Chapter 32
32
“ T hings have been terrible since you left.” Her father took a step forward. “It’s been real work to attempt to rebuild what those beasts have destroyed. Not fun, or games, like planning a wedding. Have you thought about your family at all while you’ve lived this life of comfort?”
Aven knew seeing her father again would unhinge her on an integral level. Had known it even though she wanted to see him more than anything.
His taunts landed harder than she wanted and exactly the way she knew they would.
“Because I’ve thought of you, my only child,” King Fergus said. He swept his hair out of his face, and the scar on his skin stood out to attention—a red puckered line she stared at. “Every waking moment I’ve been struggling, trying to figure out a way to bring you back while helping our people. Just to learn that this is what you’ve chosen?”
She refused to cower in the face of his jibes.
“If you have thoughts on my nuptials, then say them out loud rather than beating around the bush.” She wouldn’t allow him to cow her. Intimidation was always the tactic he’d favored. “I notice you came alone, which means you anticipate an intimate conversation. So? Go ahead. Insult me more.”
Aven hadn’t moved from her spot.
King Fergus came to her and stopped with only a few inches separating them, close enough for her to make out the details of his jacket. He wore nothing to mark him as a ruler, but his bearing hadn’t changed. Despite the years added to him by grief, he managed to throw his shoulders back, paint a picture of absolute charisma and strength.
Her father didn’t need a crown to show his status. He breathed it.
“I miss you,” he admitted.
Gods, she missed him too. “Perhaps you should have thought about the consequences before you snuck here and stole a piece of the Darkroot,” Aven said instead. It came out in a rush.
Nothing changed on his face, and if he had any reaction to her spilling the truth, he gave no signs. “Who told you about that?”
She sucked in a breath. There was no excuse on his part. Nothing but stark honesty. “You stole from them and used it as a weapon. Why?”
“Why would I not? The war wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Their Tree of Magic makes the fae formidable foes.” He stalked around the table and drew his fingers along the spotless tabletop, his sneer mirrored on the surface. “We deserved to have the same advantages they do. Their power might have been weaponized and turned against them, but look where it brought us. An end to the war.”
“At what cost?” she pressed.
“It is the price of any battle, as you well know.”
“You act like you don’t even care about your children. They were the cost. And trust me, I’ve thought about them a lot. You have no idea how I’ve struggled to cope.”
“Of course I care about my children. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care, Aven. Did you not think I’d want to see you with your wedding only days away?” King Fergus pleaded. “I would rather we not be anywhere near this dreadful place. I’d rather you not marry that deplorable man?—”
“Don’t talk about Cillian,” she interrupted. “You don’t know him the way I do.” And he did care about her.
She gripped her skirt to do something with her hands. This meeting would have been better in her armor. She wasn’t used to seeing her father in a skirt. It brought home how greatly things had changed.
“You don’t have to do this. Aven, please. You have other options. Do not throw your life away to shackle yourself to a man who can never love you the way you deserve. The fae are monsters. Their cursed tree has corrupted them down to their hearts and soul. You won’t be happy?—”
“Stop.” She held out a hand to get him to quiet. Of course she had to go through with this. “You’re trying to turn things around on me like I’ll somehow overlook everything you’ve done. It’s impossible to ignore your sins or mine, and I know exactly what I’m getting into with Cillian. You’re not going to stop me.”
She had to make up for his sins. All the things he’d done against these people and the problems he’d caused, it was for her to rectify. She took the first steps, and now with the finish line looming closely ahead, she was unable to stop the momentum.
They were getting nowhere this way. Going around in circles.
Her father withstood the tension in the room for only a few moments longer than she did, every part of her shifting toward the door and ready to race out of there to resume the distance between them.
How had she thought anything would be different? Everything changed, but some things never would. There would always be a great yawning distance between them that nothing could breach.
Aven left the library breathless and close to tears, with the guards Cillian assigned her racing to keep up behind her.
King Fergus could go back to his castle and choke on his self-righteousness for all she cared. Aven stopped in the lobby and leaned hard on the banister, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Nothing about the meeting turned out the way she’d wanted to in her heart. She’d thought they might be able to talk like civilized people and air their grievances, maybe come together under the weight of the tragedy they shared.
But no. Her father had come here to make her feel guilty for her choices even though she felt she hadn’t had any.
Aven pushed away from the staircase and floundered blindly toward the open palace doors. She needed air. She couldn’t breathe; everything was starting to grow dark?—
“Whoa, hold on.” Arms came around her along with the cool scent of autumn woods and spicy cider. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Nowhere,” she said with a sniffle. “I’m clearly going nowhere. There’s always someone around to stop me.”
Roran wouldn’t let go of her. His arms banded around her back and pressed her to his chest, forcing her to inhale his ridiculously comforting scent.
“You’re going to run right into a pillar if you’re not careful. You’re crying hard enough to flood the palace and making enough noise to wake the dead.”
His tone might be mocking, but his hands were soft as they drew soothing circles between her shoulders. Roran refused to let go of her.
“I can’t stop.” Her chest constricted, making it harder to breathe. Disappointment, sorrow—all of it tangled together into a knot with no hope of unraveling. “I hate it. I hate doing this.” As soon as she acknowledged the tears, they flowed faster.
“Then cry it out, but make sure you’re in a safe spot. Come on. Let’s not embarrass you.”
“Embarrass me?” The thought of it had her cackling, but Roran refused to let her go or walk on her own. He hustled her out the doors and into a nook between the gardens, a small alcove in the stone wall providing a safe space to relax. The guards were out of sight thanks to a barked order from him, but she knew they were here somewhere.
Stone crunched under Roran’s boots before he deposited her physically on the bench.
“Talk,” he demanded.
He looked her over from head to toe, and Aven forced herself to do the same. He wore a warrior’s garb with lightweight leather and bracers. Maybe he thought her scrutiny laughable, as a suggestive smile curved his lips.
Aven rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to explain anything to you.”
He hated her.
Why would he care?
“I’m sorry to tell you, little princess, it doesn’t work that way. There is nothing you can do or say without me knowing. I’m giving you a chance to tell your story on your own terms. I’ll find out what happened one way or another.”
“I’m sure you already know, then, given your love of hiding in the shadows and stalking people.” She gave him a look that showed she knew exactly what he liked to do and jerked her chin. “Try not to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You look awful. In fact, you look like you’re ready to explode. Shout at me if it will make you feel better.”
She frowned at him. “Why do you even care?”
He braced his hands on either side of her in a ballsy move that brought his smiling face much too close to hers for comfort. “I’ve given you the impression I’m a callous prick, haven’t I? And I’ve done a wonderful job of convincing you it’s true. It’s one of my many talents. However, in this case, I see a person of interest crying, and I’m not so much of a prick to ignore it.”
“A person of interest,” she repeated, her hands fisted on her lap to keep herself from reaching out to touch him. “It almost sounds like you care.”
His eyes met hers, and she knew the answer without him having to say a word. “Talk,” he said again with more care.
“There are certain things better left unshared.”
“Your father said something to upset you. Didn’t he?” Roran shook his head and slowly backed away from her. “I knew it was a bad idea to bring him here. He’d stir up nothing but trouble.”
Her thoughts, although she’d been too convinced by the blinding need for family to give much merit to her doubts. Silence enveloped them, but not the chaotic quiet she expected. Instead, it felt calming, even with the words piling up inside of her.
“He told me I don’t need to go through with the wedding. Tried to convince me I was being played, basically.” Her pulse roared in her ears. “He wanted to leave immediately. I’m not even sure why he came here.”
“You’ll get through it,” Roran said with dismissive flippancy. “You always do. You need him like you need a wasp bite right on the rear.”
“He’s my family,” she reminded them both.
“You have other people around who care about you much more than he does. Nothing else matters. He doesn’t matter anymore.”
She stared at him. “Why are you even here, Roran? I thought we were avoiding each other.” Tucking away the pain of her encounter with her father took work and effort but felt a little easier with him around.
“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m finding it too hard to stay away from you. The same way I find trouble, I find you.”
He was close enough for them to breathe the same air. Aven reached for him, and her fingers grazed over the top of his hand. Roran felt solid, cool, and tense enough to shatter. She stroked down the length of his index finger before he turned to face her fully, and awareness slammed into her.
Rather than dealing with it, she pushed off the bench and ran without another word. Reeling, she ran all the way up to her bedroom to cry things out, burying her face in her pillow.
The rest of the days passed in a hazy blur of activity. She only caught glimpses of Roran around, although for the most part, he maintained his distance. There were no more stolen moments in the garden where she felt the earth shift beneath her feet.
The closer she got to saying I do , the more she felt?—
She was going to walk down the aisle toward the wrong prince.
Cillian might be a great person and a better friend, but he didn’t light the same kind of fire inside of her that Roran did. Despite the tough-guy act, she knew he did care about her. She saw it in his face when he looked at her.
No one looked at her the way Roran did. Not even Cillian.
Her heart knew the truth long before it caught up with her head.
They might have gotten off on the wrong foot, but she understood him much better now. They were very similar creatures.
The afternoon of the wedding, Aven stood outside the throne room doors with Nora at her side. Her wedding dress boasted a high collar and tight sleeves. She hadn’t been able to shake the sensation of being choked.
Nora took hours to get her ready for the event and transformed herself in the process. She’d done her hair in soft waves and dressed in what she’d explained was one of her finest gowns. The simple sheath of pretty boysenberry purple complemented the auburn strands.
An honor, Nora assured her, to be there for Aven on her special day.
The wedding was high security and extravagant. Even from here, the roar of the guests inside became a solid boundary of noise. Ants crawled in her veins rather than blood, and she bounced from foot to foot, unable to keep still.
Her choices had narrowed to Nora walking her down the aisle or the Fae King, and judging from their past interactions, Aven would rather slit her own throat than spend a moment longer than necessary with the crusty monarch and his threats.
He’d pushed her into this position from the beginning and had made it clear she would be forced to wed at least one of his two sons.
Roran lodged in her mind from sunup to sundown and every hour in between. She dreamed of him when she closed her eyes, and the relationship she’d assured herself had been dead and buried suddenly rose to life again.
Oh, the arguments they might have with one another. The verbal sparring and the small bits of information he dropped about himself that made her crave hearing the entire story. They had much more to learn about each other.
She made her choice.
So had he, and it wasn’t her.
Aven shook her head to clear it, and her excessively curled hair barely moved an inch.
Nora had to push her into motion once the doors opened and the orchestra struck out a lively beat to usher her down the aisle. Ahead of her, Cillian stood strong and handsome in traditional wedding garb. The white tunic showed off the sunny strands of his hair, and excitement brought twin dots of cherry color to his cheeks. Pleated white pants were starched into place and showed off the long lines of his legs.
His eyes were warm and bright where they met hers. He looked every inch the fantasy.
She should feel lucky.
Not terrified, with every step wooden and automatic. Nora practically dragged her along the red carpet at her feet.
The throne room had been filled to capacity with straight-backed chairs. Bodies filled every seat, and all of them were fae. There were no humans here. Her father turned tail and bolted back to his broken kingdom the moment the guards allowed. This time, none of the royal family escorted him out.
She knew he wouldn’t be returning.
The walls of the room began to shift inward again. Roran stood beside Cillian as his mirror opposite, and Aven stared at him, an anchor, but not one weighing her down.
It was her wedding day.
She’d thrown herself into the wedding festivities and made sure every element of the ceremony sent a message of unity.
Now she stifled a groan and couldn’t tear her gaze away from him.
No. She’d be fine. She had no choice but to be fine. The officiant would bless their marriage, and then everything would be solved.
Her throat constricted, her mouth going dry, and her hands shaking despite the smile plastered across her features. Apple blossoms and other delicate petals scattered where she walked, past the chairs flanking her, past the nobles whispering under their breath.
Cillian held out a hand for her, his arm steady.
He was always reaching back for her in one way or another.
She glanced at Roran and the concern in his eyes. His mouth went tight, and he took an imperceptibly small step toward her, his head angled like he wanted to speak.
Was he going to put a stop to this before they went too far? Before there was no backing out?
Would he speak up and halt everything? Did she want him to?
Please.
He took another step toward her, but Cillian didn’t notice his brother’s movement. His attention focused solely on Aven, with his lips pulled back in an ever-tightening smile. Did he know what went through her mind? Could he smell the terror on her? She had no way of knowing.
Her gaze fixed on Roran again, and whatever he saw when he looked over her, he nodded. Aven’s stomach hollowed out. More than anything, she wanted to let him do it.
She breathed his name inside her mind. Instead, she forced herself to shake her head, a small jerk of her chin. Telling him not to. Keeping him back.
She flicked her eyes back to Cillian’s and took his outstretched hand. She’d already made her choice. Even when her spine stiffened and the altar looked ready for sacrifice rather than marriage. She’d made her choice and she refused to change her mind now. Couldn’t be that selfish.
She forced herself to step beside Cillian and listen to the rattling and dry tones of the officiant as he walked them through the steps.
This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
Hah. What a joke.
Nothing was good. Nothing was right.