28. Small Favors
Chapter 28
Small Favors
SONGBIRD
T he sprite that fetched me from home shows me into a single guest room thrice as big as my family’s apartments. The soft taupe of the walls compliments a spotless white marble floor, lavish art works integrating splashes of color and romance to the decor. A painting of a young man sketching his beloved by a twinkling blue lake, both of them naked and aroused, sends a rush of heat to my cheeks.
The last rays of sunlight spill through large windows, illuminating a bouquet of fresh lavender on the dresser. The bed is piled high with cushions, each adorned with intricate vine patterns that form the Summer’s royal crest. I draw back the drapes to reveal a stunning view of the waterfall streaming down to the Eternal River below, its silhouette snaking away in the distance.
Despite having seen countless paintings of these gardens, the beauty feels alien, making me acutely aware of the faint scuff marks in the soles of my shoes or the loose threads in the button holes of my jacket.
The tall, free-standing mirror in the corner has been warded off, unsuitable for travel, the runes covering the corners of the glass blending with the wood moldings of the frame.
“This is your room for the wedding, Miss Snow. Please change, and when you’re ready, follow this firefly to the chapel. The royal family is already there, working out the kinks of the reception. They’re expecting you in half an hour for the rehearsal.”
I set my travel bag on the bed, awestruck by the opulence of it all. I thought the academy was luxurious, but this is something else.
“Miss Snow?” the sprite repeats.
“Yes.” I clear my throat, feeling self-conscious about how frayed and unkempt I must appear. “I’ll be there. Thank you.”
A shuddering breath escapes me, and I quickly slip into the black dress I brought with me, acutely aware that it’s inappropriate for the setting. Here in the Summerlands, it’s probably more suited for a funeral than a wedding.
Almost as soon as I’m done changing, Devi slips into my room.
She’s not wearing a dress, exactly, but a shimmering, hand-beaded gold bodysuit. The criss-cross design creates a striking, lattice-like effect across her body, leaving her navel and hips bare while revealing the shape of her breasts, with the nipple area covered by a solid gold underlay. The delicate freckles on her collarbone add a flair of mystique to her presence, and I blush all over.
“By the spindle. What are you doing here?” I breathe.
She presses the door closed quietly behind her. “They told me you would be here. Is that what you’re wearing for the rehearsal?” She wrinkles her nose at my plain black cocktail dress.
“It’s all I have. Isn’t the bride supposed to be the center of attention anyway?” I say in a scalding tone, my jaw slightly askew at the sheer sensuality rolling off of her.
No one should have such a flawless body. I’m especially annoyed by the heat in my gut, once again caught in the snare of her powers, once again a lame black duck forced into a line of golden Fae ducklings.
“Moth, this is a royal wedding. It’s meant to be a spectacle. We’re not expected to go to bed before dawn tonight. Why do you think tomorrow’s ceremony is set for dusk?”
I turn away from her, my hand clutching the skirt of my dress. “I have no clue what I’m doing here, honestly. Or why you’re in my room. Or how anyone thought it was a good idea for me to come?—”
“Breathe. Here.” She barrels to the window and grabs a fist of one of the lavender silk curtains.
The whole thing starts to unspool under my awestruck gaze and levitates toward me, replacing my current dress, which flakes away into nothingness. The threads weave into a floor-length evening gown with a twisted, scandalous strapless bustier. I draw in a deep breath. The fabric is so light in my grip that it might as well be liquid, the lavender hue twinkling with hints of silver.
Devi nods proudly at her own work. “That’ll do nicely.”
“What are you doing here, Devi?”
Her mouth opens slightly, and the corners twist into a devilish grin. “I need another favor.”
“Bite me,” I bark, one hand tugging at the top of the dress to see if I can cover myself up a little more, terrified the neckline might slip straight past my breasts.
“So spirited today. Aren’t you enjoying the beauty of the Summer Court? I thought you were into warm, long, hard Summer nights,” she adds, wiggling her brows.
“Stop it.”
“I can’t help it. You’re crimson, and I’ve barely said anything.” With a sigh, she spins my hair into an elaborate up-do, the strands all but sighing at her touch. “I don’t blame you. We all have a weak spot. Dark, broody, and emotionally unavailable men is mine.” Her gaze falls to my hand, and she clicks her tongue. “Stop fidgeting. The dress will not fail you. Oh, I forgot the shoes.” She crouches down and motions for me to sit down on the velvet bench at the foot of the bed, but I refuse to budge.
“Why do you even care?”
“We’re partners now. Whether you like it or not.” She weaves a pair of silver stilettos that wrap around my ankles and make the arches of my feet scream in discomfort.
“We’re not partners . You’re blackmailing me.”
“Details.” She waves my comment away. “Look, this weekend is not just about a wedding. The news that my grandsire is dying has breached the confines of the Secret Springs. The healers gave him a month to live, at best, and everybody is whispering about it. My step-mother, Freya, is making a play to succeed him instead of me.”
My eyes narrow at the onslaught of information. “And how could I possibly help you?”
“I need you to slip this”—she says, reaching inside her bra to retrieve a small, oval flask—“into her drink.”
“Are you nuts? No!”
“Relax, it’s harmless. Just a little something to loosen her tongue. She’s probably trying to line up her next husband and secure alliances over the weekend. This potion will just make her more... honest.”
My fingers shake around the small translucent flask. “Your grandfather is not even dead, yet. Is she so eager to remarry that she can’t even wait for him to die?”
“You think that’ll stop her?” she scoffs. “Freya is not powerful enough to win the throne in a challenge, but she’s a beloved queen consort and excels at politics. She’s going to try to convince a handful of royals that I’m too young for the task, and that she should be made queen until I’m older. She’ll even promise to abdicate when the time comes, but the exact timeline will be pushed and pushed indefinitely.”
“Is that something a Spring royal can do? Abdicate?”
She rolls her eyes as though my ignorance of such things annoys her to no end. “Rarely, but yes. The Winter crown can’t be survived, so you’ve assumed it’s the same for us, but Winter is actually an exception.”
“I heard the Red circlet prefers to be claimed in bloodshed, cut right off the head of its predecessor,” I mumble.
She gives a sharp incline of the head. “Yes. Reds don’t like to mess around. If only it was so simple in Spring.”
And she’s not kidding.
A shadow passes over her beautiful face, her cleverness and cunning lurking beneath the freckled, polished veneer. “Most royals are terrified of change. None of them truly want me on the throne, even though I’ve earned it. I’m too outspoken, too rash, too modern. They see my power as a threat to their boring old traditions. The Eternal Chalice allows the reigning monarchs a say in who gets to rule over Spring next, and I just want to prevent Freya from getting too much of a head start.”
I try to hand the flask back, the glass slippery in my grip. “Anyone could do this. Why don’t you ask Iris?”
“Iris doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut, and she’s Freya’s niece. I need someone with enough wit to keep track of it all, and yet not enough skin in the game to jeopardize my plans. Someone with enough access to matter, but who will mostly blend with the crowd and not attract too much attention. That’s you, my little mermaid.”
“You need a sucker who can’t say no or rat you out, you mean.”
“That too.”
“And how many favors am I supposed to grant for you to be satisfied?” I ask in a fake sugary tone.
“As many as I need.”
My teeth grit together. “You think yourself above them, but you’re blackmailing me into doing your bidding, just as desperate to be queen.”
She begins walking away, still nonchalant about it all. “Are you done whining? It’s only a small favor. I’ll swing by your room later. Until then, we shouldn’t be seen in public together.”
“No problem here,” I shout at her retreating back, tucking the flask into my cleavage, a little pocket of its exact size fashioned right into the underlining of my dress.
How am I supposed to get rid of her?
If she tells on me, I’m done.
I draw in a deep breath and follow the firefly meant to guide me to the wedding chapel, adjusting my posture and strides to account for the ridiculously high heels Devi made me.
My steps grow shorter and shorter as I enter the ballroom through one of the many side entrances. The firefly darts across the room to the chapel on the other side, faltering as it reaches its final destination. The two doors stand ajar, marked by white columns entwined with vines, mosaics on either side depicting the Flame of Fate. Dozens of tables are elegantly set with white orchid centerpieces, crisp white cloths, and gold cutlery—but my gaze is drawn to the ceiling.
My skin tingles. One of the most famous art pieces in history, Fall of the Mist King, is here, stretching high above me. There’s one such mural in each of the first kingdoms, though the Summerlands version is larger and more beautiful than I’d ever imagined. I’ve studied many of the scenes depicted up there, but seeing it all at once is breathtaking. It doesn’t even feel real.
I spin to take it all in, my heart beating in my throat, and come to an abrupt stop.
A precious stone wall scintillates at the very back of the ballroom, composed of squares of emerald, onyx, amethyst, ruby, opal, diamond, and garnet—one jewel for each of the eight kingdoms—even the former rainbow moonstones of the Mist, now outlawed everywhere but here. The double doors are shut, held in place with a long piece of iron.
The Hall of Eternity lies behind that wall, the eight thrones of Faerie contained within its halls, the chalice of power at their center.
A soft tap on my shoulder sends my already racing heart into a frenzy, and I gasp.
“Lady Snow. Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Ezra says, leaning in to peck my cheeks.
“Ezra!” I grip his arm out of instinct, nearly toppling over from the jump scare and the heels. “You snuck up on me.”
His soft laugh warms the space between us. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. You looked…bewitched by the sight of the Eternal Halls.” He points to the back wall. “Ask Aidan for a peek, later. It’s worth it.” He ushers me toward the entrance of the chapel, his hand resting on my shoulder blade for an instant. “You look absolutely divine. We should have asked you to sing for the ceremony.”
My eyes widen and my gut cramps at the mere possibility of singing—perhaps even being mobbed and arrested—in the oh-so-grand Summerlands palace. “Please don’t.”
“Are you ready to meet the Summer Queen?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He elbows my side just as we cross the threshold. “Your future mother-in-law.”
I slap his arm. “Shush.”
Inside the chapel, rows and rows of golden pews are arranged in the same fashion as they are in the academy’s chapel, though in a much grander setting. Bouquets of white orchids cascade to the ground at the end of each row.
A glass dome opens to the sky above, while the checkered windows reveal the vast scope of the Lunar Cascades—white terraces made of minerals that make them appear as though covered in fresh snow. They spill down the hillside in tiers, stretching far beyond the castle walls. The half-moon-shaped pools glow against the rugged landscape in strange, milky hues. Each terrace blends softly from blue to white, as if sculpted from clouds and ice.
A few bright stars pierce the veil of twilight, the sky slowly darkening to a deep, midnight blue.
My breath stutters. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to get married in such a place, let alone own it, and Ezra’s cheeky comment echoes in my brain.
One day, Aidan will get married here too. To a real princess. And he’ll reign over all of this with his queen. They’ll take moonlit strolls hand in hand along the Eternal River, gasping for breath as he traces the lines of her body in the basins. Every day will be spent at the top of the Fae food chain, feasting on the riches of our world while the Wintermere commoners barely survive another freezing winter.
No matter how addictive the fantasy is, the lucky, oblivious woman won’t be me. It couldn’t be.
“Come on, Lady Snow,” Ezra warns quietly. “You’ll have ample time to admire the view later.”
I force my eyes away from the windows, where the Summer Queen, Willow, and a rugged sprite with green moss growing in the creases of his skin and lichen-filled wings wait for us at the front of the chapel.
"Beth!" Willow saunters closer to greet me, her long brown hair braided into a crown atop her head, her form-fitting white satin dress hugging her curves. "I'm so glad you're here." She hooks her arm through mine and tugs me up the aisle. "This is my mother, Queen Thera Summers."
“Your Majesty.” I curtsy as low as I can manage in my heels, my tongue parched and dry.
“Welcome, Elizabeth. My daughter’s told me so much about you,” she replies quickly, her affable smile catching me by surprise.
The warm greeting chokes me, leaving only the heavy, pasty aftertaste of my secrets on my tongue.
Against all odds, she doesn’t mind that you’re a moth.
But she’d have you arrested if she knew you were a siren.
And she definitely has no idea you’re secretly fucking her son.
Willow’s eyes dart down to my cleavage. “By the Flame, who weaved that dress?”
I look down at the gown. “Devi Eros.”
“Why? Are you two friends now?” Willow asks, clearly dumbfounded.
“It’s a long story.” I force a polite smile on my face and widen my eyes at Willow, trying to convey a loud I’ll tell you about it later with just my eyes.
“Ah, Mabel. Welcome,” Thera says, walking toward the entrance to greet a short, old woman.
The infamous Mabel Bloodsinger tiptoes over to us, grand despite her small stature. “Thera.” She acknowledges the Summer Queen with a small head tilt, gripping the carved raven forming the tip of her cane with both hands. “You, young bride. Let me see you.” She angles her body toward Willow.
“My grandson is a handful, but you look poised for the challenge.” She throws a playful wink at Ezra before patting Willow’s arm with her small hand. “The shortest women make the most interesting queens, my dear. Remember that.” She chuckles, clearly including herself in that assessment, and Willow grins.
“Yes, we do.”
Mabel’s cunning gaze finally lands on me, and I shudder. With just one look, her bite of power lulls me into a waking dream. I dig my nails into my palms, desperate to anchor myself against her magic. It feels as though she’s clawing inside my skull, prying away all my secrets.
“And who are you?” Her hazelnut eyes gleam with a crimson spark.
“Elizabeth Snow. I’m Willow’s kindred.”
She smiles at me—not the same smile she gave Thera or Willow. This one reaches the corners of her eyes, brimming with both joy and curiosity. “I have a feeling you and I will get along perfectly.”
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
She knows. I don’t know how, but in one glance, this woman sees the truths of my blood and lineage—and appears thrilled by it. Yet, when her attention shifts back to the Summer Queen, a strange calm washes over me. It’s as if her gaze carried both an unspoken acknowledgment of my true nature and a silent promise to keep it hidden.
“Mabel, can I discuss something with you in private?” Thera asks.
The two women step aside for a private chat while the rest of us huddle closer together.
“Who’s that?” I ask Ezra, pointing to the young girl who sneaked into the chapel behind Mabel.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at her. She’s so boring, and she’s going to want to come over—hey, Brit. This is Elizabeth Snow, Willow’s kindred.”
“Are you a relative of Mabel?” I ask.
“No, I’m Aidan’s date, actually.”
Wonderful. Being in Aidan’s home, it was inevitable that we’d run into each other sooner or later. Still, my body warms at the mere mention of him.
Even though I know he couldn’t have asked me, it still stings that he chose some snobbish, beautiful blonde to accompany him to Willow’s wedding. His last letter implied he was unaware of his sister’s plan to name me as her kindred, but surely he knows by now.
Willow shifts restlessly beside us. “And my dear brother left you to your own devices. Typical,” she laments.
Why is she even here? No one else’s date is here; only the wedding party.
Thera and Mabel rejoin our circle, and we spend a few minutes discussing the cascades, rivers, gardens, and waterfalls—the royal equivalent of small talk.
“We should really get started,” Mabel announces.
“Yes, but we’re still one short for the rehearsal.” Thera presses her lips together, clearly annoyed.
“Are we waiting for the Summer King?” I ask quietly.
Willow shakes her head. “Oh no, my father doesn’t bother with these things. We need Ezra’s kindred.”
“Aidan,” Ezra supplies with a discreet wink.
“Not Elio?” I remark, struggling to catch up.
“Elio’s playing music during the ceremony,” Willow explains.
Loud footsteps draw our attention to the entrance of the chapel, Aidan half-running through the door, and my heart gives a giant, debilitating squeeze.
He’s dressed in all the bells and whistles of a Fae prince, two rows of gold buttons running down the front of his waistcoat, clashing against the midnight-black velvet that emphasizes his large shoulders.
A sharp throb pulses through my belly.
“You’re late.” Willow huffs, hands braced on her hips, turning away from her brother just as he opens his mouth to justify his tardiness.
“I know, I know. I was just—” His gaze lands on me, enveloping me in his attention better than a blanket, as if everyone else faded from the room—or perhaps the world itself. “Beth. You’re already here.”
Surprise flickers across his face before he blinks it away, his apologetic, lopsided grin stretching into a smile that’s smooth and rich as butter, yet subdued. Secret. Just for me.
Without meaning to, I tilt forward on my treacherous heels, my body yearning for his warmth even as my mind steels itself to stay away.
“Let’s do this thing,” Willow snaps, her usual cheerful tone cracking at the end, as though the ceremony—the thing—repulses her. Ezra’s face falls, but the groom faithfully steps up to the altar.
Mabel gives us quick instructions on where to stand and how to behave. I follow along carefully—until the worst possible interruption yanks me out of my reverie, shattering the waking dream of standing opposite Aidan at the altar.
“They told me you were in here, darling.” Zeke is dressed in the dark glamour of his court, shadows curling along his shoulders as he smiles at me like we’re not only betrothed but thrilled to be so. He salutes the Summer Queen with a gracious bow. “It’s such an honor for my precious Lizzie and me to be part of the wedding party, Your Majesty.”