Hearing him call me king made something ping in my brain. I stared at him hard, memories surfacing of when I was a boy. Of the dark-haired, silver-eyed fae teaching me about mushrooms. Calling me the thrice-lived king. “You called me king when I was little,” I said. “You called me the thrice-lived king.” Gillie went still, his brows pulling down into a frown. “Did I?” I let out a short laugh. “Yeah. I remember.” “Well.” He let out a breath, then looked at Nua with a grin. “Do you hear that, my love? I knew all along.”
