Chapter 29
29
A ven shut her mouth when she wanted to scream at the announcement. Cillian would hold another ball to announce and celebrate the engagement, despite knowing how badly she hated them.
She’d force herself to suffer through if necessary.
It turned out to be necessary when he refused to call it off.
The last thing she wanted with the stress of planning the wedding was a ball to worry about. The thought of that many eyes on her, scrutinizing her every move, had her breaking out in hives. The long sleeves she wore not only hid her scars but also concealed the bright red boils popping up in random blotches along her arms and back.
“It’s fine,” Nora insisted, helping Aven into a gown in shades of purple and midnight. “I have a salve to help, and the moment you’ve finished dancing the night away in your prince’s arms, we’ll work some spells to heal you up.”
“You can’t work them now?” Aven stifled the urge to scratch every part of her. “It’s going to be unbearable. I’m not sure how to make it through without finding a post and scratching myself against it like a cat.”
Another ball, another show.
How many conversations would she overhear tonight? Or would the people who gathered to drink in the debauchery of the royal family keep their thoughts to themselves?
She highly doubted it. More than likely, they’d be even more outspoken. Outright in vocally expressing their low opinion of her. They might understand the necessity of a marriage, but they’d continue to find fault with her personally.
Not only a human but a warrior. No better than a murdering grunt.
“Because it takes me more than a few minutes to gather the magic and send it where it needs to go. The salve will help until we have more time,” Nora assured her calmly, speaking in slow tones as if addressing a child.
“Of all the times…” Aven trailed off.
She hadn’t had this kind of problem since her first-ever fight.
General Hunter had started her off small, commanding a group of no more than ten against a small skirmish at the northern part of Grimrose when she was fourteen. Her sisters, her self-appointed guardians, had raged at the thought of Aven being taken away from her studies to lead an actual unit.
Yet she’d proven so adept during training, her assessments off the chart. Hunter felt he’d had no choice but to put her talents to the test.
The sleepless night had made her sluggish and slow, but the boils underneath her armor had taken up most of her valuable attention. She’d woken up with only an hour to spare before she had to meet her men and bolted for the healer for something to calm her mind.
They’d shown her the runes to help with those things.
The boils were back but large and hard to hide. Even harder for her to think about with the thousands of other things taking up valuable space on her plate. Once the ball came to an end and the clock struck morning, she’d have to spend serious time with Nora addressing these ailments.
There was no way Aven would get married with breakouts covering her skin. The boils only grew into masses of rash.
Nora remained behind, and two guards from Cillian’s personal squad escorted Aven down the stairs. The crown prince himself waited for her outside the massive throne room doors. Several couples milled around the expansive foyer with their heads dipped in laughter. Everywhere she looked was color and life, and Cillian stood out amidst it all. The moment he saw her, his eyes lit, a smile pulling his cheeks high.
He held out a hand to her.
“If I thought you stunning before, it’s nothing compared to how you look tonight, Aven,” he breathed, the compliment sending ripples of pleasure through her. “You’re a vision.”
Nora helped her dress in layers of chiffon and lace, the skirt like a puffy cloud around her lower half. The torso was divided into two bands of fabric that wrapped over her shoulders, across her breasts, and then spread over her waist to leave only a small diamond of skin around her navel bare.
Small crystals had been sewn throughout, creating a pattern like rippling waves, and the glitter echoed in the gems at her ears. The choker around her neck dropped in a single tear-shaped pearl.
Cillian wore a tunic in a matching shade of moonlight, and Aven knew both outfits had been chosen for a reason.
“You’re pretty handsome yourself.” She lifted her chin for a kiss. “You clean up nicely, Cillian.”
Her heart might actually slam right out of her chest, but Aven drew a breath, held it in her lungs. She’d make it through. She always did.
One last ball, the wedding, and then?—
She’d worry about the future later.
The dance was straight out of a dream come true. Aven’s chest clutched, insides going still. The twins would have flourished in this kind of setting. They’d have loved every single minute of this, from the swell of the music at her entrance and the following round of applause to the decorations.
Geleis would have settled over by the musicians and asked them dozens of questions about their craft while Iona worked the room, drawing in potential suitors for them to meet.
Fionn would be paired with an eligible human princess at this point. Emmett would rather spend his time boasting with the other lords and generals, knowing every pair of eyes from available ladies were turned in his direction.
Maeve? She’d make her excuses not to attend, too busy in her workshop pairing new herbal concoctions to bother with festivities.
Aven pushed aside all memories of her siblings.
There was only her, and this was her future.
She should be used to this by now. The finery and the pomp and circumstance. Cillian had introduced her to his world in small doses leading up to this point, and if she wanted to be part of it in any meaningful way, then she’d learn to love it. Rather than simply suffering through it.
The mental chastisement brought a smile to her lips, although it felt forced. Hopefully, no one else noticed the difference.
They’d have to look closely.
So far, no one had.
They didn’t care about her beyond what she represented for them, and maybe it had been fine. Until tonight.
Until the way everyone turned away from her when she walked, and it became a knife at her back with the point slowly pressing deeper beneath her skin.
“Excuse me for one moment, sweetheart.” Cillian kissed her cheek again and lingered there. “I’ve got to talk to my father about something. Enjoy yourself without me.”
“Oh, sure.” Even to her, the words sounded dry.
She watched Cillian make an easy path through the room and stop on the dais in front of King Donal. Within seconds, he was in deep conversation with his father, their two heads bent together and their voices low enough for them to be undisturbed.
Rather than make a nuisance of herself, Aven swept through the crowd determined to blend in. Much to her delight, no one stopped her to talk. Outside of a few overly loud words of congratulation, the nobles mostly left her alone.
Which suited her just fine.
The dancing fae became a whirlwind of color. Her heart beat faster as they drew her into their movement, batting her between them on her way from one side of the room to the other.
She had to stop thinking about them as completely separate. They were going to be her people soon enough. She’d be responsible for Mourningvale just like she was for Grimrose. A big responsibility.
Too big.
Unbearable.
Her chest constricted, and at once her heart began to race, blood pounding in her ears and her skin going hot and clammy at the same time. Aven lurched forward, overwhelmed and struggling to find her center when the room narrowed. Everything drew tighter against her, and she finally lurched into a wall, pressing her palm flat against the cool stone.
She sucked greedy air into her overtired lungs. There was no reason for a panic attack. Not now.
“It’s not right. And certainly far from fair.”
The male voice spoke her thoughts out loud. Aven turned toward Roran—she knew exactly who it was the moment he opened his mouth, damn him—and saw him standing in the shadows near a large sculpture of a curvaceous woman pouring a pitcher of water in a stream of marble.
“Of course it’s not fair,” another male answered. “But like you always say. Nothing is fair.”
Who was he talking to? One of the guards? Aven had no idea. She pressed herself back against the wall, hidden by the height of the statue on the pedestal. Did someone like Roran have friends? She’d only ever seen him alone or joking around with some of the soldiers, not actually interacting with anyone.
The way the two of them spoke, they sounded cozy. Familiar if not friendly.
She swallowed down a scoff at the thought of anyone liking Roran enough to want to be his confidant, and then pinched herself. She’d wanted to be more than friendly with him. Kissing him and more had crossed her mind on multiple occasions.
“You’re lucky enough he’s chosen to acknowledge you as the brother of his legitimate son,” the second male continued. “It’s not fair, but you got the better end of the deal. If you make any waves, then things are going to get bad for you, fast.”
Wait a minute … Roran wasn’t legitimate?
Shock rippled through her. With only the wall to steady her, she leaned hard into its weight, absorbing it as her own.
Roran growled. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I get enough pity from my brother. I don’t need you looking at me any differently.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m only saying it’s a raw deal. I’m agreeing with you, wretch.”
“It’s my life. It’s been my life since my mother left me on this bastard’s doorstep, and here we are. Celebrating the perfect golden boy’s perfect marriage.” Roran grunted, paused.
She shouldn’t stay there listening to his troubles. She shouldn’t be anywhere near him because she’d vowed to keep her distance, if only for the sake of appearances. No one wanted to see Cillian’s fiancée throwing herself at Roran and attempting to claw his eyes out.
Or worse. Bawling like a baby.
He got under her skin worse than anyone else, but at the moment, with this realization rocking her inner world, she was… sad for him.
True, King Donal hadn’t been obligated to make any kind of claim on Roran. Although it would be a decent thing to do. The kind of thing a good person would do, stepping up for the child they helped create.
No wonder Roran had a chip on his shoulder the size of the palace.
Rather than staying and risk him finding her where she didn’t belong, Aven hustled off with only the smallest swish of her skirt. It felt better to have a flute of champagne in her hands. To bury herself in a sip and let the bubbles burn their way down her throat and into her stomach.
Heat tickled her side, and when she looked up from her next sip, Cillian stood beside her wearing a radiant smile. “Sorry to be away for so long. Are you having fun?” He reached for her free hand and held it against him.
Aven nodded even though her gut hollowed out. “Sure,” she forced herself to say. “Although I’ve missed having you here.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Father wanted to talk about some last-minute additions to the wedding, and I had no choice but to lend him my ear. He’s putting all of this together for us, after all.”
Cillian gestured toward the room.
Yeah. For both of them. What a joke.
None of this was for her, and she knew it. She was the pawn being moved across the game board to ensure a win for whoever held her.
“What kind of additions?” she wanted to know.
Cillian chided her, clicking his tongue before he gently took her flute of champagne and set it down on the passing tray of a server even though she hadn’t finished. He took her in his arms and whisked her onto the dance floor, the two of them falling into a natural rhythm among the rest of the dancers. “I don’t want you wondering or worrying, Aven. Tonight is for us to celebrate! Our engagement means great things for everyone.”
“What did your father want?”
Cillian’s attention flickered to something over her shoulder, and two small lines furrowed between his brows before he looked down to her again. He smoothed the expression away as though it had never existed. “Details for the wedding. He wants to make sure everything is going to go off without a hitch. I assured him we are right on track.”
“There’s no need for him to worry. I’m sure you told him we’re on top of matters,” she insisted.
They better be for all the moments of the day they spent putting the plans together.
Cillian wanted things to be perfect.
Most women dream of the day and would agree with him immediately. Even Nora had spoken about her dreams for a wedding, once she found the right partner to spend the next few hundred years beside.
Her lady’s maid bubbled over with ideas for her future ceremony.
Maybe there was something wrong with Aven. She couldn’t care less. And maybe that was why she threw herself into the preparation. To prove to herself and everyone else she actually cared.
She did her best to enjoy the night.
Cillian moved her in circles across the floor, and her thoughts spiraled the same way, going around from the dance to Roran to the King and back again.
The dresses and the food, the music and the revelry, it felt very much like a fairy tale.
Eventually, it wore her down.
In the very best way, she decided, because she deserved joy in her life, even if it felt like trying to convince herself. She deserved fun and laughter and everything that came with a ball. Cillian spun her with his hands on the small of her back, and her head tilted back, drawing a laugh.
It didn’t matter what people said about her. Or what happened in Roran’s past and what it meant for the trajectory of his future. He said his mother had left him on the doorstep of the palace?
She wanted to know more.
Those were also issues for future Aven, if she chose to focus on them, and with more stressors stacking up by the minute, she wondered if she’d ever deal with them properly. Right then, in Cillian’s arms, with the world slowly tilting into the right direction, she felt?—
A burst of sound filtered into the ballroom past the music, a distinctive clash of steel against steel. Muffled shouts grew in volume until they became impossible to ignore even for her.
Cillian froze, his hands still on her waist and his eyes sharpening. Aven stopped spinning, although the room continued to do so for the longest time. Where were the noises coming from?
“What’s going on?” she asked Cillian.
“I don’t know.” He swept her behind him, his arm straight out to keep her from storming ahead. “Stay here.”
He didn’t understand her at all if he thought she was going to sit back.
Where he went, she did too, dogging his steps as they approached the door. She growled at the dress, bunching the skirt in one hand without a care for how it wrinkled the fabric.
Outside, the guards were engaged with a group of humans. Their dirtied tunics and pants hardly covered their skin. More like rags than actual clothing. None of them wore armor, and yet they lifted their weapons high. The various blades and rakes were rusted in places but still sharp, obviously used in their fields.
She pulled up short with the rest of her struggling to keep up. What was she seeing here? Once again, a band of humans had somehow managed to get across the territory line and into the palace.
“Increased security, my foot,” Cillian barked out.
“What are they doing here?” Aven muttered, her heart constricting in her chest and her throat going tight. Had the humans come for justice against the man and his son who’d been burned to death?
Cillian’s sensitive hearing made out her every word even with the yells from the group.
“Protestors. They don’t want this wedding to happen.”
What in the world?
One of the men, a clear leader of the band from the sword he carried, caught sight of her and broke out in a yell. The sound drew the attention of the other humans who did not pause in their skirmish with the fae.
“There she is! The traitor to our kind,” the man called out.
Before Aven managed to get another word out, the palace went on lockdown. The way it had the first time the humans managed to get past the defenses. How did this keep happening, and what would she have to implement to make sure they remained safe?
Cillian jostled the worries right out of her head as he scooped her up, flinging her over his shoulder and bolting rather than engage.
Even with his endless grace, the movements jolted her to the point where speech became impossible. It wasn’t in her nature to run and hide. Not when fighting had become second nature.
Did Cillian think these humans were so dangerous they had to run to avoid an attack?
Aven never got the chance to ask. Not when Cillian, Roran, and the King, along with a handful of nobles, all made their way from the ballroom like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Taking her with them against her will.