Queens of Mist and Madness (Fae Isles, #4)

by Lisette Marshall

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered again, throat tightening. ‘I’m so very sorry, and I love you so very much. I don’t know why it took a shattered binding to make me realise what I was doing. It should have been clear from the very first moment I realised I was hurting you.’

And then the tears were leaking from my eyes anyway, rolling over my cheeks in hot drops of shame and relief. I didn’t want to cry, damn it. I was a grown woman, not a snotty, snivelling child in need of cuddles and reassurances … Then again … what if I was? One of us. The tears flowed harder. ‘Em …’ He stepped closer, holding out a slightly bloodied hand. ‘I’m so very sorry. Come here, little brat.’ I all but flew into his arms. His hug was tight and protective. One of us.

‘Did I ever tell you how utterly irresistible you are when you’re threatening bloody murder in my name, Em?’

‘I’m fully fucking honest when I say no one has ever frightened me as much as you do. I’ve never had this much to lose before.’

‘Is this the moment to tell you how utterly bewitching you look in the blood of my enemies?’

‘Liria.’ Even breathed so quietly, I could make out the Faerie word. My love.

‘I’m saying I love him to pieces,’ I pleasantly corrected. ‘Gods help me,’ he muttered, burying his face in his hands. ‘Because you’ve seen what he looks like?’ I scoffed. ‘No. Because he’s the only damn person in this world who’s never tried to make me more than I can be or less than I am. Because he makes me laugh when I’m frightened. Because he knows what it’s like to be everyone’s weapon. Because he stops me from doubting myself. Do I need to continue?’

‘You’ll destroy me one day, cactus,’ he whispered, and I couldn’t tell whether it was laughter or some other emotion choking his voice. ‘You’ll be the utter ruin of me, and hell take me, you’ll be worth every moment of it.’

‘Don’t you dare call my daughter a fae whore ever again, you fucking swine.’

I missed you before I knew I was missing anything, I wanted to say, needed you more than I needed even food in that small, barren place where I was always the problem, always too much – and you wanted me, didn’t you? You got me here? So where were you when I was told I cried too noisily, or when they locked me in my room whenever guests came over? Where were you when my world burned down?

‘Emelin Thenessa, love of my life, you’re farther from a failure than anyone I’ve ever met in this world. Don't try to argue. It will win you nothing but more declarations of my heartfelt admiration, and they will be elaborate.’