59. Konstantin
59
KONSTANTIN
A n hour into our southbound flight, the horizon shucks its cobalt cloak for a frock of quartz and gold. Colors I haven’t seen in months. They gild my mate’s onyx feathers and enrich her violet irises.
From where I sit astride Colm’s back, I fill my eyes with the sight of her carving across the canvas of dawn. She is so majestic. All Crows are, but there is something otherworldly about Isla. Something ethereal. Precious.
She is the air in my lungs, the magic in my blood, the singular point around which I orbit. She is laughter on the wind and moonlight on the water.
Practicing your vows? she quips.
I’m so entranced that the only thing I can manage is a swallow. I cannot bend my lips into a smile or bend my thoughts into words. Aside from the ones I’ve been tossing at the Cauldron, begging it to deem me worthy of staying Isla’s mate.
She drifts closer, her bejeweled stare scrolling over me. Konstantin Korol, I know you don’t always trust the women in my family, but please trust me when I tell you that we’re headed to Shabbe for a blood-bind, not for a reckoning.
As the brisk air engulfs itself into my bound locks, ravaging the braid she wove for me before leaving Glace, I sigh. I know.
My tonality, it appears, is too weak for her liking. I can tell by the way she keeps pace with Colm during the rest of the trip, stealing glances at my expression every time I look elsewhere than at her.
By midday, the Kingdom of Crows burgeons on the horizon, cracking through the surf like a serpent…swelling…spilling. The colors are so bright they’re almost painful to behold.
Although I don’t envy Lorcan, adoring my kingdom of aquamarine ice and emerald forests, of sapphire oceans and diamond snow, of black sand and russet timber, I sometimes worry that Isla will find its palette lacking, having grown up with so much more variety.
Who would have ever thought that the formidable Ice King could be riddled with so many insecurities? she muses. I love you and your kingdom.
My ribs unclench just the slightest bit, allowing the organs beneath to fill with blood and breath. Our kingdom. All that is mine is yours. All that I am is yours. All that I will ever be is yours.
I hear her scrape in a rickety breath, and then she’s fragmenting into her shadows and swirling toward me, reappearing in skin on Colm’s back, knees notched against mine, lambent gaze fastened to mine. She loops her arms around my neck and draws my mouth to hers. I let go of Colm’s feathers to trap her waist.
Do you know that I’ve never kissed someone in midair? she says.
I’m honored to be your first.
She smiles. Too soon, her body loses its solid edges, only to recover them anew, this time tucked in between my thighs, her spine to my heart, her cheek cradled against my throat.
“Is it not too much for Colm to carry us both after such a long haul?”
“No. I checked. I didn’t want him listing.” After a beat, she says, “I would’ve caught you.”
“Glad to hear it.”
I circle her waist with one arm, keeping my other hand on Colm’s scruff. The trip to Shabbe winks by. Too soon we’re diving past its pink ramparts with its upside-down waterfalls and descending toward its scooped heart.
The heart of our entire world.
When we land, Isla’s family is already gathered in the courtyard. I thank Colm before he joins his mate, who carried Elio, while Lachlano carried my sister. I shed my coat, draping it over the extended arms of a Shabbin attendant, whose nose wrinkles at the brush of white fur.
What a fucking idiot I am. Wearing fur in a land where animals are so sacred that they’re never hunted. Not for their meat. Not for their hide.
“Sorry,” I tell the man in heavily accented Shabbin.
His eyebrows gather on his sun-burnished skin.
“For wearing…” I nod to the garment.
His reply is so brisk that I only glean two words. Animal. Use .
Isla fishes my hand from where I’ve balled it at my side and pries my fingers wide. “He says that if the animal hide is put to noble use, then the creature did not die in vain.”
“That’s comforting, though I still regr… When did you have time to change?”
“While you were gawking with great trepidation at the Cauldron.”
“I was not— fine . Yes. I admit I’m a tad frightened by it.” I drink in the shimmer of my mate’s racy gown. “You are wearing a dress, right? The diamonds aren’t pressed to your skin?”
She tosses her raven locks off her shoulder, then hooks a finger into what I imagine must be fabric, even though it resembles a second layer of skin. “Phoeppa designed it. And no, it’s not some human hide pricked through with sky-blue rhinestones; it’s extremely stretchy fabric.”
“Great Mórrígan, look at you,” the designer in question claps as he walks over, wearing head-to-toe citrine. “Stunning. A jewel of the north.” He leans over to kiss her cheeks and murmurs, through a large smile, “Your father positively hates it.”
Isla laughs, then knocks her head toward me and says, “I’m not entirely certain that my mate likes it either.”
I like it, I growl, my blood warming, and not because of the sun sloshing over us.
Isla arcs a brow.
I merely hope your parents cannot tell how much I like it.
She grins.
“It’s stunning, Phoebus,” I tell him. “A work of art, just like the woman wearing it.”
The tall blond Faerie fans himself. “Swoon.”
Meriam and Fallon swish toward us in gowns as pink as their eyes. Fallon embraces her daughter, her stare glittering like Isla’s strategically-placed rhinestones. As they hug, I check that all strategic places are well and truly covered.
“Are you ogling my granddaughter’s behind?” Cathal’s deep grumble rolls across my shoulders and pinches my neck.
“She’s my mate.”
He languidly strokes the head of a black feline tucked in the crook of his arm. How surprising to witness such a big man with such a delicate pet. Then again, I suspect even a tendu cub would appear delicate nestled in Cathal Báeinach’s arms.
“Still my granddaughter.”
I hold his challenging stare, then sigh. “If you must know, I was checking that her dress wasn’t missing any crystals.”
“Ah. Her father’s doing the same.” Cathal smirks while his little feline friend purrs in contentment.
I snort as I glance in Lorcan’s direction, finding him listing toward Behati, deep in conversation with both the seer and the Shabbin Queen. The Crow must feel my stare because his golden irises fix on me before venturing toward the Cauldron and finally toward his daughter. The frown that pleats his brow feels like a fork wedged between my ribs, scraping at the drumming muscle within.
“Welcome, Konstantin,” Meriam says, clasping my head and stare.
The first time she’d touched me, I’d jolted. But then Isla had explained that her great-grandmother’s plan was to deliver a blessing. So I’d relaxed and was blessed.
I probe the Shabbin’s expression for agitation as she murmurs, “You will scale to great heights today.”
I’m so concentrated on her face that her words only register once she’s released me and is walking away.
What did you get? Isla asks.
That I will scale to great heights today, though considering the way your father is looking at me, I’m a tad worried about what will happen once I reach this lofty altitude.
You. Are. Safe.
Am I, though?
“Approach the Mahananda, children,” Behati says.
“Children,” I scoff as Isla threads her arm through mine.
“Compared to her, even you are a babe,” she says, her tone not quite as smooth as usual.
As we walk, I concentrate on the pulse point at her neck, which quakes with brisker beats.
Did your father say anything?
What?
You weren’t nervous before…
I’m not nervous. She smiles. I’m excited . Stop projecting. And stop being nervous.
Easier said than done. What if the Cauldron cancels our mating bond? What if it steals my magic…or worse, Isla’s magic? What if?—
“Before we proceed with the blood-bind,” Zendaya says, “the Mahananda would like to see you and Lorcan. Together.”
Meriam was wrong. I’m not about to scale to great heights; I’m about to plummet to great depths.