unthinkable. “Mylo—”
