by Melissa Marr
“Conception requires true love. It is why so few children are born to us. We arrange marriages based on compatibility, but love is necessary for conception.”
“But what if it’s just a moment? Fleeting?” My voice rose in outrage, and I cut the edge of my tongue on the spare teeth now protruding into my mouth. “Or what if the human doesn’t know? What if they grow apart? Or . . . the fae spouse wrecks a car? The human just dies at home as a result.”
He offered that suddenly-infuriating half-shrug and stroked his hand through the carpet of wildflowers. “There are no cars in Elphame. No wars. No diseases.”
“But if the human spouse leaves to go visit—"
“They cannot. No one but the fae can open the world door,” Eli said carefully, as if he expected me to lash out. He glanced up from the blossoms. “Mother never saw the world of her birth again. Gran didn’t either.”
“So, you could trap me here.” The pit in my stomach was deep enough to bury bodies.
Another shrug. “Perhaps if I explained what you truly are capable of, but my uncle forbade it.” Eli plucked a purple flower and handed it to me. “To the fae, you are ‘half-dead,’ Geneviève. If you were human, you’d be kept here in hopes that you would select a husband from the eligible men. He thinks you are of the grave.”
I stared at Eli in growing horror as the weight of his mother’s—and grandmother’s and countless other women’s--fates came clear to me. My teeth retracted. Apparently, sorrow worked the opposite of rage. I tried to stay calm, to stop my rage at these women’s fates. Carefully, I said, “To be brought here, to be trapped, married in order to breed. . . Forced marriage is a legalized rape.”
“No,” Eli said sharply. “Relations must be consensual. If brought here, a woman can build a life, and she can stay unwed. Marriage requires a naturally forming love bond or explicit consent.”
“But if they don’t fall in love or have sex, they’re still trapped in your world. They can never leave.” I had never felt grateful for my dead-side, but that heritage was saving me. “If I was just human . . .”
He nodded.
“I can’t decide if I’m grateful not to be welcome in this world,” I whispered. I leaned back so I was stretched out under perfect, cloudless skies and resting in a mound of flowers. “I’m not keen on the speciesism. Xenophobia is shitty. . . but being trapped anywhere would suck, too.”
Eli stared at me, and I realized then that there were things I’d missed that he was expecting me to understand. I rolled it all over in my mind. I suspected it was the “sex could result in marriage” part. Maybe he thought I’d be angry at that?
“Were you going to tell me about the love-bonded-insta-marriage thing?” I asked.
“Why? You are so certain that we are merely business partners, that you want no relationship, so what risk is there to you?” Eli leaned down and kissed my cheek, my forehead, the tip of my nose ever-so-softly. “Or are you lying to both of us, Geneviève? Is there a risk that we will be wed if we make love?”
“No,” I answered quickly.
He laughed. “As you say.” He remained half-propped up over me. “Shall we stay like this, or should I carry you to your bed? You look tired again.”
“I am, but I could walk.”
“Easily?” he asked.
“No.” I closed my eyes to better enjoy the feel of the sun sliding over me, the soil under me, and the man next to me. “Can we do something?”
“Of course, bonbon. What would you have of me?”
“Can we just . . . not deal with any of it for a moment? No injections. No faery kings. No hard questions. No thinking about how close I was to death.”
Eli’s hand stroked my cheek. “I would be fine never again thinking of how close to death you were.” He paused. “I was afraid in a way I’ve never been.”
My answering half-laugh was equal part sob. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“Shall I leave you here to rest in the sun while we avoid everything?” he asked softly.
I opened my eyes finally, needing to see the face hovering so close to mine. I reached up with one arm and languidly pulled him closer. It was a gentle kiss, nothing like the one we’d shared outside the morgue. It felt more dangerous in the context of what we’d said, though. When I released him, he was still close enough to feel my words as I said, “I won’t admit to saying this later, but . . . would you hold me?”
Eli stretched out beside me and pulled me closer, so my cheek rested on his chest. “I shall never speak of it,” he promised.
Eli had saved my life. He’d brought me here to heal—and in doing so, he’d condemned himself and given me time to heal without the clock moving in my world. It wasn’t a proclamation of love, but it was damn close to it.
And as much as I didn’t want to think about forever, in the right now, I was grateful for Eli’s love. Without him, I’d have died—not once but twice, because the venom that had been injected into my body would’ve killed and converted me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
By the next day, I was feeling closer to normal—as long as I didn’t think about the question Eli had asked. Would I end up accidentally married if I spent some naked time with him? I didn’t love him. I couldn’t. I’d woken in his arms on the ground, and he’d carried me back to the soil where I continued to revive. If I had the choice, I’d appreciate a few more days to restore my strength, but that was not an option.
Today, we had been summoned to see the king of Elphame. A human woman arrived with a dress for me and orders that we attend the king’s meeting in an hour.
“I’ll wear my own clothes.” I glared at the diaphanous mass draped over her arm. “I’m not really a dress person.” That was a lie. I was fine with them, but not that one and not today. I smothered a sigh and was more truthful. “What I mean is that dress is not my style.”
Eli reached out to pull me to his side, and I flinched. I didn’t intend to do so. It was a reasonable gesture after saving my life—and holding me while I slept. However, showing weakness in front of Eli alone was different. There was a stranger present, assessing me, sent here by a faery king who disliked me. That changed everything.
“You can’t wear blood-stained clothing,” the woman insisted. “Or a nightdress.”
“I have trousers and a tunic she can wear,” Eli replied before I could.
She scrunched her face up into an unpleasant expression. “I’ll leave it here. I was instructed to deliver the dress to the dead woman.”
“I am—”
“We have it from here,” Eli said loudly, as if to drown my protests and explanation. I wasn’t dead, though. Not converted to draugr. Not bleeding out on a floor. I felt like someone ought to be able to grasp that rather significant detail.
“Not dead,” I muttered.
The woman left without another glance my way, and I was left with the choice of the dress she had brought or Eli’s clothes.
“You are alive, sugar-drop.” Eli’s gaze swept me. “So, would you like to wear the delicate gown or would you like to get into my trousers?”
He delivered his offer with a perfectly sincere expression, and I couldn’t help the snort of laughter. I did try to sound serious, though. “I suspect I’d be much happier if I could get into your trousers.”
He nodded sagely. “I’ve thought so for years.”
Then he led me to his bedroom. Surprisingly, it was utterly devoid of interesting details. The room was plain wooden-walls and neutral-colored tile floors. Inside was an oversized-king bed with a plush down-filled quilt. If I knew quilts I might be able to read hints of a story or meaning in the pattern, but all I could say for sure was that it was geometric and bold. To the left of the bed was an immense wardrobe.
Eli went to the wardrobe and opened it. Silently, he withdrew several pairs of trousers in various fabrics, assorted tunics, a few pairs of what looked like leggings, and a heavy capelet.
I lifted a green pair of the leggings. “Yoga?”
/>
“Formal events.” He smiled. “Nothing athletic, but definitely exhausting.”
“Well, yoga pants for formal events is a bonus in your world.”
“Women still wear gowns,” Eli said. “And the remaining attire for men is far from comfortable.” He held up what looked like a misshapen, jeweled turtle shell. “Codpiece.”
I smothered a grin and shook my head. “You can keep your crotch-armor, but I will borrow your yoga pants and a tunic.”
Eli paused awkwardly. “Are you able to . . .” He made vague gestures between me and the clothing I’d picked. “Or do you need help?”
“Just privacy.”
He nodded and, after grabbing several items, left me there to dress myself in his clothing.
We were led into a nearly-empty room, and Eli was directed to the center of the room. The king entered, took his throne, and glanced at us. I wasn’t sure if he was studying me or what he wanted of us. He was exceptionally fae and thoroughly implacable. If I didn’t know he found me objectionable, I’d be warmed by his bemused look at my make-shift court attire. I looked a bit foolish in emerald green leggings and a deep brown tunic. If I had my weapons, I’d feel like a fairy tale character who’d spent too long in the forest.
“Be welcome tonight, nephew.” The king met my gaze. “Death maiden.”
“Not dead,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “Faery king.”
Eli winced, but the king laughed. “You are not without charm.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not, and I had no idea if words of thanks were acceptable. So, I nodded. I was capable of some caution.
Then the king made a gesture, and a long line of faeries filed into the room. Women specifically. Rows of beautiful women lined the throne room. Feet bare, arms bare, and bosoms nearly so. With hair loosened, and in some cases nearly to their knees, the fae women were lovely. I had no idea why they were in the room, though.
“What’s happening here?” I whispered. My brain was connecting the dots from what the king had said and the women. Hopefully, I was wrong. The act of choosing a partner, a lover, surely wasn’t this shallow. What was Eli to do? Check their teeth? Their bra sizes? Ask a few questions? Waltz?
“Pick one. Kiss your intended, and we’ll be done with this stand-off.” The king made a gesture, and somewhere in the shadows beyond the room, a band began to play.
The women started walking up to us, curtsied, and slowing circled so he could see the full view. They smiled. They met his gaze as best they could while he stood beside me in a state that seemed somewhere between resignation and polite disinterest.
“If you don’t want to stay here, we’ll fight our way out,” I told Eli quietly.
Eli glanced at me with a kind of regret in his eyes that made me question everything I’d felt. He stepped closer to me and took my hand. “They’d cut you down if you tried. You are unarmed, cupcake.”
I shook my head. “For now.”
My gaze slid over the room, seeking options. The throne room was filled with several dozen faery women who were all available and eligible. Guards now stood around the perimeter—not to keep the women in, but to keep Eli in.
“I knew the cost when I brought you here,” Eli reminded me. “I expected this.”
My mouth opened, but no words came. I realized that he made decisions while I was unconscious. I realized that taking me here to heal was what he thought was necessary, and maybe it was. I just didn’t like the thought of leaving him here. I felt guilty. If he left against the king’s wishes, I would cost him his home and family history. If he stayed, he lost the world where he’d been living for at least six years.
And me. I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t a loss. Whether or not he loved me, Eli certainly had high regard for me. He’d basically torched his life to save me—and now we would be separated.
“You knew there were consequences for me if I came home. I do not regret any cost if it means you are alive.” He held my hand tightly, as if I was the sort of woman to charge an armed faery guard to try to steal a weapon.
He knew me well.
But the odds of success in such an endeavor weren’t high, but I really and truly hated feeling trapped. And the guard two over from the king wasn’t as attentive as the rest. Maybe I could—
“My nephew will be in Elphame until he has filled his duty,” the king pronounced. He stared at us from the throne, and I wondered if he was as much of a warrior as he looked. I could flow, reach the inattentive guard, and draw that blade against the king and . . . Eli would lose his family. Fighting wouldn’t undo this mess.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I don’t know how to fix this, and I just want us to go home.”
“I do not want to leave you alone in New Orleans either,” Eli said softly. “But attacking my uncle will not help.” His gaze drifted to the guard I’d been eying. “Please don’t do that.”
I sighed.
“I could . . . I understand.” I felt tears in my eyes. “It would be wrong to just pick one of them, right? Get engaged, and then leave.”
My voice sounded hopeful, and I felt like a terrible woman. A kiss from Eli would turn any of them into his future bride. If he didn’t select a bride, he was trapped here. They were strangers to me, but that didn’t mean I ought to throw any of them under the proverbial bus. So many beautiful faery women, willing to love him and give him children. I hated each of them.
“Could you select one? Choose the woman to be in my bed one day, Geneviève?” Eli leaned his forehead against mine. “Tell me whose body am I to touch wishing she could be you?”
“No.”
His hands cradled my face. “Then how can I?”
The king’s voice cut through the moment. “Tell her goodbye and pick a bride.”
Instead of releasing me, Eli said, “There is another option.”
“Fight?” I asked hopefully.
Eli smiled. “No. There is another choice. One that would mean I could leave with you and still come home. A choice that would mean you would have a haven here.”
We stood in silence as if he was trying to will me to understand. What would allow me to be here? The only way to do that would be if I was . . . his.
I started to shake my head, but he had my face in the cradle of his hands. “This is not what the king wants.”
“And you? Do you want me to forsake you?” Eli asked.
“I am not marriage material,” I reminded him. “You know what I am. You knew that when you—"
“I will take my kiss now,” Eli said softly. “I am owed one by the terms of our bargain.”
I stared at him, feeling more betrayed than I could even attempt to explain. “Eli . . .”
“Geneviève, did you or did you not make a bargain with me?” Eli asked quietly. “One kiss at the time of my choosing.”
“Don’t do this.” I tried to think of another answer, one that would not mean losing Eli or being his betrothed. There had to be one. “Maybe you can ask your uncle for more time?”
“You know that answer.” He gave me a look, one I admittedly deserved. He’d had time. He’d spent it running a bar, indulging in the same frivolous one-night-stands I did, and working with me.
My mind raced, trying to sort out other plans. “Maybe you stay briefly. Break the engagement, and—"
“You entered a bargain with a faery, knowing full well that we are skilled in negotiations,” Eli said in that same unreadable tone he would adopt when I was panicking. “A kiss.”
I glanced around the room. Could I walk away and leave him? These were my choices. I stay and deal with the consequences of this kiss—or I flee. I was free to leave. Eli was not.
“I will not forgive this,” I warned him. “I am a warrior, a witch, not a . . .” I couldn’t even make my mouth say such nonsense as “queen” or “wife.” Those words weren’t for me.
“Faery marriages have been built on less than what we have,” he said lightly. “Your sword at the
side of a king. Your needs met. A safe place to be. I won’t ask you to be less than you are, Geneviève.”
“Please?”
Eli sighed and said loudly, “I claim my kiss, Geneviève Crowe. Here. Now.”
“So mote it be,” I whispered.
And Eli’s mouth slanted over mine, sealing my fate to his. I wanted to pull away, but he’d bought this kiss and I was bound to accept it. Like every other time he’d touched me, it was perfect. My lips parted, invited him in, and I resisted the urge to take control. My arms had found their way around him, and his hands were splayed on my back.
My magic was no longer willing to stay quiet as my entire body was filled with the need to touch and be touched. I let go of the restraints I’d built, and I flooded him with my magic. I saw Eli as a child mourning his mother and father, as a young man arguing with his uncle, as a man in New Orleans watching me. I felt his fascination. I felt his determination to know me.
I released more magic. Calling it from the soil under the floor, seeking the bones that were lost somewhere in earth, and when no dead answered, I felt the land answer. I lowered myself to the ground, feeling the life of the land respond.
Eli was still kissing me. He was pressed to my body, and through the magic and the fabric between us, I could feel Eli’s need for me. I arched my hips, seeking more, seeking the connection we’d yet to reach.
I flipped him over. I wasn’t the sort of woman who handed over control. I was astride him, staring down at him. He smiled with kiss-stung lips, and I felt a surge of possessive hunger. I reached for his belt.
“Geneviève, my love,” he murmured. His hand stopped mine, covered my hand and held it. “I’ve waited this long, but . . . not here.”
And it hit me then: We were in a room in the palace of his people, and he was under me. We had been kissing as if we were alone. The reality of the situation washed over me like a sudden unplanned dip in icy water. I pushed away from Eli and stood.
The room was empty, save for the faery king and a few guards. That at least was a comfort.
