by Chant, Zoe
Cuan had heard tales of Prince Morcant. He was the Winter King’s own champion. The Ice Prince, people called him, and Winter’s Shadow. The only fae ever to tame an ice-griffin. The knight whose will was as unbreakable as his ether armor, and whose blade was as cold as his heart.
It was said that whenever Morcant rode against the seelie, they scattered and fled rather than face him. The ballads claimed that he’d once driven a blizzard to the very heart of the seelie lands, and nearly claimed the empty Summer Throne for his own. Some even whispered that he was the bastard son of the Winter King himself, by some unknown mother, though that seemed even more unlikely than all the rest put together.
Cuan had always assumed that the tales had been nothing more than greatly exaggerated flattery. Now, it seemed that the bards had been struggling to capture the truth. No mere words could describe Morcant’s sheer, blood-freezing power.
“We are very greatly honored, Prince Morcant.” Maeve fluttered into a curtsey deeper than Cuan had ever seen her make. “My court is small and humble, yet I hope you will find some rustic amusement here.”
All around, the court echoed her gesture. Cuan found himself standing like the last blade of wheat in a newly harvested field. He quickly ducked into a bow, pulling Tamsin down with him…but he had a sickening certainty that the prince had not missed his hesitation.
Prince Morcant allowed Maeve to kiss his gauntlet. His expression of remote disinterest never flickered. She might have been a dry leaf brushing across the back of his hand.
“I have no interest in your revel,” he said, still in that passionless voice. “I am here for one reason only.”
“Of course, of course.” Maeve’s tone was just a little too obsequious, her words a little too quick. “Whatever you wish, my prince.”
Shining Ones. She’s nervous.
Cuan was suddenly certain that this visit was not, in fact, Maeve’s idea. She was making the best of it, putting on a show for her court, but it was clear she was not in control of the situation.
This was not at all reassuring.
“Human woman.” Maeve turned, snapping her fingers. “Come forward.”
Tamsin’s eyes cut toward him, just the briefest flicker. Whatever she read on his face drained the blood from her own. Yet she squared her shoulders, her jaw setting.
“Chin up,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “Don’t let the bastards see you sweat.”
He could only follow her example. He shadowed her like a bodyguard, doing his best to keep his expression from betraying the hammering of his heart.
A prince, a prince here. And not even one of the lesser princes, but Morcant. What ill fate is this?
Tamsin planted herself squarely in front of Morcant, feet hip-width apart, arms folded. Very slowly, she looked him up and down, with the air of someone considering whether to purchase a horse of somewhat dubious quality. Cuan half-expected her to demand to see the prince’s teeth.
Prince Morcant, for his part, seemed utterly unruffled by Tamsin’s failure to display proper deference. He gazed back at her, expression never changing. If he even noticed Cuan, standing at her side, he gave no sign of it.
This close, Cuan could see that the prince’s eyes were mismatched—one ice-blue, the other leaf-green. Even more unusually, his faemarks were bicolored too. The silver and gold lines twined over his temples and cheekbones in intricate fractal patterns, like frost on a windowpane. Even his hair was a mixture of shades, from icy platinum to sun-warmed bronze.
Cuan could sense Prince Morcant’s glamour stretching out, wrapping round Tamsin like a cold fog. Tamsin twitched, but held her ground. The prince’s mismatched eyes narrowed, just a fraction.
Shining Ones, please don’t let him realize that she’s wearing cold iron. If he spots the collar…
The prince reached out, and Cuan prepared to sell his life dearly—but Morcant just brushed Tamsin’s hair back, exposing the round, human curve of her ear. Tamsin didn’t flinch, though Cuan could see that she’d stopped breathing.
“So it is true,” Prince Morcant murmured. He dropped his hand. “She was tithed to the unseelie in accordance with our laws?”
Lady Maeve nodded eagerly. “All the proper rituals were fully observed, my prince. The bargain was properly made, and properly upheld. She is firmly bound to our realm.”
Prince Morcant dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “Then I will take her now.”
“No.”
He didn’t realize that the flat statement had come from his own lips until everyone stared at him. At his side, Tamsin drew in her breath at last—a quick, sharp sound, hastily stifled. Relief? Fear? He couldn’t tell. Possibly both.
The prince’s gaze fell on him like an avalanche. Ice closed around his heart. Cuan stood firm, refusing to drop his eyes. His love for Tamsin blazed in his soul, driving back the cold.
“No,” he said again, holding that two-colored stare. “This human is mine.”
“Stand down, beast, or I will cut out your tongue,” Lady Maeve hissed. “I have promised Prince Morcant the human woman as a gift.”
“She is not yours to give, my lady. I am the one who holds the tithe-contract.”
“Then you will give her to me.” Prince Morcant stated this as though there could be no doubt about the matter. “Now.”
“No,” Cuan said again. “With the greatest of respect, my prince, I will not.”
The faintest line appeared between Prince Morcant’s silver-gold eyebrows. Cuan had the impression that the prince was genuinely baffled by his refusal. He wondered when someone has last told the prince ‘no.’
Quite likely, never.
“I wish to add her to my collection.” Prince Morcant spoke slowly and clearly, as though Cuan was a very dim child. “Every other sidhean gladly offered up their human tithes to me.”
“Then you have no need of this woman,” Cuan said, thinking: His collection? “I am very sorry that you have come all this way for no reason, Prince Morcant. But I will not give her to you.”
The prince’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. Cuan had to brace himself against the psychic blast of cold that emanated from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the watching court flinch, cowering back from the prince’s silent displeasure.
Prince Morcant held out a hand. A sword appeared in it. It was the type called a bastard sword, broad and heavy, yet exquisitely well-balanced. The long hilt allowed the weapon to be wielded one-handed, for speed, or two-handed, for power. The blade itself was transparent as ice, nearly invisible.
Cold pierced Cuan’s chest. For a horrific instant, he was certain that the prince had simply run him through on the spot—but when he looked down, the wicked point of the blade was barely kissing his skin.
Morcant held the huge sword leveled at his heart, perfectly motionless, without any sign of effort. His face was expressionless once more. Cuan hadn’t even seen him move.
“Then I will take her from you,” Morcant said.
Chapter 27
“I’m not ready,” Aodhan said again, his scowl deepening. “This isn’t like charming warts off her nose, you realize. The tithe-curse is complicated. I need more time.”
“We don’t have time!” Cuan’s fists clenched. “We need to free Tamsin now.”
Tamsin had never seen Cuan so agitated. All his usual careful courtesy was gone, leaving nothing but raw desperation. His muscles strained against the straps of his formal harness. He looked on the verge of picking up the alicorn and trying to shake magic out of him.
They were all back in Cuan’s room. As soon as they’d been out of sight of Maeve, Cuan had summoned Motley using a small, polished obsidian stone, which seemed to be the fae equivalent of a smartphone. Motley had fetched Aodhan. Now everyone was waiting for someone to come up with a plan.
So far, no one had.
Motley had reverted to raven form, as he seemed to do whenever he was particularly nervous. His talons gripped the splinte
red wood of the broken bed frame, and he flinched whenever Cuan raised his voice. Angus pressed against Tamsin’s calves, whimpering.
“It’s okay, baby,” Tamsin whispered to her dog. She put a hand on Cuan’s arm, feeling the iron-hard tension there. “Cuan, calm down. This isn’t helping. Aodhan’s doing his best.”
“It isn’t good enough!” Cuan snarled, for a moment sounding very much like he did in wolf form. His faemarks burning like captured lightning, seething with frustrated power. “We only have until midnight, and we are fortunate that Morcant granted me these scant few hours to prepare! He is a prince, Tamsin. If I slow his blade for as much as a single second, it will be because it catches in my ribs!”
Fear writhed in her guts, but she ignored it. She had to stay calm and focused, as much for Cuan’s sake as her own.
“You’re right,” she said. “We only have a little time. Do you really want to waste it yelling at Aodhan?”
Cuan sagged a little. He raked both hands through his hair, mussing his braids.
“My apologies, honored Aodhan.” His voice was still a long way from his usual controlled tones, but at least he no longer seemed on the verge of howling and chasing his own tail. “I am…a little on edge.”
“Understandable, for a man who’s about four hours away from certain death,” Aodhan said dryly. “I still don’t know what you expect me to do about it, though.”
“Have you gotten anywhere with undoing the curse?” Tamsin asked. “We’re really running out of options here.”
Aodhan spread his hands. “I have the start of a spell that might work. Eventually. But it’s a long way from being a complete, perfected ritual.”
“Do it,” Cuan said instantly. “Now.”
Aodhan muttered something under his breath. Tamsin didn’t know the language, but she caught the word sidhe, and something that did not sound at all complimentary.
“You understand that I can’t guarantee this will work,” he said. “Normally I wouldn’t dream of performing a new magic until I’d spent several moons going over every part of it. These are not the sort of forces with which a wise mage trifles.”
“Please, Aodhan,” Tamsin said. “It’s got to be worth a try. It’s not like the situation can get any worse, after all.”
Aodhan let out a resigned sigh. “Very well. I will make an attempt. Everyone get out of the way.”
They all moved back to give him space. Tamsin had expected him to shift into his alicorn form, but instead Aodhan crouched down. He took a short, polished stick from a holster at his belt, and started dragging the point across the flagstones.
He’s got a magic wand. Tamsin bit her knuckle hard, clamping down on a hysterical giggle. I wonder if he went to Hogwarts. Oh crap, I’m going out of my mind with stress and now everything seems hilarious. If he starts chanting in cod-Latin too, I’m going to lose it.
Aodhan did not chant. Shimmering golden lines appeared in the wake of his wand, floating just above the floor. With brisk, controlled precision, he sketched out an eerily perfect circle, big enough for someone to stand inside.
Aodhan marked out some runes inside the circle; stood back and considered for a moment, then added a few more. The symbols rippled and swirled, shifting in eye-watering patterns.
“There,” Aodhan said, standing up and flicking his wand as though cleaning something off the tip. “It’s ready.”
“Er…” Tamsin eyed the glowing circle. “Am I supposed to get inside that?”
Aodhan rolled his eyes. “Humans. Show them something glittery that they can’t possibly understand, tell them it’s horribly dangerous…and they’re always raring to pitch themselves in head first. No, idiot. Now we do a practice run. Do you have something from your own realm? Something that came over with you when you were tithed?”
Tamsin glanced down at the ballgown she was wearing, then at Cuan. “Do you still have my old clothes?”
Cuan nodded and turned to rummage in a chest for a moment. He pulled out her torn skinny jeans, handing them to the alicorn without a word.
Aodhan held up the jeans. They sagged in his hands, nearly entirely split apart at the crotch.
The alicorn’s eyebrows shot up. “What in the name of the Horned One happened to these?”
“Ah.” Cuan cleared his throat. “I did.”
“Serves me right for asking,” Aodhan muttered. “Brace yourselves, everyone.”
With a casual flick, he tossed the jeans into the circle.
There was a brief, extremely unpleasant noise.
“Well, that went better than I expected,” Aodhan said brightly, as tiny burning fragments of denim swirled around him. “Still want me to try that on the human?”
“Absolutely,” Cuan said, busy patting out smoldering embers on his leggings, “not.”
Tamsin slapped at a stray spark on her own clothes. Cuan had moved lightning-fast, protecting her from the worst of the blast with his own body, but her ballgown was still speckled with fragments of ash.
“So much for that idea,” she said. “Cuan. We don’t have any other choice. You know what we have to do.”
She’d expected him to look at least a little pleased—if conflicted—but his face set in lines like death. He looked as though she’d suggested that he stride out and throw himself on Morcant’s blade there and then.
“Yes,” Cuan said, tone bleak. He turned to Motley. “If I have ever been a friend to you, I beg you, help me now. Take Tamsin and flee. If you portal as often as you are able, you may be able to stay one step ahead of—”
“No!” Tamsin couldn’t understand why he was being so dense. “Cuan, you know that’s not what I meant. The mate bond. We have to mate. Now.”
“Aaaaand that’s my cue to leave,” Aodhan announced, turning on his heel.
“No.” Cuan caught the alicorn shifter’s sleeve. “Stay. I cannot offer you anything in return, unless my undying gratitude can reach from beyond the grave, but I beg you to remain. We may yet have need of your magics.”
Aodhan gave him a flat look. “I do not do sex rituals.”
Cuan let out a faint, pained breath, like the ghost of a laugh. “That will not be required, I promise you.”
“What could we possibly need Aodhan for? Uh, no offense,” Tamsin added hastily, throwing the alicorn an apologetic glance.
He waved it off, scowl deepening. “Believe me, it is my greatest desire in life to not be needed. All this drama is seriously cutting into my reading time, you realize.”
Despite his words and grumpy expression, he stayed. The mage looked as though he would rather be anywhere else in any realm…but he stayed.
Aodhan really isn’t as self-centered as he likes to pretend. I wonder why he acts so cranky?
It wasn’t the moment to ponder the alicorn’s motivations. Tamsin turned back to Cuan. “I thought you said the mating ritual just required us to exchange vows while we, uh, you know. We can do that now, right?”
“No.” Cuan’s voice was hoarse, barely audible. “We cannot.”
“Why not? It solves everything, doesn’t it? Surely Morcant wouldn’t be able to just carry off another fae’s mate, prince or not.”
“Even the princes must respect the sanctity of the mate bond.” Cuan looked down at her, his face shadowed. She couldn’t read his wolf-gold eyes at all. “As must I.”
“I don’t understand.” Tamsin clenched her fists in frustration. “You aren’t making any sense, Cuan!”
He drew in a deep breath, and let it out again, slowly. He took her hands in his own. His expression was no longer grim. Just calm, and weary, and very, very certain.
“Tamsin,” he said. “I promised that I would never again ask you to take me as your mate. I am unseelie. I cannot break a vow.”
Stupid faeries and their stupid magic rules! Tamsin thought savagely. She gripped Cuan’s wrists so hard that her knuckles ached.
“You’re not asking me,” she said. “I’m asking you. Be my mate, Cuan.”
“For heaven’s sake, I could slap you!” she exploded. “This was your idea in the first place, remember! You angst around for days making sad puppy-dog eyes, and now you don’t want me?”
His expression shifted, that terrible calm cracking. His eyes burned gold. Releasing one of her hands, he caught the back of her neck in a hard grasp, pulling her close.
“I want you,” he breathed, deep and anguished. “With all my heart. But not like this. Not when you cannot choose me freely in return.”
“I am,” she insisted, even though it wasn’t true. “Cuan, I do.”
He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closing. She closed her eyes too, holding back tears.
“Tamsin,” he said, and his voice broke on her name. “If Morcant had not come, if we were not in this desperate peril…you would not be making this offer. I know that you—that you care for me. And perhaps, if things had been different, you might even have chosen to mate me, of your own free will. But you are not choosing this freely. You do not truly want to bind yourself to me, not when it means tying yourself to my world as well.”
“It’s better than the alternative,” she whispered. She held onto him as though he might disappear if she relaxed for a single second. “I can’t just let you die.”
Aodhan cleared his throat, very pointedly. “Might I remind you two that other people do in fact exist? And are present in this very room, at this precise moment in time? A fact that is getting increasingly uncomfortable for at least one of the individuals concerned?”
“Shouldn’t mate.” Motley was a man once more. He perched on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched. “Can’t mate. Not like this. Wrong, wrong.”
“Motley is right.” Cuan broke apart from her, stepping back. “The mate bond is a sacred magic. If we try to link our fates when our souls are shadowed by doubt and fear, the consequences could be dire. We must find another way to keep you safe.”
“I’m not running away and leaving you here to die,” Tamsin said fiercely. “You can forget that one.”
