Chapter 4 #5
“Then it works on the same lines as an Annwfyn bridge?”
“Similar, but a liminal space is anchored in this world rather than being the connection between two worlds.” He waved a hand. “Did you never wonder why we royal dark elves were the only people who could open and close the gateways?”
“Not really, though I did think it unfair that it was only your people who held the task of guarding them.”
He half laughed, a warm sound that was nevertheless edged with just a trace of bitterness.
“There are few enough who thought even that. We have been patrolling and repairing the gateways for as long as they have existed, thanks to a godly game that anointed our ancestors the only ones capable of doing so.”
“But you’ve discovered other uses for it, obviously.”
“We do have a rather well-deserved reputation for lascivious behavior.” His voice was dry and yet there was an edge to it that spoke of barely contained emotions.
“Our ability to invite those we wish to seduce into a liminal space to ensure complete anonymity while the seduction occurs is certainly a key ingredient to that reputation.”
“I thought the bracelets were rare, and only gifted to a favorite lover or to wives?”
“They mostly are.”
“‘Mostly’ being defined as whoever you fancied at the time?”
He laughed, a rich, warm sound that ran over my skin as sweetly as any caress, fanning the fires of wanting to greater life. “There are always those who take advantage of a situation or a gift, but remember, we, unlike the Ljósálfar, are monogamous once married. Until then? Life is to be enjoyed.”
“That sounds like you think marriage cannot be.”
“What I think is it depends entirely on who you marry and why. A marriage of the heart is a very different matter to one of State and necessity.”
Which was why he was determined to seek the former rather than the latter, even if it broke with royal tradition. “What type of marriage did your parents have?”
“The latter, of course, because the choosing is usually part of the crowning ceremony and neither had lost their hearts to others. But they did grow fond of each other, and my father deeply grieved her death.” He paused, once again seeming on the verge of saying something before changing his mind.
“I want more than fondness out of my marriage, Bethany. I have grown up in that environment, and as much as I loved my parents, I will not inflict it on any children I might be blessed enough to have.”
“And yet you are the crown prince, and you have a duty to your people.”
“I would rather walk away from both than be trapped in a loveless marriage.” He thrust a hand through his dark hair. “But all this is nothing more than conjecture until the Tears are found.”
“The possibility of you breaking my heart is not conjecture, Cynwrig. It is fact.”
His hand flexed, and just for a second, his turmoil echoed through me, sharp and fierce. Nothing showed in his face however, which remained impassive.
“If you do not wish to continue the sexual nature of our relationship, I will understand. I won’t like it, but I will understand. If that is your choice, however, I will ask that you keep the Bruadar on your wrist, as it will give you an escape ‘room’ if you ever need it.”
“Will keeping it on affect the way it works?”
“No. In fact, until this relationship is ended, you will not be able to take it off. The magic will not allow it.”
“Well, that’s just fine and dandy,” I growled. “What if I want to do something personal? What if I want to be with Eljin at some point?”
His eyebrows rose. “At some point? Does that mean your relationship with him has cooled?”
“It does not.”
“Shame.”
I scowled at him. He looked totally unperturbed.
“To answer your question,” he continued, after a beat, “you can do as you wish. The Bruadar is not a tracer, and it will not spy on your activities. It was developed to do nothing more than bring you to this liminal space.”
I glanced down at it for a moment. “How does it work if you’re trying to contact me?”
“The stars will spin. If you wish to accept the call, simply say so, and we will meet here.”
“And if I want to refuse the call?”
“You simply say ‘reject call.’”
I hesitated. “And this place? Are there any restrictions on how long we can stay here?”
“Aside from the fact that there is neither food nor water here aside from what we might bring in, no.”
“There’s no bed, either, from what I can see.”
His soft chuckle held the faintest edge, but it nevertheless had delight skittering down my spine, warming me in all the right places. “As I have said, we have not yet fashioned it to our wills. I suspect you are not quite ready to do that yet.”
I wanted to. I wanted him. But the fear remained.
While I had no doubt our sexual relationship would continue sooner rather than later, if for no other reason than the fact I was an absolute idiot, I just…
wanted to delay the inevitable heartbreak just a fraction longer.
I doubted I’d ever be able to harden my heart to it, though. Or to him.
When I didn’t answer, he added, “I shall begin investigations into those who attended and work up a list of suspects. It may take me a day or so, but once a day, we shall meet here, if you wish, and discuss the matter.”
I couldn’t help arching an eyebrow. “Just discuss?”
“That, my dearest Bethany, is entirely up to you.”
“I have dinner with Lugh and Darby tomorrow night, so if it is done by then, don’t call early.”
He bowed in formal acknowledgement of the request then stepped back and said, “Leave.”
And with little fanfare, he did so, leaving me alone in the darkness and cursing the fucking fear that had stopped me taking what I so desperately wanted.
I drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then, like him, said, “Leave.”
And found myself back in the bedroom, alone and aching.
Serves me right, I thought.
I stripped off, climbed back into bed, then tried to sleep.
It took a long, long time to find me.
But when it did, it came with dreams. Or maybe they were nightmares, because they were filled with the bitter taste of deception and death. Nothing was really clear, nothing beyond two things. A knife, flashing down into the flesh of a red-haired woman—a woman who now had a face. Mine.
But that wasn’t the worst of it, because this time the dream included a calendar clock, ticking down.
If it were to be believed, death would find me in a little under nine months.