Page 46 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

“Then where are we going?”

“We have to get your fever down.”

“It will burn out,” she mumbled. “Eventually.”

“Not good enough.”

“You are very dictatorial.”

“Yes.”

“I just thought you should know.”

“You are not the first to say so.”

“Your students are terrified of you, professor.”

He paused, nearly stumbling. He never stumbled. He was the epitome of grace and skill and feral polish. He might have murmured something, but she could not be sure. The next time she opened her eyes, she was sweating and shivering and the moonlight was too bright, like silver arrows into her skull.

“Soon now,” Lachlan promised.

Soon for what? Another trial? An orgy on a hill?

There was the sound of water and a smile in his voice. “I am not taking you to an orgy.”

That was probably for the best. She was already sweaty.

Had she said that out loud? She might be embarrassed over that. Later. Cold water lapped at her bare toes. She opened her eyes again, not realizing that they had closed.

Lachlan was walking her into a pond.

The surface was silver under the moon, dotted with lilies. Tall grass lined the banks, along with the usual thorn trees. Winter had receded here; it was clearly springtime. Eyes gleamed from the shadows. And from under the water.

“Are you leaving me to be murdered by Shellycoats?” she asked, twisting her fists into his shirt. “I will take you with me.”

“There she is,” he said, sounding fond.

Why did he sound fond? Was he utterly mad? Shellycoats were very territorial over water. You could hear them coming by the clacking of the shells they wore in their hair, but by then it was too late. You were already drowning. “That doesn’t seem fair. I didn’t ask to be your Tithe. It’s not my fault if I’m no good at it.”

“I’m not leaving you to be murdered,” Lachlan said. “Honestly, what kind of books have you been reading?”

“Says the Fae king who stole me from my bed.”

“Not quite.”

“Close enough.”

“Not even remotely, little wisp.”

A pause. A different kind of heat curled in her center. “Why do you call me that?

“Wisps burn brightly where you least expect them. At the exact moment you think you are lost.”

“Will-o’-the-wisps also lead people into bogs to die.”

“I had no idea you were so obsessed with murder.” He brushed his mouth against her ear. “I would follow you, little wisp.”

She was clearly delusional.