Chapter 54
Tonight’s banquet isn’t in the banquet hall, like usual. Instead, it’s on the palace greens. When we reach the marble steps descending into the revelry, we stop and wait as the crier announces us.
I stand there, holding Ash’s hand, wearing not a single glamour. It’s not unlike my first night in Faerie, when Ash threw that revelry to celebrate our marriage. The night multiple people tried to kill me—likely to please the High King and bring him into their debt.
Nothing has changed. And yet, everything has.
The traditional color of Lulythinar’s Eve is midnight blue—the color of the almost full moon’s missing sliver. Apparently, everyone wears the color tonight, and then tomorrow night, at the culmination of the celebration, there is a masquerade ball.
Ash guides me down the steps, supporting me so I don’t accidentally trip over my gown. It always surprises me when I look down and find locks of silver hair falling over my shoulder. As though hearing my thoughts, he says, “The silver is lovely, but I confess I prefer the natural color of your hair.”
“Oh, I do too, but this color suits the overall look much better. I never would have thought of it if Dottie hadn’t suggested it. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He shrugs, smiling softly. “Maybe. I still like your natural color more.”
And then he looks at me, and perhaps it’s just how breathtakingly handsome he is, or his expression, or the knowledge that after tonight is over—assuming nothing goes wrong—I will slip under the covers of his bed and fall asleep in his arms, but for several heartbeats, I cannot breathe.
“What is Lulythinar celebrating again?” I ask, breaking our gaze to take in the trees strung with lumiral globes, the rings of dancing horned fae, the half-eaten faerie fruit scattering the green grass, the High King sitting on a throne amid the throng, his sad wife standing with bowed head and folded hands beside him.
“Magic across all the worlds waxes and wanes with the moon.” Ash’s gaze follows mine to where Faradir drains a goblet and trades it for a full one, sloshing the liquid in his impatience. “In the human world, a moon’s cycle is a month. Here, it cycles every hundred years. Even those beyond the Veil feel the shift in the magic. The human world feels it too, just to a lesser degree with its lack of magic.”
With that, he signals a human servant over and takes two flutes full of sparkling gold liquid off his tray. My heart starts pounding when he dumps one of them in the grass and, just like last night, refills it with apple juice. Everyone knows he won’t be taking chances now that it’s rumored I’ve been poisoned once already.
But just as I am accepting the glass, a voice I never like to hear calls: “Prince Trenian!”
Ash turns, taking my elbow with his free hand and drawing me halfway behind his back. The moment Princess Listhra stumbles up to him, almost knocking into his shoulder, I’m glad for it. Her eyes shine too brightly, like twin suns at noon. She catches hold of the front of Ash’s tunic, trying to drag his face down to hers. He doesn’t move an inch, but his grip on me tightens.
“I don’t know what you did,” she snarls. “But I am going to—”
“Oh dear, it looks like someone isn’t quite in their right mind,” a new, sweet voice interrupts. I turn just as Princess Oleria appears out of nowhere, takes Listhra by the shoulder, and somehow manages to pull her off Ash without seeming at all graceless. Perhaps it’s because she does it with a laugh, catches Listhra as she stumbles again, and turns to wink at us. “Do forgive her. A few dunks in the waterfall should be just the thing to sober her up.”
She flutters her beautiful wings lightly and prances off with Listhra, who is quick to turn her snarl on her rescuer.
I hold my flute of apple juice with a sweat-slicked hand, unsure if I should drink now, or wait. I don’t want to be nervous, but I cannot help it. Ash told me what to expect, so it’s not as though I will be blindsided. Still, it won’t be fun or easy.
But when I look up at Ash, his gaze follows Oleria and Listhra as they disappear, a new glint in his eye. That cunning gaze shifts to me and my flute of apple juice.
He looks like he’s just found the last piece to a puzzle I didn’t know he was building.
Then he takes my arm and purposefully draws me into the thickest crowd of celebrating fae. Someone shrieks in delight far too close to my ear, others whirling past me in some strange dance, and more so drunk they’d put Prince Brochfael to shame. I stick a little closer to Ash and cling to my flute of juice, making sure it stays far away from anyone who could actually try to slip something into it.
When Ash grips my waist and gives me a sudden twirl, I force a laugh—just as he’s forcing a wicked grin. He drags me in for a kiss, and the surrounding people explode in a cacophony, some approving, others disapproving. At that, both of our smiles widen in genuine amusement.
Then he holds out his glass, clinks it on mine with a laugh. “It’s Lulythinar’s Eve! Let’s celebrate!”
Only I notice the darkness in his eyes when I clink my glass against his . . . and drink.