Chapter 30
30
A ven fumed, beating her hands against Cillian’s immovable back. “Let me down right now! Cillian!”
He followed the king and several guards deep into the heart of the palace. He didn’t stop—none of them did—until they came to a massive iron door set into a seamless block of stone. The guards stepped forward and pulled open the door by the single gigantic handle.
She caught a glimpse of a darkened space inside before everyone hustled forward and the door closed behind them, sealing them in with a clack of a turning lock and a burst of magic.
After a few moments when she forgot how to breathe, sconces lit. Fire slowly crackled to life and provided warmth to fight against the chill of the room.
She shivered as Cillian slowly set her on her feet and ran his hands along her face, down her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
Aven glared at him, wanting him to stop touching her. “Why would I not be okay? The only problem was you grabbing me and bringing me here against my will. A small scuffle.” She gritted her teeth and set him with a scowl he had no choice but to pay attention to. “Nothing but a small scuffle with a handful of protesters.”
She worked her expression into neutral territory because she was well aware of their audience. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of King Donal.
“A small scuffle might turn into a large one if we do not keep our guard high,” Cillian frowned back at her.
Roran let out a sharp exhalation in disgust and said, “There’s no fighting against it once the alarm goes off. Surely you remember what happened the last time you tried.”
His tone seemed to imply she was on equal footing with the ridiculous humans who chose to protest the wedding. Something to pity and despise.
“And as part of the royal family now, you’re locked in with us.” Roran’s smile was vicious and tight, slow to spread but potent when it did.
Part of the royal family. Exchanging one set of shackles for another.
“Ignore him. He would rather there be bloodshed than practice the better part of valor.” Cillian transferred his frown to his brother, who stood firm underneath its weight.
The king paid none of them any attention. He and the nobles who’d turned tail with them commandeered one corner of the safe room for their own and sat on a long, comfortable-looking couch. Their faces pinched, as though they were uncomfortable. Whether by her presence in the room or the situation in general, it was impossible to tell.
The room may be used for safety but was no less extravagantly decorated than other parts of the keep.
“I don’t understand why we ran,” Aven insisted. “There were only a handful of people who made it through. And why were they protesting the wedding?”
It didn’t fail to escape her that Cillian hadn’t answered when she asked the question the first time. Now, with the walls closing in on them and the door shut with magic, he had no room for escape. Neither did she.
Her chest constricted, and the fabric of her dress conspired to choke her.
“I didn’t stop to ask them, but if I had to assume, I’d say they object to having a mortal like them marrying into our line,” Cillian’s brows furrowed together. He held out an arm to gesture for them to sit. “Especially considering the way one of them spoke to you.”
Another small sitting area occupied the other half of the room from where the king perched. Happy for any amount of distance between them, Aven hustled over and dropped down closest to the arm of the couch.
She felt ridiculous hiding out here in her gown. All the finery in the world didn’t change the situation.
“It makes no sense. They don’t want peace? They have to understand that this marriage is the best way to broker it.”
“They’re small-minded, and it makes them dangerous.” Roran swaggered over to a lone chair and settled, crossing one leg over the other with the grandeur she expected from him.
“We already know your opinion, Roran. The fact that you keep offering it without prompting means you like to hear yourself talk and nothing else.”
“I wonder what it says about you, Aven, to keep asking the same inane questions even though you know the answer. Insanity, perhaps?”
Cillian sat beside her with their thighs touching and his warmth seeping into her. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “The two of you better back off each other’s throats, or this will be a long night.”
She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Not when it bothered her beyond reason to have turned tail before they settled the scuffle.
“Did either of you happen to notice that the protesters were starved? Weakened,” she informed them. “They weren’t going to hold out much longer against the guards.” She refrained from calling them our guards.
“I’m sure they looked weary because of the travel it took to get here. It isn’t an easy road, and they somehow managed to get past our security even with it heightened,” Cillian once again became the voice of reason in their trio. “Whatever hardships they experienced, they brought on themselves. They knew what to expect by coming.”
It seemed to happen more than the royal family wanted their subjects to believe. She’d been here only a few months, and yet they’d had humans cross over the territory three times and get into the palace twice. Not trained soldiers, just normal people.
They had multiple safe rooms and protocols in place for this type of attack. They thought humans were dangerous?
She hadn’t seen any kind of guns on them, and none of them had carried a wand. Then again, Cillian had gotten her out of there too quickly for her to get an in-depth look.
“We don’t want to give them the opportunity to gain the upper hand,” Cillian said gently. “If we’d stayed and tried to take the high road, they might have employed underhanded tactics. The soldiers and guards will handle them. The most important thing is that you are here and safe. Our wedding isn’t impacted.”
She thought about it repeatedly as her knee bobbed up and down with restless energy. The longer they stayed in the room, the more out of her mind she’d get. Aven knew herself well enough to understand it.
The same thing happened to her last time as well.
“Have you always wanted to get married?” she asked Cillian, needing the distraction of her voice to settle.
His eyes widened in surprise. “To you?”
“No, not to me. In general. When you were younger, did you dream about a wife and a family? Or were you a late bloomer to the idea?”
“I suppose the idea was always there. I saw the happiness my parents experienced in their marriage. Then again, I also saw the unhappiness of other couples in the palace,” Cillian answered slowly, ignoring Roran’s swallowed groan at the mention.
They didn’t have the same mother. So how happy had the king really been with his wife?
Aven resisted glaring at him across the room.
She called him a bastard .
Not once, not twice. Multiple times.
She’d been right, and now she regretted the insult. In part. Roran had been acting like a prick at the time.
“I guess when you hear about something long enough, you come around to the idea. And then I met you, and pieces fell into place perfectly. It was the right match at the right time.” Cillian smiled at her, and a small sun lit in her chest.
“Marriage is—” Roran started to say.
“I wasn’t asking you,” Aven interrupted. He’d no doubt say something terrible about marriage being a trap or a shackle and how it was better to get out there and play the field. Find happiness in the bed of the woman of the day.
She’d felt the same way once. And she shouldn’t take her ire out on Roran, especially after what she’d overheard at the ball. Yet he provided the perfect target.
Sullen, sulking, like a small spot of cold in the room sucking out life and joy.
Out of all the places for them to go, they’d had to come here to wait out the lockdown? Roran had to come with them?
Maybe he should have hidden in the closet again. It had worked well for him last time.
“Maybe it’s not the marriage itself you actually want, but the ball,” Aven teased, turning to Cillian. “You seem to be very fond of them.”
“What’s not to like? It’s a chance to listen to good music, eat food with the people you care about. Everyone has fun at a ball.”
“Not everyone,” Roran insisted.
“Most people, then,” Cillian clarified with more kindness than she would have. “It’s a great opportunity for people to come together where you forget about yourself. There’s nothing like dancing to really get to know a person.”
Aven always found conversation to be the best way to get to know a person, but she smiled regardless. “You’re unparalleled on the dance floor. I’ve seen your moves.”
“I have many more. There are several special dances the fae reserve for holidays and sacred ceremonies. Once we’re wed…” he trailed off. “Hopefully one day you’ll get to see them.”
Roran straightened, and his knuckles went white on the arms of the chair.
“And I want to clarify, Aven, that I don’t have a problem with mortals. They are allowed to protest. They are not, however, allowed to infiltrate the palace with their weapons primed for death. I won’t risk your safety.”
“As much as I appreciate it, I know how to take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for most of my life.”
“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to. You’re very precious to me. I can’t allow anything to happen to you if it’s within my power to prevent it, which is why we ran.” Cillian offered her a soft smile, and for a blissful second, she let her walls drop to see things from his point of view.
But would she have done the same thing were their roles reversed? No. Absolutely not.
What kind of a person did it make her?
“How does your father feel about our nuptials?” she hazarded the question, glancing over briefly at the king. “He hasn’t said much.”
Although he turned to the side and graced her with only his profile, she had the distinct sense he was watching her.
“He is excited for our land to be at peace,” Cillian hedged.
“He will do anything for it. As will we all.” Only Roran managed to sound snooty when speaking about the end of a war.
“Things are going to be different when I am king,” Cillian assured them both. “These past few years ascending to the throne have given me ample opportunity to see what kind of ruler I’ll be. My father has done his best with the circumstances, but the time is long past due for the reins to pass.”
Listening to him speak helped her nerves settle. She wasn’t exactly calm, but it certainly brought her back to her body. The walls didn’t press quite so closely in on them, and her lungs loosened until every breath felt easier. She didn’t feel like she was drowning on land.
“Who are you most excited to see at the wedding?” she pressed. “I haven’t met any of your friends. Will they stand with you as your best men?”
“You haven’t met them because they don’t exist. Cillian is too busy playing at monarch to actually maintain any relationships he may have had over the decades,” Roran put in.
Aven chuckled. “Once again, you’re butting in on a conversation you weren’t asked to be a part of. I speak to Cillian alone.”
Another snide under-the-breath remark from Roran, and this one was easier to ignore.
“I have a few mates I still talk to from the early years of education. They’ve struck out on their own to manage parts of Mourningvale.”
Roran shifted to balance his elbows on his knees and set them both with a high-browed look. “All lords and dukes and such.”
She wasn’t going to tell him again to stay out of the conversation, although she desperately wanted to do so. An argument may be a great distraction, but she didn’t want to have a blowup in front of her future father-in-law. Reeling it in, Aven bit down on her tongue, her hands twisted in her lap.
She jumped, a little surprised when Cillian reached over to cover her hands with one of his. “Why the questions?” he wanted to know. “Are you in need of a distraction?”
“Always,” Roran breathed out.
Aven turned to Cillian and willed her focus to narrow until her vision encompassed him and only him. He would be her closest confidant once they exchanged vows. Hell, he filled that space already.
She’d asked about his friends? She had none back at home unless one counted General Hunter. Her sisters were less companions and more family. She didn’t tell them her precious thoughts, only gave them glimpses of her inner world. Here? She had Nora, although her lady’s maid was less a confidant and more another set of eyes watching her and no doubt reporting back to Cillian.
“Then allow me to provide one for you,” Cillian said, his voice low and smooth as he reached up to cradle her face.
Her breath hitched as his thumb brushed her cheekbone, the touch so gentle it sent a shiver racing down her spine. She let herself fall into him, turning fully as he leaned in. The moment his lips met hers, her chest tightened—not with unease, but with something far hotter, something she couldn’t contain.
His kiss was achingly deliberate, soft at first, coaxing, but grew bolder with every passing second. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss.
There were feelings here, she knew. She did feel something behind the kiss. It wasn’t the same type one might exchange with a friend or experiment. Not like a first time or a potential suitor where there was no chemistry.
She could very well love Cillian, given time.
Except—
No, she wouldn’t think about him .
She gripped Cillian’s forearms, her fingers curling into the muscle as a low hum of pleasure escaped her throat, a sound she hadn’t meant to release but couldn’t stop. Aven felt heat build, not just in the press of his lips but in the way his hand slid upward, his thumb grazing the sensitive edge of her ear. Her heart raced, her blood pounding with a sweet ache she hadn’t expected. The kiss wasn’t just something she could feel—it consumed her. And she wanted more.
But then, there was Roran.
She didn’t have to look to know he was watching. He sat just within her peripheral vision, but he might as well have been right beside her. She couldn’t ignore the weight of his gaze, heavy and smoldering, like a flame licking at her skin.
Her resolve to ignore him cracked. She knew she shouldn’t, but she glanced toward him, catching the faintest hint of movement. Roran leaned forward slightly, his jaw tight, his lips parted. Then she heard it—a low sound from his throat. A groan.
Her pulse stuttered, and a surge of heat—entirely different from the one Cillian ignited—rushed through her. Where Cillian’s touch was warmth and comfort, the mere thought of Roran’s gaze was wildfire and chaos.
No.
She forced her focus back to Cillian, to the solid reality of him, but the memory of Roran’s molten stare burned into her like a brand.
Aven tilted her head further, deepening the kiss as if to drown out everything else, as if that alone could erase the unwanted awareness crawling up her spine. Cillian responded with a quiet growl of his own, his other hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer, his grip firm but not demanding. Their bodies touched now, and the heat between them threatened to burn away the tension she hadn’t realized she carried.
But it wasn’t enough.
She couldn’t shake Roran. His presence pressed against the edges of her awareness, impossible to ignore, making her body hum with forbidden energy.
This wasn’t how she was supposed to feel.
She focused her attention where it belonged.
On her fiancé.
On her kingdom.
Cillian’s lips moved against hers with perfect precision, his hands grounding her in a way that almost made her forget.
Almost.
On the other side of the room, the rest of the nobles watched, their expectations like iron chains around her neck.
But it wasn’t their eyes that made her falter.
It was his .
Roran’s.