Chapter 58
I STAND OUTSIDE Drystan’s study, stomach a tangle of nerves.
I straighten my gown for the fifth time and my hair for the tenth.
Min helped me get ready, picking out something gorgeous and diaphanous, gilding my cheeks with tiny flecks of glitter, clipping tiny butterflies made of raven feathers in my hair, so I look more faerie creature from legend than frail mortal.
The instant I raise my hand to knock, the door swings open.
This is a room I’ve only ever glimpsed once, all those weeks ago during his tour.
It’s bigger than I remember. And more him than the rest of the fortress, I now realize.
The wall lined with well-worn books. The wingback chair in rich oxblood red velvet, the same style as those in his suite—formal looking but deceptively comfortable.
The dark cherrywood desk he stands behind. Imposing and handsome, but suffused with surprising warmth.
The king himself. Fingers splayed over the desk’s black leather surface, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, jacket discarded.
No. Not the king. The man. The one who has to run Mordren. Keep his people safe—from the world outside as well as from the chaos of unseelie nature. Asti and Min told me he’s been visiting the labyrinth, investigating the corrupting presence there. Protecting his kingdom.
He nods, deep in conversation with the Apothic, but his gaze flicks in my direction.
“Much of my equipment has been damaged,” the Apothic goes on, “so it’s hard to tell if anything is missing.”
Eyes locked on me, Drystan keeps nodding.
The Apothic glances over his shoulder, noting my entrance before turning back to Drystan. He shifts his weight awkwardly. “If Your Majesty wishes it, I can take another inventory, but I’m not sure it will achieve much.”
Drystan pushes his sleeves up, though they haven’t slipped down.
The Apothic clears his throat.
“Hmm? What?” Drystan draws a quick breath, straightening as though he’s just returned to himself.
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. No doubt it’s the work of mischievous kin drawn to the shiny glass.
” With a flick of his hand, he dismisses the Apothic, but I catch his mutter as the other fae sweeps past me. “Or discontented former favorites.”
He rises and circles the desk so it’s no longer between us but says nothing more until the door closes behind the Apothic. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling well enough to leave your rooms.”
Hands clasped, I nod, searching for how to say what I came here to say. Ideas are so simple. Execution? That’s the tricky part.
I consider turning around.
“I’ve reached a decision,” I blurt out before cowardice wins.
His eyebrows raise, prompting. “Oh?” He settles on the edge of his desk, putting his eye line closer to mine.
“I succeeded in beating the labyrinth. And the whole point of that was to return to my family. But I’ve changed my mind.” I don’t have enough bravery to hold his gaze as I get closer to the nature of my decision—and the point where he can decline—so I fix mine on his forearm.
I square my shoulders. His grip on the edge of the desk flexes, making the muscles I’m staring at ripple in the most fascinating way.
“I will marry you.”
The muscles twitch. His knuckles go white. He says nothing.
There’s a flutter of panic in my chest. Maybe I misjudged. Maybe he just wanted a wife—any wife—and now I’ve earned my freedom, he’s found another candidate.
Oh, gods, he could have set up this whole bargain in order to work his way out of the one between my father and his mother, making me feel like it was my idea.
“You… will?” As soon as he speaks, my traitorous gaze snaps up to his, so I see how he says it with a smile. A tiny one. But it presses the shadow of a dimple in his cheek.
“If you’ll have me, that is.”
The dimple deepens. “Of course I will.” He pushes up from the desk and crosses the space between us like he’s going to kiss me.
The panic comes back, overshadowing my relief. “I don’t—”
I throw my hands up, swallow, gather my flitting thoughts and he pauses just out of arm’s reach. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you. What you did is still…” I exhale, shaking my head. “There’s a stipulation—you’re never to keep anything like that from me again. Never.”
He nods. Once.
“And you’re never to make decisions about my body for me. I appreciate that you’ve apologized. I understand the significance of that for you as unseelie and as the king. I know it wasn’t easy. But…”
He holds there, waiting, and I can’t help remembering.
Long is the day and long is the night and long is the waiting of the King of Death.
I thought it only meant that he was old, but now I see something else in the way he stands, unmoving, unprompting, simply giving me time to think and speak.
Death is old, yes, but he is also patient. All things come to him, eventually.
I seize on an analogy that I hope he’ll understand, even if he doesn’t fully grasp the damage he’s done to my trust. “A bandaged wound still bleeds.”
He makes a low, thoughtful sound, then inclines his chin. “It does. And not all wounds heal, but I hope this one can.”
Relief is a physical force rushing through me, as dizzying as belladonna. It’s not the marriage I dreamt of as a girl, but that girl and her dreams are as dead as any shambling spirit in the Underworld.
I will marry Drystan. Not because I have nowhere else to go, but because I have found something here. An odd life with him, Min, Asti and the cat who really needs a name now I’m staying, but a life nonetheless.
There is truth in our feelings for each other, proven all the more by his actions since I returned to the Underworld. I don’t know where they will lead us or whether the bandaged wound in our relationship will ever heal, but I know I deserve a chance to find out.