King of Always: A Fae Romance (Black Blood Fae Book 2)

Heavy as a mountain, my crown bows my head low as I peer into the druid’s well—long spikes of black crystal reflecting in the water like arrows piercing my skull.
Arrows of sorrow.

The well’s mirrored surface ripples, revealing two more crowns. Golden crowns: a matched pair of twisted fire and rubies.

The dark water before my eyes displays the grandeur of a coronation, the Fire King and his Queen of Flames, their smiles as bright as sunshine and blazing only for each other. All around them bustles the luminous Court of Five. Magic and revelry, music and mayhem, love and light and joy.

A bright court, the opposite of mine, lit by all I can never have and will never deserve.

It taunts me. Terrifies me.

My gaze seeks the red-haired child with quicksilver eyes, eyes that show no mercy. Ever’s daughter. The one, who when she comes of age, I must ensure I never meet. Never gaze at in person, even though I long to do so with all my being.

But I must never allow it.

Never.

Yet night after night I descend ancient stairs to the druid’s well…again and again to view images of her as a young woman grown. To see her smile and dance.

And while I watch, I vow over and over…

Never her, I whisper.

Never her.

She is my kingdom’s enemy, and if given into my hands, the cure to their cursed blood.

The girl is their cure. The girl is my curse.

The curse I long for but won’t ever allow myself to surrender to.

I won’t.

A wave across the silver water, another ripple, then the Bright Court is gone.

Then she appears. Merri grown, ribbons of long red locks catching on branches as she wanders through a forest, lost and alone. She stops at a pond to drink, and as she does so, the very fabric of the spring day rends, breaking as a dark force moves closer.

Danger lurks behind the leaves, hidden deftly by the forest. A crack, a rustle, and then a tall traveler appears behind her. His cloak is dark, silver hair twisting around his shoulders despite the stillness of the air and trees. No breeze. Not a whisper. But magic moves inside him.

He bends, placing a jeweled hand upon the blue velvet covering her shoulder.

She turns.

Silver eyes skewer. Silver eyes tantalize and enslave the stranger, trapping him in the bonds of a long-ago cast fate.

The man smiles, the left side of his mouth curling with long-bridled intent.

Is this being good or evil? Does he come to help or harm?

Dark humor shivers through me. Why do I ask when I already know the answer?

For the man in the woods is me, Riven Èadra na Duinn.

I am the Silver King.

And Merrin Airgetlám Fionbharr is my destiny.

The destiny I must forever shun.

Red floods the surface of the water, concealing the image of the couple, shrouding them in crimson blood.

In the vision, just as it always does.

In life, as it must never do.