Filthy Rich Fae

Chapter Thirty-One

I avoided everyone for the rest of the day, but I couldn’t escape my own head. I’d figured out a thing or two about fae bargains in the last few weeks. Lach had sworn not to harm Channing, but it was stupid to assume that promise extended to other fae, even those under his direct command. And when he’d warned Channing that our bargain would hold even if something happened to my brother, I’d realized how foolish I had been.

Still, no one had touched Channing, even when he stormed into the Avalon and threatened an Infernal Court prince. Because Lach had protected him, even though that wasn’t part of our arrangement. Lach had done it for me, and I had thanked him for it by directing the anger and disappointment I felt with myself at him.

Because I’d given up on trying to break the bargain.

Because part of me didn’t want to break it, and instead of admitting that to myself, I’d thrown our bargain in his face.

Because the ruin he promised was something more terrifying than I could ever have anticipated. It was a family, a home, a million tiny things I’d never allowed myself to have. He had ruined my isolation, my fear, my ability to see a future where I didn’t want more.

And while he had clearly stepped out of line with Channing, he wasn’t the only one who had been wrong.

So I dressed for the event that evening alone while working up the courage to apologize. All I knew about the handfasting ceremony was that each court would be there to bear witness, so I dressed in Nether Court green. No one had instructed me to do so, and I wondered if Lach would object after this morning’s argument. If he would even look at me. But it felt right to represent his court—the one that was beginning to feel like my own.

My gown’s filmy fabric, spun from emerald and obsidian threads, was tailored tightly in the bodice to lift my breasts, twin straps woven of pure gold keeping them covered. The dress cinched my waist before loosening into several overlapping panels that brushed the floor while allowing my legs to slip through. I pulled my hair up in a loose twist, applying smoky shadow to my eyes before I swept them with ruthless strokes of coal-black liner and painted my lips crimson. And when I looked into the mirror, I saw a creature fit to stand beside the Nether Court’s prince. If he would have me.

Lach had failed to return my necklace, so when the clock told me it was time, I made my way into the foyer of the shared floor. Roark leaned against the table in its center, playing a game on his phone. He glanced up and froze. I cringed, looking down to see what was wrong, half expecting to find toilet paper on my shoe.

But Roark held up his hand, eyes widening. “You’re going to be the death of him tonight.” He grinned and extended an arm. “I promised I’d get you to court, but I need to stop in the lobby and speak with the guards on duty.”

I nodded, looping my arm through his as the lump in my throat swelled. Maybe Lach planned to pawn me off on everyone else this evening, starting with his penumbra.

“Let’s take the old-fashioned way.” Roark pressed the down button on the elevator panel. The doors slid open instantly, and he held an arm out to keep them open. “After you.”

I was holding back tears as I stepped into the compartment.

Roark surveyed me as he punched the button for the lobby. “Want to talk about it?”

I lifted a brow in surprise at his offer. We’d never spent a lot of time together, so either my feelings were written all over my face or Lach had told him why he would be chaperoning my arrival to the Nether Court this evening. I wasn’t sure which option sounded worse. “Just wondering if Lach hates me after what happened with Channing this afternoon.” Or, rather, what had happened after.

“Hate?” He chuckled softly. “I don’t think Lach is capable of hating anything about you.”

My heart jumped as I considered if he was right. Finally, I gulped. “I don’t understand how he balances it all. The magic, the shadows, the pressure. I can barely handle one confrontation with my brother without wrecking everything.”

“Lach fucks up plenty,” he promised me. “But our world is light and shadow. We are light and shadow. They are the very elements of our magic. One cannot exist without the other. It is in every one of us. We have to embrace the balancing act even when it feels impossible. It’s harder for those who sit on the throne. The light is stronger in those courts; the shadow’s stronger in ours, in Bain’s. As Lach’s penumbra, I’m supposed to help him with that balance. Help him decide what choices he can live with and pray he’s never forced to make one that he can’t. But, really, it’s all any of us can do, and if we’re very lucky, we will find someone who helps us choose the right path and loves us when we don’t.”

I sucked in a breath at the implication of his words, at the intensity of the stare he pinned me with as though he was passing some invisible torch and waiting to see if I would accept it.

“I’m not sure I’m enough,” I confessed as the elevator arrived on the lobby floor.

Roark pressed the button to hold the doors closed. “He thinks you are, and even if you aren’t, he wants you anyway.” He offered me a small smile. “Besides, that balance and acceptance bit works both ways, princess,” he added with a wink.

I swallowed, digesting what he’d said. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job to look out for him, for both of you.”

I cocked my head, realizing that maybe that was why Roark had been keeping such a close eye on us. “Is that why you’ve been…interrupting us?”

He smirked, reminding me so much of Lach that my heart hurt. Had they perfected that look together over their lifetimes? “You two were in way over your heads.” His grin widened as I gaped at the fact that he would admit it. “Chaperoning you was all part of the job.”

“But you stopped. What changed?” I needed to hear it from him, the person who knew him best, the shadow that was always watching and weighing.

He released the button, allowing the doors to slide open, but as he stepped to hold them for me, he whispered, “The way you two look at each other.”

I stewed over his answer while he spoke with the guards stationed in the lobby. I was still thinking about it when we nipped to the Otherworld, arriving outside the Nether Court’s ballroom.

The ballroom had been divided into four sections, each adorned with decorations that venerated the unique magic of an individual court. Tables and chairs had been placed for the visiting courts’ respective guests. The light courts mingled on one side of the hall. The Astral Court’s attendees were gathered around high-top tables and seats swathed in a palette of purples and blues as nuanced and lovely as the night sky that glittered above them. Stars sparkled over their heads, and as I watched, the moon at the center of the enchantment shifted slowly between phases, from waxing to full to waning again. The space next to them was covered in shades of pure ivory accented with gold. Starbursts illuminated the center of each table, lighting the faces of the Hallow Court fae as they visited with one another.

And on the far side of the ballroom, across from the light courts loomed their shadowed opposites. Crimson textiles hung over gold-lacquered chairs and tables, smoldering and flickering like fire. Even the members of the Infernal Court seemed to dance with the dark energy drawn from the molten magic that flowed below us.

But it was the final corner that beckoned me. Flowering ivy wove around the gleaming black chairs stationed in rows, the Nether Court requiring more seating than the others. But its darkness didn’t hide the fae assembling there. Instead, the shadows wrapped around them, promising safe haven, shifting and clinging like those twisted vines.

Roark guided me to a seat in the front row of the Nether Court section before claiming the one next to it. The lights dimmed overhead and a hush fell over the assembled guests as a door opened to the ballroom.

Bain strode down the aisle that divided the Infernal and Hallow Courts. He was dressed in all black save for a slip of crimson silk tucked into the breast pocket of his tuxedo. The darkness of his attire accentuated his cold, chiseled features, and with his silver-white hair, he looked like he had been cut from ice. When he reached the open space in the center, another door on the opposite side of the room opened. Ciara and Lach stepped into view.

My friend had chosen a gown more demure than her usual style. Its ivory silk draped her loosely, gliding over her curves. It gathered in a twist at her throat. Ciara wore no jewels, and her face was fresh with only a pale blush swept over her cheeks and a slight shimmer of gold dust on her skin. She’d worn her hair in loose curls that cascaded down her back. She was astonishing, but it was the fae at her side who stole my breath.

Lach’s classic tuxedo was cut to fit his muscular torso, the savage, hewn body beneath the fabric impossible to ignore. He’d slicked back his dark hair, showcasing his beautiful face and those glowing eyes. But his gaze was vacant, as haunted as I’d felt since this afternoon’s argument.

The pair walked more slowly than Bain, as if both dreaded each step. Lach had mentioned that Bain suspected Ciara wasn’t enthusiastic about the betrothal. Few would suspect after tonight. Most would know. But somehow Lach looked even less thrilled about the situation.

“Why is he going through with this?” I whispered to Roark. Looking up, I found his jaw clenched.

Roark’s eyes followed Ciara, his voice low and strained when he answered, “Lach calculates his choices through suffering and loss. How much others will suffer, who deserves to suffer, who will lose, and what he can live with. But one person always suffers, always loses the most. He accepted that a long time ago. I think you were the first selfish decision he ever made.”

I couldn’t look away from Ciara’s serene face or the fear shining in her eyes. “Can he live with this?”

“That remains to be seen. The handfasting may be a blessing.”

“The magical prenup,” I whispered.

He nodded, eyes still tracking Ciara as his prince delivered his sister to her fate.

When the pair reached Bain, Lach stepped between his sister and her betrothed and drew a corded length of golden rope from his pocket. He didn’t speak. Instead, he handed the rope to Bain and backed away. As Bain moved forward, Ciara shuffled a bit closer to her fiancé.

A few people were murmuring around us, heads bent together in quiet conversations, and I wondered if I was the only one perplexed by the strangely silent ceremony.

“Okay, what is this?” I muttered. If no one was going to speak, I might need some subtitles.

“It’s an old custom, extending back as far as our histories,” he said quietly, but a few people around us turned ever so slightly to listen. “Back then, if two fae felt called to mate—”

“Mate?” I nearly choked.

“Mate,” he repeated, the word low and gravelly. “Don’t worry. For us, it’s about more than sex. Mating is choosing to bond your soul permanently to another. If a couple felt compelled to do so, they would handfast.” He nodded to Ciara and Bain, and as he did, she held out an arm. It trembled slightly as Bain wrapped the rope around it, crossing the cord several times loosely enough that it draped at her wrist. “Back then, for a year and one day, the couple would live together and wait for the magic to seal. If magic deemed them true mates—if it found their love to be selfless—the binding would become permanent, etched into their skin for the world to see, and their souls would be linked.”

“She’s linking her soul to his?” I hissed, wondering if I should run up there and put a stop to this, wondering why Lach hadn’t already done so. This wasn’t the casual, politically driven arranged marriage she’d been promised. What was Bain up to?

But Roark laughed, the sound hollow, as he pulled his gaze from the ritual to meet mine. “That kind of magic died long ago. I’ve never been to a handfasting that resulted in a mating bond, and I’m guessing neither of them is in danger of committing an act of selfless love.”

He had a point. I settled into my seat, my eyes still glued to the wordless ceremony. Bain slipped his own hand past the loose rope he’d placed on Ciara, closing his fingers around her forearm. Ciara did the same to his. The crowd erupted in applause, but I only stared.

Roark grimaced. “And now we hope we find a reason to call this thing off.”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Nowadays, a handfasting is like a trial marriage. If either of them discovers an irreconcilable reason to break their public pledge of intent, the entire thing is dissolved. If they had gone through with the banns and been married, there was no way out for either of them.”

It was almost like Bain had done Ciara a favor, although I couldn’t imagine why. Maybe he really believed Lach had tried to poison them with that clover. Or maybe he was up to something. But now Ciara had a way out, unless…

“What if magic seals their bond?” I asked, my stomach twisting as Bain untied the rope to reveal fresh tattoos inked where the rope had bound them.

“It won’t.” He shook his head with a tired sigh. “Like I said, that sort of magic is long dead. There is a spell on the rope, though; hence the tattoos. If one of them declares just cause, the spell will determine if it’s true and release them both.”

But even with that huge loophole, Ciara looked a bit green as Bain lifted her hand for all to see the marks they bore. More applause erupted, and soon a line began to form, every guest joining it to speak with the couple.

I imagined that the only thing worse than being stuck in a trial marriage for a year and a day was pretending to be happy about it while well-wishers fawned over you.

“Get me up to the front?” I asked Roark. He glanced at Ciara and nodded with grim understanding.

We pushed through the crowd, no one raising a complaint when they saw the Nether Court penumbra at my side. I waited to allow Aurora to finish offering her best wishes before I rushed forward and gave Ciara a huge hug, whispering, “Do you need me to kidnap you? Because I will get you out of here.”

She giggled a little and squeezed me more tightly. “I’m fine. Honestly. I have a whole year now.” So she did intend to find her own way out of the handfasting. “But can you save my brother? He’s in a mood.”

It wasn’t the time to tell her that I was likely responsible for his melancholy. I pulled away, promising to do so, before I offered Bain a limp congratulations. Roark waited off to the side, chatting with Shaw, so I started toward him to inform him of my new mission, but he nodded to the bar in the corner. Glancing over, I spotted Lach leaning against it. I mouthed a “thank you,” and Roark bowed before turning to speak to Shaw.

Each step I took in Lach’s direction tightened my nerves. By the time I slipped up to the bar and ordered a single glass of ambrosia, I was wound tenser than a spring.

Lach finally looked at me, but he didn’t speak. Quiet but not angry. No, the shadows in his eyes had nothing to do with me. I considered reaching for his hand, but I held back. Maybe I wasn’t the person he wanted to comfort him. Who could blame him after earlier? For a moment, we simply stared at one another, daring the other to break the silence.

It didn’t have to be complicated. One of us just had to say something. “The ceremony was…”

I couldn’t finish the thought, couldn’t force myself to act like I was happy about it.

His jaw worked for a moment like he was chewing on his response. “I’m not a big fan of handfasting.” He downed his remaining drink in a single swig. “Either way, it delays the inevitable.” He glanced around the room and let out a long sigh. “But I think I’m the only one who isn’t swooning. I feel like I’m ruining the party.”

Maybe it was the honesty of his response that clicked some missing piece into place. Tonight’s ceremony was about politics and plotting. Maybe with us, it could just happen. Maybe we didn’t have to know where it was leading. And maybe we didn’t have to plan for a worst-case scenario. Maybe I could just be here with him and let the rest figure itself out. No magical escape clause necessary.

So, I took his hand, my fingers wrapping around his. “Then let’s get out of here.”