by Lily Archer
He kisses my sweaty forehead and runs his hands up and down my back.
“Do you think they heard?” I whisper.
He laughs, the sound decadent. “If they didn’t hear it all the way down in Cold Comfort, then we need to do it again.”
22
Taylor
This is ridiculous. I cradle my face in my hands as the seamstress parades another set of fabrics, this one in a brocade with some sort of pretty sparkles along the pattern.
“That’s nice.” Beth munches on a plum.
“You’ve said that about every piece of fabric she’s shown us,” I mumble through my hands. “And I still haven’t even picked a design.”
“Can we get it in black?” Selene asks for the third time.
“No!” Ravella and Branala chime in together.
Nadian, the seamstress, sighs and lays the fabric on the pile of discards, then pulls a few more from her enormous case. “These colors are a bit more night realm.” Her slight cough tells me that she doesn’t care for them, but she displays them nonetheless. “Darker jewel tones with silver stitching is classic for their endless evenings, but uncommon here in winter. It would work if you want to be untraditional but could also cause a stir.”
“A stir?” I shake my head and rest it in my palms again. “This is impossible. Hopeless.”
“Let’s go back to the white.” Ravella pats me on the back. “She seemed to favor those.”
I chew my bottom lip. “I don’t know if I do. That’s a human world thing. But you said white isn’t customary for mating ceremonies here.”
Ravella glances at the door again.
“You can go.” I sigh.
“No, I don’t mind helping out with the dress stuff. It’s, um, it’s fun.”
I give her a wry look. “I’ve spent enough time with you in the Wasted Lands to know you want to be out checking security with Gareth and Brannon instead of picking fabrics with me. Go ahead.”
She takes my hands. “Thank you, my queen.”
“And knock that off. You know it’s Taylor.”
“Yes, right.” She hurries past the seamstress, grateful for her reprieve from dress duty.
“How about this one?” Nadian pulls a dark magenta fabric to the fore.
I peer at it. “Is this a normal color to choose?”
“You can choose whatever you like. You’re going to be queen.” Branala rises as a knock sounds on the door. After a quick convo, she turns and says, “Flowers,” with an excited smile, then disappears.
“Anything else in black?” Selene flops onto the bed, her chin resting on her hands and her feet kicked up behind her.
“You’re relentless.”
“I am obsidian. I do not break.” She grins.
“I’m going to get some more food.” Beth lifts the empty tray.
“Didn’t I say we need to get you checked for a tapeworm?”
“What?” She picks the last crumb from the tray and downs it. “I’m just storing up food for the winter. That’s what the animals in the winter realm do, right?”
“I know you’re just trying to escape dress duty.”
“Me? Never.” She winks and disappears out the door.
“At least I’ve still got you.” I give Selene a hopeful look.
“I think black. Black and shiny.” She nods.
I tamp down my frustration and turn back to Nadian. “Maybe I should do like a light pink? With a poof skirt?” I try to think about what would look good on me, but the problem is that I never had a real sense of style and having to develop one on my wedding day seems more than a little bit daunting. “Poof skirt says queen, right?”
“Of course you’d go amateur princess wannabe.” Cecile strides in, my doppelganger by her side.
I jump from my spot on the bed. “Cecile. Taylor. Welcome.”
“You didn’t invite us, but I heard you’re having style trouble.” Cecile’s upturned nose and haughty tone warm my heart. She’s back to her old self. Did I hate her old self? Well, yes, most of the time. But that’s neither here nor there.
She strides to Nadian who sizes her up with an arrogant stare of her own. “You’re showing her fabrics that are far too heavy for her frame.”
Nadian’s pointed ears twitch. “The winter realm favors thicker—”
Cecile waves a hand at her. “If you want her to look like a frumpy spinster, you’re on the right track. Otherwise, show me what you have in lace, tulle, and spidersilk. And don’t show me a thing unless it’s in Gladion gray or white.” She settles onto my bed, her back straight and her eyes alight.
Nadian looks at me questioningly.
I shrug. “You heard her.”
She turns on her heel, her simple black dress fanning out, and rummages through her wardrobe again.
I would thank Cecile, but I’m too fragile for the tongue-lashing she’d give me in response.
“Taylor?” I approach the other me.
She recoils a little, and I stop.
I hold my hands out, palms toward her. “I don’t blame you. I actually meant to come talk to you, but this whole mating ceremony thing sort of took me by surprise, and then Leander kept me busy all night and … Okay, just pretend I didn’t say that last part.”
She smiles a little, and I realize I’m kind of cute with my heart-shaped face and plump lips.
“No. No. No.” Cecile shoots down fabric after fabric with frightening efficiency.
I focus on the other Taylor. “But, anyway, I am so, so sorry for what I did to you.”
“Thank you.” She drops her chin a little, then meets my gaze. “I would be lying if I said I’m over it.”
My heart sinks.
Then she reaches out and takes my hand. “But I will be. I think it’ll just take some time.”
“Can you ever forgive me?” I hold my breath.
“I do if you forgive Cecile and me for sending you to Arin and landing you in the dungeon.”
“Done.” I squeeze her hand a little. “And to be honest, you sending me here is the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”
“You’re going to be a queen. That’s definitely an improvement on our dorm room.”
“You aren’t kidding.” I step closer, and she lets me embrace her. “I’m so glad that you’re here for my mating ceremony.”
“It’s the first one I’ve ever been invited to. Changelings generally don’t get to attend family events like this in the summer realm.” She starts to say something. Then stops.
“What is it?”
“It’s just something I’ve been wondering about for a long time. Could you tell me … about my mother and father?”
Cecile stands and inspects the fabrics more closely. “This white lace and this gray spidersilk. Yes. Taylor is a bit dumpy in the waist, so—”
“Hey!” The other Taylor and I both turn and glare at her.
She shrugs a thin shoulder. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. Don’t worry. You’re going to look like the perfect hourglass when I’m done.” She ignores us and begins outlining the silhouette she prefers.
I pull Taylor to the bed and we sit on the edge, our hands still clasped. “That’s a difficult topic.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders hunch a little. “I kind of suspected, I guess, when your mom—I mean, my mom—didn’t call you at all during the time I was living with Cecile at your college.”
“Yeah. Mom is …” I sigh and start off with our history. At first, it comes haltingly—the death of my father, the emotional distance, the neglect. And then it speeds up, the more painful parts pouring out of me as she listens to every word.
When I’m finally spent, the ugly truth laid out for both of us to see, she says quietly, “She let your stepfather hurt you.”
I hate hearing it, even if I know in my heart that it’s true. “She didn’t believe me. Steve was convincing, and she really wanted it to work out with him. She was lonely, I guess?”
“She sold you out.” Her shou
lders straighten. “I know what that feels like. Being a changeling slave is full of betrayals.”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “What I went through is nothing like your life. I can’t even imagine what you’ve had to endure.”
“It could be bad sometimes.” She nods, then looks at Cecile with such adoration in her eyes that I look, too, to make sure we’re seeing the same person. “But Cecile saved me from the worst of it. She was older than me, but we pretty much grew up together. I was like her little sister. She defied her father by taking care of me. I think at first I was like a baby doll for her to play with, but then she grew to care for me, and as I got older, I couldn’t imagine being without her.”
“She loves you. I could tell that from the first moment I saw you two in that horrible cave. And, to be honest, it took me totally by surprise. I had this one view of Cecile, but then there was this whole other side I never guessed at.”
“Sort of like being a fae and having an evil feral inside you, but appearing human on the outside?” She gives me a pointed look.
“Oh, come on. I’m not evil … That side was just, sort of, you know, locked away for a long time so when I got free I was—”
“Murderous and cruel?”
Okay, so minimizing it isn’t an option. I shrug. “It’s like I’m half Gryffindor, half Slytherin.”
Her eyes light with recognition. “I read your books. I want to be a Hufflepuff.”
“Oh, no, honey.” I pat her hand. “No one wants to be a Hufflepuff.”
“Stop rubbing your nerd off on her.” Cecile snaps her fingers. “Now come over here and try this on. I need Nadian to pin it until I’m satisfied. Then she only has a few hours to sew it. And I’m going to need every second of that time to fix your uneven complexion, lackluster hair, and slouchy posture.”
Taylor and I both straighten our shoulders.
“Harsh.” I frown.
“You get used to it.” The other Taylor shoos me toward Cecile. “I’m excited to see it all come together.”
Beth traipses in with another tray of food and a pitcher of wine. “The party is back on.”
“I think you may have cleaned out the pantry.”
“Not a chance. This place is stocked. Did you know they have a room just for jam?”
“I’ve heard.”
Beth sets the food down next to a snoring Selene as Nadian wraps lace around my torso and spidersilk along my bottom half, her hands moving so fast with pins that I can barely see them. It takes a while, and about a hundred modifications from Cecile, before the dress is up to her standards.
Beth’s eyes grow misty when it’s all finished. “You are a queen.”
Cecile circles me, her eyes running over every inch of the fabric. Finally, after a few more pins, she says, “This will do. Sew it.”
Nadian carefully removes it and whisks it away for finishing.
I sit on the bed as Cecile goes through every bit of makeup and toiletries in the vanity.
“Are you ready?” Beth pops a grape into my mouth.
I chew it slowly and contemplate the enormity of her question. Was I ready to be sent to Arin? No. Was I ready to meet Leander? No. Was I ready to learn who my true father was? No. Was I ready to learn who I was? No.
But being ready didn’t make a hill of beans when the time came. Things happen. They never stop happening. And I’ve realized that I have to grab happiness wherever I can find it, because I don’t know when things will change, when destinies will be revealed, or when I might be sent to a strange new world to meet my eternal mate.
It’s enough that I know what I want.
Leander. Forever. Just the thought of it makes a smile take hold, joy surging from deep inside me.
With a deep breath, I speak the truth of my heart. “I’m ready.”
23
Leander
“She’s here.”
Gareth adjusts his fur cloak for the hundredth time.
“Who?” I twist my crown a little to the right. “Is this straight?”
“Let me.” He reaches up and turns it back to the left. “Queen Aurentia. Her doves arrived early this morning, half frozen, with word that she would be attending the mating ceremony. I granted her and a small contingent of guards permission to enter the realm in the hopes that she will explain the incursion. Being that she is coming here in person, I can only assume those hostilities are ended. But she owes us an explanation. We already have a handful of nobles clamoring for war.”
“Oh.” My thoughts stray to Taylor. How will she look? What colors will she choose? Is she nervous?
“Leander.” Gareth’s voice is tinged with exasperation. “Are you listening?”
“Yes.” No. “Go on.”
“She waits for you in your study.”
“Right now?” I turn to him.
“She wants a word before the ceremony.”
I twist my crown back to the right. “I will not keep my mate waiting for anyone, not even the summer queen.”
“Well, you’re in luck, because Taylor isn’t ready yet. That roommate of hers has taken over, bossing everyone about like a—”
“I’ll meet with the queen.” I run a hand down my black attire, the gray thread along my collar catching the light. “Do you think Taylor would have preferred the silver thread?”
“No.” He gestures to the door. “Queen Aurentia.”
I follow him out and down the hall, every guard in the castle lining the corridors as guests arrive for the ceremony. I catch Taylor’s scent as I pass our bedroom, and it takes an intense force of will not to burst in and get a pre-ceremony taste.
“Focus.” Gareth strides next to me.
I grunt in response.
A small contingent of summer realm soldiers cluster outside my study door, their eyes wary as they part for us to pass.
Queen Aurentia’s back is to us as we enter, her gaze on the snowy courtyard. “It’s been so long since I’ve visited winter.” She presses a palm to the glass. “I’d almost forgotten what it is to be cold.” Turning, she walks to us, her lilac coat pulled tight around her.
“Would you care to explain Tavaran’s incursion now or later?” I put the bite of winter into my tone.
“Now.” She folds her hands in front of her. “I sent Tavaran through the border—thank you for returning him unharmed, by the way.”
“We aren’t needlessly cruel in the winter realm, no matter what the summer realm propaganda says,” Gareth bites out.
I cut to the heart of the matter. “Why did you break the truce?”
Her silver eyes lower, and a tired sigh flows from her. “I felt I had to. But we do not seek war.” Her gaze meets mine again. “I sent Tavaran to capture your changeling—”
“My mate, you mean.”
She nods. “Forgive me. Yes, your mate. After you had left Byrn Varyndr, I began having strange dreams. At first, I believed they were memories of the last war resurfacing. I ignored them, and they seemed to fade. But the night before the incursion, I had one so vivid, so real, that I realized the dreams weren’t memories. They were new. Your mate appeared in them, but she was … different. It was then I understood the dreams were prophetic. They were of the coming war. The disappearances, your mate, the king beyond the mountain—all of it was linked. And my dreams foretold that if the king beyond the mountain was able to capture your mate, then it would set all of the death and destruction that I saw—” She touches her temple. “In here, in motion. So, I attempted to stop it by bringing Taylor back to Byrn Varyndr where she would be safe, and I ordered Tavaran to use any means necessary.”
Gareth crosses his arms over his chest. “You expect us to believe you violated a hard-won treaty over a dream?”
“It is the truth. Make of it what you will. I have no intentions to break the treaty or start a war with your realm. I only wanted to keep her safe and away from the king beyond the mountain.” She turns back to the window. “But my spies tell me I was too late, and that p
erhaps our incursion served as the distraction Shathinor needed to take Taylor.”
“You knew it was Shathinor and didn’t tell me?” I don’t bother hiding my contempt.
“Of course not.” Her golden-crowned head lowers, her voice softening even more. “I only learned that after his destruction. I fear my sight has not been clear over the last few decades. The dreams were the only harbinger of knowledge, and they came too late.”
I rub the bridge of my nose. “This can be remedied. My nobles will demand a formal apology from the summer realm for the incursion.”
“Granted.” She waves a hand.
“And we should collaborate on the equality decrees that Taylor seeks. If both the summer and the winter realms work toward banishing the old ways of division and strife, then the changelings and lesser fae wouldn’t feel the need to follow a false leader like Shathinor. There would be no more threat of war.”
She shakes her still-bowed head. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
“What?” Gareth paces to the fireplace. “How is it too late? Shathinor has been defeated.”
“His evil lives on.” She turns, and her mouth is set in a sad line. “The war is unavoidable. I have seen it, and it will come to pass.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Gareth shakes his head.
“How?” I bristle, foreboding creeping along my spine. “How does his evil live on?”
“In his heir.” That’s when I realize her sadness is for me.
“You mean my mate?” I growl.
She nods. “My dreams speak of Shathinor’s bloodline, and I see a dark-winged warrior casting death onto a battlefield. It is her, your mate.”
I keep my voice even, though my feral side demands I bare my fangs. “Taylor is not the same as her father.”
“Perhaps not, but it doesn’t change what I have seen, what I still see.” She looks through me, her silver eyes haunted.
A knock at the door is followed by Brannon’s voice. “Taylor is ready.”
