Chapter 2 #2
“Livie.” My mother’s soft touch fell on my arm. She studied me for a breath, as though she knew my night had been turbulent. She always did. “All right, little love?”
“Fine.” I hugged her waist and let my head fall to her shoulder even though she stood shorter than me. “All gone with the dawn.”
My mother stroked my arm, gentle and safe. She’d done all that could be done to ease the nightmares that had plagued her daughter for turns. Sleeping draughts, letting me curl between her and my father, lullabies, assurances. Now she simply held me like this, letting me know she was always there.
With a sigh, she tilted her face to the sky. “I hope tomorrow’s games aren’t wet for you.”
“Better not be ’cause I’m gonna kick Alva in her stupid legs,” Rorik said, abandoning Aleksi and slashing his wooden sword again. Alva was the daughter of my father’s first knight and had somehow become the prince’s ultimate rival. “They’re so long, like twigs. I bet I’ll snap ’em in two.”
I snorted. Rorik slashed his sword again in sloppy strikes to his invisible villain. He had a long way to go before he donned the black gambeson like Aleksi.
“Gods save me from this boy,” my mother muttered under her breath, then closed her eyes. My mother was no weak thing, but I had a feeling a son like Rorik would be the undoing of any mother.
All at once, Rorik stopped his imaginary battle and beamed when another Rave approached. “Stieg!”
Stieg was my father’s captain and had been beside my parents before they even took vows, turns before the war of the sea. He was as steady as the sun and as firm as granite, and I was certain Rorik dreamed not of the crown he’d been born into, but the day he served beside Stieg.
The captain stepped next to Rorik, a smirk on his battle-gnarled lips. “Practicing, young prince?”
“Always.”
Stieg chuckled, ruffling Rorik’s hair. Scars, inked runes on the captain’s cheeks, and the bone hoop pierced through his nose added a touch of ferociousness, but one look at the playful gleam in the steel of his eyes gave away his true temperament.
“The coaches are ready, My Queen,” Stieg said, tipping his chin in respect.
My mother sighed, and when she looked at me, her brow furrowed in concern.
I linked my arm through hers. “Maj, I’m fine. Go. Be free of us for a few sunrises.”
She covered my hand on her arm with her palm. “Ten turns. Hard to think you were not much older than Rorik when all the fighting ended. This turn’s festival is a landmark in how far we’ve come, so it feels different.”
My skin prickled. Did she feel the unease as I did?
I swallowed, refusing to spiral into thoughts of what it could all mean if everyone had a bit of disquiet this turn.
Odds were I felt strange for the same reasons as my mother.
A great deal had changed, and these significant turns caused us to think back on everything that had happened.
That was all.
Rose thorns wrapped around a dagger and a battle-ax were painted on the doors of the Night Folk coaches that would take my uncles and parents to the annual royal council.
Councils were always held at the palace of the last king and queen to be crowned. Both were rather keen to avoid large gatherings like the Crimson Festival and welcomed the different clans to their palace in the knolls, a two-day’s distance.
There, they oversaw any troubles in the realms, likely reminisced about the wars they had all fought together, and kept our world locked in continued peace.
My mother drew both Rorik and me into another embrace and kissed my cheek and the top of his head. “Liv, swear to me you’ll be wise, safe, and will keep Jonas from making ten new Eastern heirs while we’re gone.”
“How would he do that?” Rorik asked.
Maj and I shared a look and laughed, pulling him close a little longer.
While she fussed over Rorik and the ways he would be expected to abide by Stieg’s orders in their absence, I slowed my steps as I approached my father’s back. No one ever surprised the man, but he was distracted by conversation with my uncles enough that I just might—
“Hello, little love.” My father turned around when I had two paces left.
“Gods, Daj. I think your fury accentuates your ears.” I rolled my eyes and waited for him to open his arms before dipping around him and embracing my uncle Sol first.
To stir the brotherly rivalry between the two was wholly worth it when my father frowned and glared at his brother.
“Uncle,” I said, “I feel as though I’ve not been able to speak to you since we arrived.”
Sol was handsome like my father, but instead of dark Night Folk eyes, his were deep blue like mine. He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Because my king is an ass and demands all my time.”
A choking noise from my mother drew our eyes. She glared at Sol and jabbed a finger toward Rorik, who, again, muttered “ass” under his breath.
Sol mouthed a quick apology, then winked at me. “Girl, you look more like your lovely mother every day. Fortunate for you.”
The praise was welcome, but a stretch of the truth, and utterly meant as a jab at my father.
True, my mother was beautiful, but eyes were the only thing we shared. Even then, the sea blue of my eyes matched Sol’s more than hers. My skin was a soft, roasted brown like my father’s, and my hair was a shade of night with hints of red and a touch of blackened blue.
I batted my lashes, then stepped to embrace my uncle Tor. Serious and thoughtful, Tor was a beautiful balance to his royal consort. I had fond memories of learning the patience of battle from Torsten. He was firm, decisive, powerful, and cunning with every strike.
By the time I met my father’s gaze, he’d clasped forearms with Aleksi, shooting me a glance over my cousin’s shoulder. “Oh, is it my turn now?”
I wrapped my arms around my father’s waist. We had a bond, and ever since I was young, he’d been the safest place I could think to fall.
He pulled back, a smile on his face as he cupped my cheeks in his rough palms. “I’ve decided to take you with us to the council.”
I smirked. He said the same thing every turn.
“Valen, you will not,” my mother called from beside the coach. “You will let her out of your sight and let her be free.”
“Free to be scooped up by fools who only think with their cocks,” he called back.
“All gods.” My mother closed her eyes, then kissed Rorik’s cheeks with a look of pity. “It is no wonder he says the things he does with such a family.”
“Liv.” My father let an arm drape around my shoulders as he pulled me to one side. “I wanted to warn you, I’ve had more than one request from”—he swallowed like he’d tasted something sour—“our noblemen for your time.”
My heart stopped. “Time, as in…”
He frowned. “They’re interested in a match, little love.”
All gods. Foolish to be taken off guard by such a thing; I was the heir of the Night Folk clans, the whole of the region in the north.
I would be expected to claim a consort or husband eventually.
The truth throttled me from behind. Of age, yet I’d hardly experienced…
anything. A few stolen kisses from gentry boys across the kingdoms, usually on dares to show Jonas I wasn’t a prude.
I wasn’t bold with men, but Mira was the only one who knew how inexperienced I was in the facets of love.
A match. It sounded so…dull.
I didn’t want a match just because that was expected. I wanted passion, the burn that if my love didn’t touch me soon, I’d burst. I wanted heat and mess and obsession.
What if I selected a match only to discover we bored each other after five turns, and I never experienced another’s hands?
“Livie.” My father tilted his head, voice low while the others chatted around us. “You know I’d never agree to anything against your will.”
“I know.” I forced a smile and gripped one of his hands.
He kissed my knuckles. “It does leave me unsettled to know a slew of unworthy bastards will be here with you while I am not.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Daj. I’m surrounded by overprotective men. One wrong move and there will be missing fingers.”
He scoffed and tugged me against his side. “Forgive me, but putting your safety under the watch of Jonas Eriksson does not put my mind at ease.”
“I heard that! Now I feel I must prove you wrong by stirring something on purpose.” Jonas’s voice rose over the bustle from his family’s coach.
“See? No worries,” I said through an embrace. “Stieg and much of the Rave are with us.”
My father pressed a kiss to my forehead. I bid farewell to my mother and uncles once more, then watched as every ruler over the fae realms loaded their coaches and left the fort, Rave guards following on foot or on horseback.
While leaders of the realms toiled over duties, on the morrow their heirs, nobles of the gentry, warriors, and courtiers would celebrate with games, archery, ax-throwing, sailing trips around the coves of the isles, then the masquerade with more feasting and debauchery when the sun faded.
Guards were always nearby. Even Jonas and Sander had appointed guards, but they were rarely seen, forced to be as sly as their royal charges, who sought to lose them every turn. It was safe here. We could roll our eyes, taunt our parents, but they would never leave us completely unprotected.
When Rorik was taken in by Stieg and three more Rave guards assigned to the youngest prince, Jonas approached with arms open.
“Let the festival begin.” He clasped Alek’s forearm. “Welcome back. Now that you’re trained to cause violence, may I place a request to have you as my personal guard at the masque tomorrow? I have a feeling I will need doors protected from any snooping. Don’t be alarmed by any noises you may hear.”
“No,” Alek said. “And maybe, just once, you might actually dance on your feet.”
“Gods, how boring. I’ll keep my way of dancing, thank you.” Jonas twisted his grin into one of his devious smirks, the kind that added an attractive dimple to his cheek. Tonight, Jonas’s schemes must’ve fallen to me, for he turned his dark gaze to mine. “May we finally begin celebrating our way.”
“Is it wise to go so near the Chasm with a storm on the horizon?” Mira was the one who asked, and I was glad for it. My heart was restless, a constant thrum of trepidation, and for the first time in turns, I didn’t want to think of that day the sea fae were locked behind the wards of the Chasm.
“Yes,” Jonas insisted. “More so since Livie is nightmaring again, and from this moment on, there is no more fretting during the Crimson Festival. Now, come on. Let’s see if we find any of those sea singers.”