Repeat. “The water in you is the water in me.” My words come out breathless. From the exertion of the dance? From nerves? From the terror of what comes next?
He lifts his right arm out to the side, ribbons clutched in his fist. I do the same. With his other arm, he puts his hand at my lower back, pulling me close. My arm trembles as I mirror the motions. We circle and sway, circle and sway. Foxglove steps forward to take the ribbons from Aspen. Lorelei takes mine. Next, they move behind us and remove our masks. The freedom from the mask makes me feel surprisingly naked, and I wish I could shove it back on.
We pause. The music, however, continues. I feel the drumbeat in my bones, feel the harp rushing through my blood. It’s dizzying, terrifying, invigorating. We release each other and press our palms together, bodies remaining close. Lorelei and Foxglove stand on each side of us, tying the ribbons around our joined hands. I lift my head and meet Aspen’s eyes for the first time since we began the dance, meet his penetrating gaze with a glare. I know what happens next.
Before I can prepare myself, Aspen leans in and presses his lips to mine. A raging fire roars through my blood. I want to push him away, but with our hands bound, I can do nothing but squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself it will all be over soon. Besides, the ridiculous fae custom states we are to kiss until the ribbons are untied from our hands. It feels like an eternity that Aspen and I stand there, lips pressed limply together. I wonder how much longer it will be before Foxglove and Lorelei get on with it and free us already.
Aspen’s lips flinch against mine, and for a moment I think he’s going to pull away from the kiss early. But instead of pulling away, he moves closer, lips parting slightly to sink the kiss deeper. It ignites my rage, but I find myself leaning into the feel of his lips, the press of his torso against my breasts. The music seems to wrap around us, weaving our kiss into its song. Aspen’s lips part again, and I find myself doing the same. His tongue brushes against mine. Something roars inside me, and I can’t tell if my anger has reached new heights or burned into something else entirely.
Before I can ponder it further, the kiss ends and Aspen stands upright, a confused look in his eyes. Did he feel the rage coursing from my lips to his? Or is it that something else that has him so bemused?
It takes a few moments to realize our hands have been freed. I let go of him and take a step away, burning him with a glare. That kiss was far more than I signed up for. Not that I signed up for any of this.
He tears his eyes from mine and takes my hand again, raising our fists in the air.
Our audience erupts with cheers.
Chapter Twenty-Three
With the ceremony over, we adjourn to the dining room for a celebratory feast. I’m about to take my usual seat at the middle of the table when Foxglove sidles up next to me. “Not anymore, sweet one,” he whispers, then ushers me down to the end of the table, opposite of where Aspen sits. It’s the secondary place of honor. Cobalt’s usual seat.
“What about the prince?” I whisper.
“You’re the king’s mate now,” he says, “and soon-to-be queen. Your place is here.”
The king’s mate. I grit my teeth, trying not to think about that infuriating kiss. As if he can sense my thoughts, Aspen lifts his eyes and meets mine from the other end of the table, a crooked smile quirking his lips. I avert my gaze and take my seat.
The guests quickly fill up the remainder of open chairs. Cobalt sits to the right of his brother at the other end, while Foxglove and Lorelei sit on either side of my end. I’m relieved to have them here, especially surrounded by so many strangers. The remaining guests are the fae ambassadors as well as Sableton’s vicar. I’m surprised to see the latter take the seat opposite Cobalt, next to Aspen.
I look over the table, finding it laden with aromatic fruit, plates of oysters, bowls of violets, and towering tiered trays of chocolates. Several decanters of wine in every shade of red are set out. Everything is rich and decadent, evocative of sensuality. Even the room has been decorated to match the mood; deep red tapestries cover the walls, the floor is strewn with plush velvet pillows, and dark red lilies fill every vase.
My eyes rove to the fae ambassadors. They chat animatedly as they settle in, reaching for foods to fill their plates, holding their glasses for the servants to fill with wine. I can’t see much of their faces, since only Aspen and I have taken off our masks, but they all appear quite civilized. I see a few whiskers, snouts and swishing tails, a few mouths with pointed teeth, but nothing I haven’t already seen here at the palace.
I lean toward Foxglove. “Are all the fae ambassadors seelie?”
He nods approvingly. “You are correct in your observations. The ambassadors from every court, regardless of political affiliation, are seelie. This is because they must interact with humans on occasion, and we learned long ago that unseelie make terrible ambassadors to the human lands.”
It makes me wonder what it would be like if I were in a room with unseelie fae instead. Are the unseelie kings and queens goblins and trolls? Vicious beasts like the kelpie? Whatever the case, the ambassadors are an interesting sight. Their gowns are bright and elaborate, like costumes in a play. The more masculine suits are composed of varied colors and fabrics, some with padded shoulders, others with trailing, glittering coattails.
A painful thought comes to mind. Amelie would have loved to see this. My throat tightens, lungs constricting as I try to keep the tears at bay.
To distract myself from my grief, I return my attention to the ambassadors and challenge myself to discern which fae belongs to which court. It takes a moment to recall all eleven courts Cobalt had named during our picnic, but I’m pretty sure I have them committed to memory.
I see a fae female with blue skin and a mask of seaweed and coral—an obvious Sea Court fae. A male with dark brown skin, a leafy-green suit, and moss for hair seems a candidate for Earthen. An androgynous fae next to him seems composed entirely of shimmering particles of glitter, making me think Star Court, while the next fae over must be Lunar, with her black dress speckled with glimmering opals and moon-white skin. Or did I get the two swapped? The pixie in a ruffled pink dress with wings the color of a robin’s egg could be Spring. Or perhaps Wind? No, Wind must be the fae with the streaming hair that constantly moves as if in flight. And the two fae with golden skin and bright hair are equally convincing as both Fire and Solar.
I’m lost in my game of logic, certain the fae female in the revealing, paper thin gown in shades of green, orange, and blue is Summer Court, when the sound of my name startles me. Silence falls over the room. I find Aspen’s eyes at the other end of the table, lips pulled into his mocking grin as he raises a wine glass. All eyes lock on me, staring expectantly. Even the vicar watches from his seat next to Aspen. I feel my face flush with heat. What in the name of iron did I miss?
“He’s raising a glass to you,” Foxglove whispers under his breath, “as his mate.”
With a trembling hand, I reach for my glass and lift it. “Thank you.” My voice comes out flat and uncertain.
Most of the ambassadors smile with approval, while the rest squint at me, as if puzzling over a foreign object, but all reach for their glasses. Sound returns to the dining room, and before long, I’m once again forgotten in favor of the meal.
“Did he get the human gesture right?” Foxglove asks. “A toast, I think it’s called? Silly name and quite deceptive.”
“Yes, why? Was he trying to impress the vicar?”
“No,” Foxglove says. “It was meant for you—”
“More wine?” A servant steps between us, decanter in hand.
I’m about to say no—I haven’t had a single sip—when I recognize the server. I can’t see him fully beneath the slim gold mask he wears, but I’m sure it’s the handsome one I suspected Amelie might have been fond of. The thought sends another squeeze of pain to my chest. After a moment of hesitation, I say, “Please.”
As he leans forward to fill my cup, he whisp
ers, “Thank you. For asking the king to show us mercy.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad he followed through with his promise to release you.”
“Of course he did.” He says it as if he’s unable to comprehend my doubt.
Oh, to be fae and never have to question another’s promise. I, on the other hand, never believed Aspen was going to release the servants after questioning, much less let them return to their previous posts. That’s how much I trust his promises. Before I can say a word more, the fae flashes me a smile and moves down the table to serve the others.
“Are you going to eat anything?” Lorelei asks, raising a brow above her dainty green mask. I feel like it’s all she’s done the past few days—remind me to eat. She pushes a bowl of salt toward me.
With a sigh, I salt my food and wine, and pretend to enjoy my dinner.
* * *
Apparently, a celebratory feast in Faerwyvae consists of seven courses, four of which are wine. By the time we reach the end, the dining room is filled with laughter and chatter and all sorts of menacing sounds that make my head throb. All I want is quiet and to be alone.
I lean toward Foxglove. “Can I leave now?”
He’s leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on the table, head thrown back in laughter at something Lorelei said. His spectacles rest on his forehead while his mask sits askew over his eyes. Lorelei sits on the table facing him and can barely finish her story, wine sloshing from the rim of her cup as her shoulders heave with snorts and giggles. Neither seems to have heard my question.
I rise to my feet, which gets their attention. “I’m leaving.”
“No, my lovely,” Foxglove says. “You must stay until the end.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Why? Does it have anything to do with sealing the treaty? If not, I’m done here.”
Lorelei’s eyelids are heavy as she regards me. “It’s important you stay until the end,” she says, words slow and slurring together.
“But why?”
“For the treaty,” Foxglove says, not nearly as intoxicated as Lorelei. “The ambassadors should see you retire with the king so they know you’ll be mating.”
I feel the blood leave my face. “But we aren’t married yet. Humans don’t mate until after marriage.”
Foxglove throws his head back in bellowing laughter. “That’s funny, dear.”
“I’m serious.”
“Honey, you are the king’s mate now. That’s all the permission you need to take him to bed. Besides, you’ll be married in a couple weeks. There’s no need to feel guilty about it.”
It’s not guilt I feel, but I don’t say so. Propriety has never been my main concern in life, but I’d hoped the excuse would keep Aspen away for at least a while longer. My eyes flash to him at the other end of the table. The pixie in the pink dress leans over the table, lashes fluttering as she says something to him. His eyes lock on mine as he grunts his reply, his expression bored. She’s clearly flirting with him, which is oddly irritating. Does she not realize she’s at a mate ceremony? His mate ceremony? Then again, why do I care? She says something else, then pouts. He keeps his gaze on me as she flutters away.
Lorelei lifts my barely touched wine cup from the table, stealing my attention to her. “Come on, Evelyn, celebrate with us.”
Anger roars through me. My words come out in a furious whisper. “This is not a time to celebrate. My sister is dead. Do you have no concept of grieving?”
The two fae seem to sober a little at my words. Lorelei sets down both cups of wine, while Foxglove’s lips turn down in a frown.
Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, and I can feel the lump returning to my throat. Around me, the beautiful ambassadors laugh and chat and dance. A few have taken servants to the velvet pillows to kiss—perhaps more than kiss, if I dare look hard enough. The pixie is flitting in front of a guard, finger trailing over his bronze chest plate. The Sea Court ambassador has a servant—a female fae with a dainty pink bunny nose—giggling in her lap. It all seems garish against the landscape of my loss. Even if I wasn’t wholeheartedly against this stupid ceremony to begin with, I wouldn’t be able to celebrate. Not without Amelie.
I hold my breath, willing the pain to recede. I can’t break down. Not now. Not in front of all these fae.
“May I have a word?” a quiet male voice asks.
I find the vicar at my side. His complexion has paled, likely from the excessive lust and frivolity around us. I can’t imagine he feels anything close to comfortable here. With a deep breath, I don a shaky smile. “Of course.”
He takes a few steps away from the table, and I follow. Once we’re out of earshot of the others, he says, “I thank you for your greatest sacrifice for the good of Eisleigh. You have brought peace for another hundred years.”
I’m not sure what to say, considering my sacrifice was forced upon me. “It is my duty.”
“And how have you been treated since you’ve been here?”
I open my mouth, but no words come. What do I even say? I was attacked by a kelpie, my sister is dead, and now I’m forced to marry a beastly fae. Oh, and did I mention, the monster I’m marrying may have murdered my sister? I want to tell him this, but I don’t, suddenly aware that everything I say could be taken back to the council and used as grounds to invalidate the treaty. “I’ve been treated…as expected,” I finally say.
“Very good. I’ll be sure to tell the council that you have taken the first step in securing the alliance. I’ll be back to oversee your wedding.” He pauses and looks around the room. “Where is your sister? I know her marriage alliance was forgone, which surprised the council, but at least yours will continue as planned. Still, I’m surprised she isn’t here at all.”
My mouth falls open. How does he not know? “My sister is—”
“There you are, my mate.” Aspen steps between me and the vicar. “It’s time for us to retire.”
“But—”
He raises his voice over mine, addressing the room at large. “Thank you for attending our celebration and witnessing this first step in securing the treaty. You may stay or you may return to your courts, I don’t care.”
The ambassadors burst into laughter, although based on Aspen’s disinterested tone, his words hadn’t been made in jest.
He continues. “My mate and I will retire now.” With that, he takes my arm and pulls me toward the hall. Before we reach it, I catch Cobalt’s eyes flashing me a warning. I give him a subtle nod. Don’t worry, Cobalt. I know what happens next.
In the hall, a pair of guards flank us, and I pull free from Aspen’s grasp. “How does the vicar not know what happened to Amelie?”
He lets out an irritated grumble. “Come.”
“No, not until you tell me.”
His face transforms into a smile, but the effect is more devious than kind. “Our room is this way, mate,” he says too loud, eyes flashing over my head.
I turn, finding a fae figure—the one from the Sea Court—hovering in the doorway of the dining room, her bunny-fae companion kissing her ear. Then another fae, the glittering one, peeks into the hall.
Now that I know we have an audience, I understand Aspen’s forced smile. He extends his hand to me. I grit my teeth and take it.
I remain quiet as we continue down the halls, flanked by the two guards. The eerie feeling I’m being watched follows me. We ascend a staircase, and I wonder if he’s taking me to the balcony where we had our ceremony. Instead, he stops before the final staircase that would lead there and turns to an ornate pair of doors protected by another set of guards who open them for us. Aspen all but pushes me inside before slamming the doors shut behind us.
“Do you want war?” he shouts, rounding on me.
“Excuse me?”
“Because that’s what will happen if your people think your sister is dead.”
My hands clench into fists. “Are you saying no one knows the truth? Not even our mother?”
“No one can kno
w a thing until I am certain what happened.”
My voice rises to a shout as I close the distance between us. “So you haven’t taken her body to Mother to be buried? What are you doing with it then? Where is she?”
“Lower your voice,” he hisses. “I am taking care of it.”
My stomach churns. What does that mean? What does any of this mean?
He turns his back on me and storms over to a small table. There he pours wine from a decanter and swallows the glassful in a single gulp. As he stands there, eyes closed, I take in my surroundings.
We’re inside an immense bedroom, lit by a fire roaring in a hearth as well as several of the orb-like lights above the sconces on the walls. The bed sits in the center of the room, the base consisting of elegant roots that seem to be growing straight from the floor, its posts of slender, white birch. Branches tangle overhead with red-orange leaves to form a canopy, and the blankets are bronze silk brocade.
I turn in a circle, taking in the rest of the room—furnishings of deep, dark wood, plush rugs, a turreted ceiling painted like an autumn sky. I’ve never seen such elegance, such autumn incarnate indoors. When I finish my circle, I’m again facing Aspen. I must have caught him off guard, because he watches me with the same curious look I saw on his face after our kiss.
I watch him right back, eyes narrowing to slits.
He sets down his glass. “We should perform the Bonding ritual.”
The Bonding ritual. So that’s what it’s called. I cross my arms over my chest. “We most certainly will not.”
His expression darkens. “Why did I expect anything else?” he mutters.
“Yes, why did you? We may have done a ridiculous dance and called it a ceremony, but I am not your mate. When we marry, it will be for alliance purposes only. Nothing more, and you know it. Do you really think I’m going to participate in a ritual where I give you my name?”
“You know.”
I turn up my chin. “I should have been told sooner. Giving you my name—”
To Carve a Fae Heart (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 1) Page 16
