Killian’s belt.
Over their heads, I sought Killian’s gaze. His blue eyes were unfocused, bouncing all around the room before they landed on me.
I went to him, pushing my way between Ronan and Flynn so I could grip his face between my hands. Look at me. I repeated my instruction, over and over, until he stared at me. Look at me.
He still struggled, but he’d become uncoordinated, tiring. His legs gave out, and all four of us tumbled in a heap to the ground. I took advantage immediately, crawling into his lap.
Wrapping my legs and arms around his waist and shoulders, I rested my head next to his and began to hum into his ear. It was a risky move. There was already something stuck in his head, but I wanted to push that sound out.
When his arms went around me, I added the lyrics about desiring his love, his revenge, and how, together, we could write a bad romance.
His breathing evened out, and I felt his lips against my cheek as he sang along, shocking me into silence.
“Keep going,” Ronan growled, so I did.
In moments, the three of them were singing along with me. I took a breath to finish the last lyric, and that was when the scent filled my nose.
Bad magic.
Imogen
“Do you guys smell that?”
“If in doubt, it’s Ronan,” Flynn answered.
I rolled my eyes at him and climbed out of Killian’s lap, standing. “No, it smells like magic...the bad kind.”
Ronan’s eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. “The bad kind?”
“Yeah, you know. The good kind smells like flowers or freshly fallen leaves. And the bad kind smells like—” I inhaled again, immediately identifying the scent again but struggling to describe it. “I don’t know. Like a damp, dank room mixed with rotten eggs.”
Flynn made a show of sniffing the air like a hound attempting to track down a fox. “I don’t smell anything.”
“Really?” I glanced from him to Ronan and then Killian. They all gave me blank looks. “Don’t you three have enhanced—well, everything?”
Flynn shot me an impish grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes and no,” Killian answered, once again ignoring his brother’s antics. “I’ve heard of certain fae being able to smell magic, but we’ve never had that talent. Not without a spell.”
Huh. Apparently, there was one thing I could do that they couldn’t. Other than lamenting the dying, of course. And no one actually wanted to be able to do that.
“Okay, then, I’m telling you I smell bad magic.” I traversed through the rooms, and it was definitely the strongest near the bed. “Here,” I called to them.
The brothers joined me, their expressions grim. “Where is the magic coming from?” Ronan asked. “Is it tied to the room or Killian?”
Killian’s face, which was already pale, lightened to an almost ghostly pallor. “Please don’t tell me this all comes down to an enchanted bed.”
“It can’t,” Flynn argued. “You know every type of mage and healer imaginable examined Father. If it was something as simple as an enchantment, someone would have caught it right away. We always knew there had to be something directly affecting his person.”
Killian sighed as he dropped into the chair farthest away from the bed, which he was still eyeing like it might come alive at any second. “Okay, then, this just means that the magic is affecting me while I sleep, which isn’t exactly news.”
“But at least we now know it’s magic,” I said with a smile, finally feeling vindicated.
Flynn gestured to my face. “What’s with that expression?”
“Don’t you get it? This proves that I had nothing to do with Killian’s condition.”
“We know that, but how does this further prove it?” Ronan asked.
“Because I have zero magical abilities.”
Killian shook his head. “Except your wail—”
“No,” I interrupted. “Laments aren’t magic. Magic is voluntary. A banshee’s lament is not, which means it doesn’t have a scent. Not like magic does.”
My smile was so wide now, I feared it might break my face. Meanwhile, the princes stared at me like I’d transformed into a kelpie.
When I couldn’t take their silence anymore, I cheekily said, “Hello?”
Killian stood and walked toward me. Before I had any inclination of his intent, he knelt on both knees before me and took my hands in his. “Imogen Eveningsong, as the crown prince of Tuatha Dé Danann, I formally pardon you of all alleged crimes against the kingdom.” His eyes shone bright gold. “And as your most humble friend, I beg for your forgiveness, though I know I could never deserve it.”
The princes’