18. Isla
18
ISLA
F orget poisoning Shoshair and strutting into Konstantin’s private steam bath practically naked, this takes the cake, the icing, the cherry on top, and the serving stand.
Think before you speak, Isla. Think. Think. Think.
By the time Izolda releases me to embrace her brother, he has fully composed himself, while I remain chagrined goo inside my metaphorical cauldron. I’d been reluctant to tell Izolda the real reason her brother and I were studying Konstantina’s engagement ring, since it came with a generous serving of messed-up prophecy. But surely, I could’ve come up with something better than: It happened just after ?
“Well, go on. Let’s see if the ring fits,” she chirps. “It probably will, since you’re mates.”
Her logic leaves much to be desired, since the Cauldron can’t exactly resize rings from afar, but I don’t debate her point. I’m still beating myself up over the fact that I caved and admitted to a nonexistent mating bond.
I contemplate stripping her mind of the memory, but the last and only time I performed that spell, Elio not only forgot about the trial kiss we shared (we were twelve and wanted to accrue experience for our first real kiss) but also his name. It took Taytah’s blood, dripped into a thimble of Cauldron water, to restore his memory.
“Actually, I intended to present it to Isla at tonight’s gathering. If that’s all right with you, Iz?”
“Oh my Gods, of course! It’ll make the gala extra fantastic.”
Her grin becomes so incandescent that I have to look away. And not because it hurts my eyes but because it hurts my heart. I don’t like lying to my friends, which is what I consider the king’s sister.
She presses her palms together in prayer. “Can I tell Aodhan? Pretty please?”
“Wait until Isla has spoken to her parents, all right?”
Her hands drop. “You haven’t told your parents yet, Isles?”
I swallow—a heavy, sinking gulp—as I picture Dádhi’s reaction. And Jaytair’s. Skies, they were going to ship me back to Luce and put me under round-the-clock supervision. Which could work in my favor, since I really shouldn’t be left to my own devices.
“You’re the first to know, sister,” Konstantin announces with a great deal of effusion, since I’ve yet to muster any. “Don’t mind my mate. She’s still in shock.” He peers down at me. “She cannot believe her luck.”
“Ah, yes,” I mutter. “So lucky.”
“Hey, Iz, can you give us a few minutes?” he asks.
She laughs. “Take as many minutes as you need.” As she backs up toward the door, she waggles her eyebrows.
The instant the door shuts, Konstantin snaps the lock in place with a click of his fingers.
“Why couldn’t you have done that earlier?” I gripe, sagging against his desk, while driving the heels of my palms into my eyes.
“ Foolish me . Why didn’t I think of locking you in this room with me? What an oversight.” The sarcasm that rolls off his tongue has me sighing.
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have appreciated it.” After another plaintive moan, I lower my hands to the lip of the desk and white-knuckle it with frustration. “I considered telling her about the prophecy—about how I wear the ring when I murder your vengeful niece—but I imagined, since you didn’t want to enmesh Ilya, that you wouldn’t want her involved either.”
“You’re right. I prefer none of my siblings find out about Mestyla until we understand what she’s after.”
I push away from the desk. “I’ll go ask Taytah to scrub Izolda’s memory?—”
“No.”
“She thinks we’re mates,” I hiss.
“You say you panicked, but what if it was the Cauldron that spoke through you?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not its keeper. It doesn’t speak through me, or to me.”
“I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, Miss Ríhbiadh.”
“Interesting words coming from a man who swears by strategy.”
“We live in a world governed by magic. Is it so far-fetched to indulge in a little superstition?”
I thumb the rim of my collarbone, which stammers with troubled heartbeats. “Except, I don’t think you realize what this means.”
“That we must pretend to like one another?”
“ Like ?” I snort. “If only. We’ll need to feign being obsessed with each other. Have you never observed your sister and Aodhan?”
He shrugs. “Every now and then, we’ll lock eyes and throw out a compliment or two.”
I watch him closely, hunting for… I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for.
“Aodhan and Izolda don’t spend all their waking moments making eyes at each other.”
“Not even at the beginning?” I challenge him.
He purses his lips. “I was busy ruling a kingdom.”
“Well, allow me to educate you on all things mates.”
His expression flattens. No one enjoys being lectured, especially kings.
“Forgive me if I sound condescending, but I need you to realize how impossible this would be for us to pull off. Not only would we have to spend an absurd amount of time together, but we’d also need to pretend to enjoy it.”
When I grimace, the Ice King’s stance hardens like frost-kissed steel.
“And let’s not forget—mates can communicate without words. How do we fake that , Vizosh?”
“Locking eyes will sell the illusion. We’ll just throw in a nod here and snort there.”
Intent on making him see reason, I go for stronger arguments. “Mates are extremely tactile.”
“Most Faeries aren’t.”
I sidle back against his desk and cross my arms. “Let me rephrase myself: mates are extremely tactile.”
“You just repeated the very same thing.”
“Because you didn’t seem to grasp it the first time. Mates—whatever their nature—have a devastating need to hold the other at all times and in all circumstances. Your sister knows that better than anyone.”
“You didn’t seem enthusiastic about being touched back on the ship.”
“I was vexed. My ego has made a full recovery.”
A shadow of amusement grazes his lips. “Glad to hear it.”
“How are you so calm right now?”
“I just feel like my odds of dismemberment by a member of your family have dropped significantly now that you bound us in magical matrimony instead of me. Plus, I summoned you here with the objective of marriage, remember?” A blade of evening sun carves across his face, illuminating his irises that carry the same pearlescence as the silver embroidery adorning the standing collar of his military suit, and the same icy sheen as the platinum buttons sealing the jacket to his chest.
I close my eyes, squeeze them tight, tight, tight. This must be another nightmare. Has to be. I can’t be fake mated. I just cannot.
“I’ve never hated fungi so much in my entire life,” I mutter.
“I’m at a loss as what to do with that declaration, aside from forbidding my cooks to use it for the foreseeable future.”
I laugh, but only because it beats crying. “That’s how I ended up here. Because of fucking fungi.”
“ Fucking fungi ,” he repeats, his tone soft.
“I poisoned my beloved grandmother with some,” I feel the need to explain.
“May you never become fond of me.”
“I don’t think there’s much of a risk there, but, out of curiosity”—I reel my lids back up—“ why ?”
“Well, if you poison your loved ones, what horrors do you reserve for your foes?”
I blink at the male standing before me, and then I laugh— again . His lips curl in something dangerously close to charm, which causes me to reconsider my stance on his awfulness.
However charming he is, though, he’s still not my mate. “Where were we?”
“You were explaining the inevitability of touching.”
“Right.” For some reason—possibly the intensity of his stare—my lungs require another deep and prolonged intake of air. “We’ll need to handhold often.”
“Can’t we just walk arm in arm?”
I shoot him a look that makes his lips roll. “You had no trouble holding my hand yesterday.”
“Fine,” he says.
To set limits—and maybe, to fluster him a little—I say, “There will be no fondling of breasts.”
Sure enough, a wash of color rises up his neck and tinges his jaw.
Quite enjoying his discomfiture, I take it a step farther. “Perhaps an ass squeeze, if the moment calls for it, but hand-jobs whilst sitting on one’s throne are off the table.”
When the blush swims up to the tips of his ears, I almost regret needling him, but then I spot a serpentine vein thudding at his temple, and I realize it isn’t mortification that’s warped his skin tone but annoyance.
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you, Miss Ríhbiadh?”
I let him wonder, even though, yes, I am. “On the subject of fucking…”
His pink cheeks hollow. “I’m not interested in having sexual relations with you.”
Could he sound anymore repulsed?
“Trust me, I’m not either. I like my men more… colorful .” In looks, but mostly in personality. “What I was going to ask was, what do we do should we meet someone we are interested in having sexual relations with?” For example, my real mate.
“As long as you wear my ring, I’ll ask that you stifle your sexual urges, for I don’t want to be made a fool of.” Pinning me with his stare, he asks, “Do you deem yourself capable of abstinence until the prophecy plays out?”
Prick. “It’ll be a feat, but I’ll give it my all.”
His eyelids spasm. “Any other matter you’d like to address?”
“Kissing.”
“No.”
I snort. “Every mated pair I know kisses in public.”
“I’m a private person. I would never kiss anyone in public.”
“I suppose Vance and Imogen never make out,” I muse, thinking of the lethal Serpent and Crow mates. “But I’m not like Imogen. I’m more like your sister— effusive .”
He stares at me in horror.
“Finally on board with me asking my grandmother to erase Izolda’s memory?”
“No.”
“It won’t harm her. And Taytah won’t remove more than the ring scene.”
“If we ever need to kiss, we’ll kiss,” he says through lips stretched so tight, it’s a wonder his diction is so clear.
Oddly enough, I picture his mouth slanting over mine, and it catapults heat into my extremities instead of disgust. Freaking heat. I blame my year-long dry spell for my body’s reaction.
“From this evening onward, we’ll sit side by side at every function—official or otherwise.”
“ From this evening onward ?” I parrot. “It’s not yet winter.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but would mates—especially new ones— choose to spend time apart?”
“If they’re mated to posturing ice pricks, then yes,” I mumble.
My insult misses its intended mark—his ego—hitting his lips instead. Curling them. “ Posturing ice pricks ? Did I earn my nickname because I have a prick and rule over a land covered in ice?”
“The prick part is because you’re arrogant,” I explain.
“Ah, yes. I’m often told to curb my despicable superiority complex.”
I cannot decide what to think of this sarcastic—sometimes-insecure, oftentimes-irritating—specimen.
With a sigh, he says, “So long as you do not brand me a poltroon like the rest of my people, I can bear it.”
My heart clatters. “You ended your beloved sister’s life. A coward would’ve either pitched the task onto another or found a loophole to avoid meting out justice.”
He traces the intricately carved slats in his parquet flooring as though it were his sister’s bleeding form instead of an ornate snowflake.
Before he can get bogged down in his disheartening past, I steer him back to the present moment. “After the gala, I’ll head home.” When he looks up, I add, “To pack. Even if I still think pretending to be mates is a disaster in the making, wearing the ring of some random man?—”
“ Random ?” Konstantin echoes, evidently displeased by his sudden demotion.
“ Who isn’t my mate ,” I clarify. “It would be completely improbable.”
“So, you’ll do it?” His voice carries a hint of surprise.
“What Cauldron wants, Cauldron always gets. Anyway, I’ll head home to pack and then?—”
“No need. We have tailors, cobblers, and specialty shops aplenty in Glace.”
“However thrilled to hear that your economy is booming, I’m quite attached to my earthly possessions.”
“All right.”
I drum my fingers against my bicep. “Are you planning on making me move into your quarters?”
His neck snaps very straight. “No. Betrothed couples don’t share a bed before marriage. They hardly share one after . I’ll put you up in the room beside mine.” His gaze slides to the wall behind me, which I imagine separates both rooms.
“Does it have direct access to your quarters?”
“In the past, but I’ve had the door sealed.”
So, no impromptu visits? That’s a relief.
“My parents will need to know it’s a farce. Naeva and my grandparents, as well. We’re a very tight-knit bunch. I’d hate to lie to any of them. Not that I’d get away with it anyway.”
“As long as they keep our secret, that’s fine.”
“Will you be telling any of your siblings eventually?”
Konstantin smooths his palms over a manbun that is so casual, I suspect he might have tied it himself. “Eventually.”
“What about Aodhan?”
“If Aodhan knows that we’re playing at being mates, so will Izolda. He’s terrible at keeping secrets from her. Best if I build on your lie that the bond slipped into place sometime last night.”
“I’ll warn my family not to broadcast the news. Last question—for now. What am I supposed to do during my time in Glace?”
“Act like you’re infatuated with me.”
I raise a single eyebrow. “That was a serious question.”
“What do you usually do in Luce?”
“I participate in Siorkahd meetings. I help prepare meals in the Market Tavern. I oversee various projects in the human lands. I visit the needy and the sick. I help my grandmother tend to her garden. Or rather, I keep her company by filling her in on all the latest gossip while she tends to her garden, since I’m endowed with the opposite of green thumbs. I have regular lessons in spellcasting and”—I swap the words reading and writing for—“foreign tongues.”
His brow ruffles.
“Were you expecting that I shopped, attended balls, and lazed in bed whilst stuffing my cheeks with sweets?”
“Yes.”
I can’t even hold it against him, seeing as he’s a Faerie noble, and that’s the way of the wealthy purelings. “Look, I understand if you don’t invite me to roundtables with your board of governors. However, I would like to be given useful endeavors, preferably of my choosing, but I’ll be glad for any mission.”
“Fine, but nothing that endangers you physically or mentally.”
“How sweet that you’re worried about my safety and sanity.”
“I’m not a monster.”
His words toss me back to the ship. To Taytah telling me that my mate… no , the owner of the ring wasn’t a monster. To think she’d known I was going to be tied down to Konstantin one way or another. Did my parents know as well, or had my grandparents kept the new details from them? Wouldn’t my father have stormed back had he heard?
I glance up at Konstantin’s skylight.
“The instant the prophecy comes to pass, we’ll put an end to our ruse,” he says.
He makes our ruse sound so easy…so harmless. “Izolda’s going to be so disappointed.”
“And probably angry, but once she understands why we partnered up, she’ll forgive us.”
“I don’t even know why we’re partnering up.”
“Because the Cauldron wants us to.”
I sigh. “I’ll take that bargain now.”
He cants his head. “You already accepted the partnership.” He must sense I’m one second away from flashing into my grandmother’s chamber and asking her to sort through Izolda’s mind, because he says, “Fine. One bargain. Play the part of my loving betrothed until the prophecy comes to pass, and I will owe?—”
“Drop the adjective loving .”
He works his jaw.
“And add that you’ll never flirt with other women whether I’m around or not.”
“I don’t flirt .” He emphasizes the word as though it were a filthier act than sex.
“Faerie kings aren’t exactly known for being paradigms of monogamy and fidelity.”
Anger swells that vein at his temple again. “Your mother’s people have harems!”
“ Had .”
Though not officially abolished, ever since the advent of Serpent shifters, harems are rarer.
“But that’s beside the point since I’m a half-shifter. If you’re to play the part of my mate, all I ask is that you play it convincingly. In public and in private.”
His nostrils flare.
“You did ask the same of me,” I remind him.
I’m expecting a retort, but what I get instead is the bargain, repeated with all the requested addendums.
“Does my wording suit you this time, or do you necessitate me to include yet another clause?”
I smile, unraveling the knot of my robe. “Just my name.”
“What are you doing?”
I let the robe settle in the crook of my elbows, then gather my hair in a twist to move it away from my shoulders. “I want nothing to hinder the sight of your promise sinking into my flesh.” When he remains silent, I glance his way. “Well, go on.”
His pupils are so huge they’ve gulped down his irises.
“Less ogling, more oathing, Vizosh.”
His lashes slam down. “I wasn’t ogling. I was not .” He raises his hand to his taut nape and massages it.
As he reiterates his oath and punctuates it with my name, I think of my parents again. I pray that obtaining another bargain to lord over their fellow monarch will erase some of their displeasure at my latest blunder.
The golden band appears, sparkling vividly before dimming.
“Let the ruse begin,” the Ice King murmurs.
I refasten my robe and start toward his door, impatient to get away, if only to sit down and process all that’s happened. “I’ll go get dressed and meet you at the gala.” When I catch his gaze dipping down my legs, I snort. “You didn’t actually think I’d attend in a silk chemise, now, did you?”
His steel eyes return to my face as he pockets his ring box and meets me at the door. “I’ll admit that I’m never quite certain what to think when it comes to you.”
I smile. “How many regrets are you having right now?”
Without even a beat of hesitation, he says, “None.” He unlocks the door and pulls it open. “After you.”
Izolda is standing just outside in the hallway, discussing something with a sprite. When we appear, she whirls in our direction. I glance at Konstantin’s hand. He glances at mine. He starts to lift his fingers. I start to move mine. Thankfully, we’re saved from having to clasp hands by his sister, who threads her arm through mine and hauls me forward.
“He’s my brother, so I shouldn’t want to know a single detail, nevertheless, the romantic in me wants to know all the details.”
My mouth goes dry, and my heart…it bangs with guilt.
“Well, maybe not all the details.” Her nose furrows, and she laughs while I keep rotting from within.
In front of my door, Izolda kisses me on both cheeks, reiterates how happy she is, then takes her brother’s arm and urges me not to dally.
I plan on dallying. A lot. And I do. First in front of Alyona’s portrait, which I consume detail by detail, then in the walk-in closet with Naeva as I relay my newest epic mess. By the time I’m done narrating the last hour beat by beat, my cousin’s mouth is so slack it could probably fit a corpulent sprite.
“Well, that’s going to be entertaining to watch,” she muses.
“Yeah. Like a shipwreck.”
She snorts. “I cannot wait for your first public display of affection.”
“I’m fake mated to a Faerie king with the sexual drive of a popsicle, so there will be no public or private displays of affection. Will you still stay in Glace with me? Pretty please?”
“Even though I’m deeply disappointed by the news of no PDA,” she says with a theatrical sigh, “I’ll stay for as long as I can. I mean…days of complete darkness? Lawless antimorphs? A gruesome murder? What’s not to look forward to?”
I both grimace and laugh. “What is my life?”
“A never-ending adventure. A legend in the making.” Naeva wraps me in a hug.
And just like that, my writhing stomach settles and the ruse in which I’ve mired myself becomes much less daunting.
But then a voice resonates between my temples and crumples my newfound tranquility.