All Chapters of Prince from the Other Side: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The ritzy hotel around the corner didn't even ask for our names when we checked in. Sy passed them an embossed black business card to the receptionist and told them to call for billing. No questions were asked. Card keys were handed over. The gleam and elegance of the hotel slipped around me like another element of the enchantment. Too perfect to be real. Untouchable. Except that he was beside me. And this was very real. Very touchable.The air in the elevator seemed to buzz between us. My mortal flesh was electric with desire. But there was one thing I needed to get out of the way."Sy," I said, turning the sound of his name over on my tongue. Names were precious things in the hands of our people. He must feel the intention I put into his name—the authenticity. And he did: I could tell by the way those fierce dark eyes turned to me, I knew he was listening in that way only fae could."What is it?" His voice was tight, half-breathless. "I haven't—" With the air singing between u

I opened my eyes to pale yellow sunlight: the summer day blooming through the huge hotel windows. For a moment it was as if I were back on my rooftop, looking out over the bright blur of the city. But no. This view of the city had a lot more money to it than the one from my building. The towers blazed in bright steel and glass. The river shone blue. And I lay in a tangle of sticky sheets and skin, my body just about humming with contentment. The scent of sweat and pleasure hung heavy on the air. I felt Sy's tensely muscled chest against my back and his slow, sleeping heartbeat thrumming against my spine. I turned carefully, trying not to wake him, and fitted myself against the warm security of his body.How could I dare to be happy in this moment? This deep, shameful thing I'd done? I should be scouring my skin in scorching water, washing all traces of Unseelie away from me. But I didn't want to do that. I wanted to touch and cradle Sy, to let our shared magic and the thrill of our

Lord Raelen stood cold and austere, glaring down at me with silver fey-fire eyes from his almost superhuman height. The noble lines of his face were taut with rage. Among my scattered laundry and dehydrated air plants, he looked like a high fantasy actor who'd wandered onto the wrong movie set. But there was nothing phony about this, about the rich magical fury crackling like static electricity on the bedroom air. I closed the door quietly beside me, bowed my head, and curtsied low. I felt my uncle's rage stinging against my skin. I could not defend myself from that kind of power, even if I were bold enough to try. "Explain," boomed my uncle, thunder in his voice. I did not look up at him. "I cannot, uncle.""I do not have the words to tell you what folly, what utter foolishness and treachery—" He couldn't even finish his tirade, drawing in a sharp breath. The air flickered with fury. "If you cannot be trusted with a mortal body, a mortal and independent life, then we shall just

For two weeks, I thought I was safe from myself. There were those fancy lunches and fancy dinners, the open amusement and fascination by the record execs that I brought my roommate and her brother to those fancy meals, and even greater fascination when I turned down their proffered managers and told them in no uncertain terms that I was sticking with the excellent manager I already had. When I signed, it was with a label that didn't raise their eyebrows at that. Suddenly we were scheduling studio time, and Cass was in meetings and on the phone what seemed like 24/7 to set up a European and American tour. These wouldn't be stadium set-ups, but smaller venues: rock clubs and more boutique performance spaces, where the beer on tap was local and the sound guy was a local college kid. In a few months, I would be on the move. And there was plenty of buzz; I surrendered my social media to Cass as suggested by the label and watched my calendar fill up with interview dates and podcast appeara

Sy uncanceled his American tour, with a proviso: it was going to be OUR tour now. Side by side, he said as we lay in the sun-drenched haze of a suite in the nearest luxury hotel. I was coiled under deliciously smooth blankets, tucked against the firm heat of his ribs, reading over his shoulder as he typed out typical, curt, Sy-ish texts to his manager, his agent, his producer. He didn't ask; he stated. Tour is back on. Hester is headlining with me. Make it happen. As he typed, I focused on the pleasant thrill of the magic lingering on our skin: that golden feeling was like the slick of sweat, but if sweat felt how candy tasted. It's hard to put magic into human terms; that's part of the reason fae make such excellent poets and singers and storytellers. We have senses that reach to truths humans don't even know they're dreaming of.Sy put down his phone, screen down, on the sheets. His arm snuggled around me, fingers winding into my silvery hair. "It's done," he whispered beside my