9. The Mist Thief
Chapter 9
The last time I was in the festival courtyard, blood and smoke filled the air. Half the trees were burning along the portions of the towers. With the way the courtyard had been dressed for the vows, I would never guess battles were fought not so long ago.
Walls made of polished black stones were draped in blue and silver satins with the seal of the shadow elven clan. Natthaven used a rune meaning wisdom and honor wrapped in black ribbons settled over the top of crossed arrows. Iron sconces held black candles to light the yard when dark fell.
Sunlight broke across the stones, threading skeins of gold and red over the pale woven rugs that were arranged between long, moss coated benches where folk were seated.
In the front row, Princess Mira and Celine were seated with other heirs and noble sea fae. I recognized some faces from the sea fae palace and the battle. Folk who came against us with blades now were arranged and prepared to watch one of their beloved princes vow with an enemy.
My grandfather was seated atop a dais draped in black satin.
His beringed fingers curled over the clawed arms of his seat. Two guards held silver spears. Dorsan was on Grandfather’s left. Stoic and unreadable.
When the guard on the king’s right shifted, revealing his features, my heart stopped. Cian. Slender and tall, he kept his russet hair braided behind his neck.
Young to be one of the king’s guards, only thirty turns, a decade my senior. There was something about the coldness in his bright eyes my grandfather revered, like he knew there was a viciousness in Cian that could be utilized as a threat to enemies.
But the king knew of my discomfort around the man. Wasn’t today meant to bury the anger of battles?
I drew in a sharp breath and scurried away from the diaphanous shades when Cian glanced toward the covered bower.
Would he mock me in front of the fae? Stand as a voice to show my new folk the truth of their formidable war prize—a weak woman who was more terrified of her power than they were?
I peered to the other side of the courtyard. The alver king and queen were seated on an opposite dais next to every other king and queen of the fae—ten seats in total with the inclusion of the Ever King and Queen.
The prince’s mother and father said nothing to me during the negotiations, but their faces were not so tormented as they’d appeared last night.
The king had his fingers laced with the queen’s and used both their linked fists to prop his chin, as though he merely wanted her skin on his. The queen even laughed with one of the others who looked a great deal like Mira.
She seemed happy enough.
Heat skirted across my middle, toward my heart. I glanced down at the heart glass on my bodice. Dammit. Whatever magic was said to reveal the heart was burning in a brilliant glow, doubtless something to do with the anticipation of my impending vow.
The glass was revealing I felt more than I wanted to let on.
After a few deep breaths, the beads returned to the clear, sparkling hue.
The sound of crinkling parchment drew my attention to the back of the tent. My breath caught. A sealed missive slid beneath the tent, a starlight wax seal over the back. Written on the king’s pale rose parchment from the palace studies.
My mouth curved in the corner. Grandfather was not a man of many declarations of affection, but I would revel in his assurances now.
With my thumb, I broke the seal, and froze. This was not from the king.
He will never truly accept what you are. You do not belong with his folk.
I crumpled the parchment and rushed for the flap of the tent, peering out. No one was there save a few patrolling guards keeping watch on the vows. Who would write such a thing? It was as though they could read my every fear of this new alliance.
The prince did not know every dreary truth about me. I doubted he would have much interest in my presence beyond the obligations of the alliance. There was no reason to fret over secrets of the past being discovered.
I slipped back into the tent, a hand pressed to my heart. One deep breath through my nose, then another, until my pulse ceased pounding.
A soft lyre began to play. The shades parted. I dropped the disorienting anonymous note. Clearly, there were some who did not agree with my grandfather’s alliance. This was nothing but a weak strike at unraveling a chance to end battles.
I would not allow cowardly words to stop this chance for the Dokkalfar to have protected shores. Personal misery be damned. I would endure a man who despised me as a wife if it kept my folk safe.
It was time.
The parchment crumbled beneath my foot. My skin prickled like a dozen drops of hot rain cascaded over my arms and legs. Once more, I shook out my hands. For the Dokkalfar, for Natthaven, I would see this through.
Gowns and leather rustled and groaned when folk stood once I stepped into the sun.
Heart in my throat, I fisted my hands by my sides and strode toward an arched bower at the end of the woven rugs. Damp leaves, herbs, silken petals, and copper juvel coins landed at the hem of my gown with each step.
Traditional elven vows made a bride stand alone while folk tossed symbols of her home and past at her feet as she walked toward her future.
I kept my eyes schooled on the designs in the rugs—stars and moons, runes and swords. Until I made my way past Grandfather’s dais and he cleared his throat. I swallowed and lifted my chin.
Breath stuttered in my chest.
By the hells, it was true—my new prince was a fiend. The sinking sunlight burned at his back, casting his darkly clad shoulders in flames, like he was my beautiful destruction preparing to devour me.
The prince had his deep chestnut hair tied off his face, and a dark steel blade tethered to his waist. In all our acquaintance, this moment he truly appeared as a delectable villain from one of the folktales on my shelves.
His twin stood at his back in the traditional role of a friend or relative standing in wait to welcome a new member of the house. There wasn’t anger or rage in his brother’s eyes. On the contrary, the second prince looked about the beginnings of the ceremony with utter fascination.
I dared not look to the other dais, dared not face the long row of fae royals, and kept my focus ahead.
Jonas Eriksson. His name tumbled about in my skull, as though my mind could not be convinced he was my future. Foe, defeater, now husband.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. The gleam of his rich green eyes never wavered when he held out a hand. Rough calluses collided with my palms after our fingers curled together, and the subtle squeeze he offered splashed my insides with a strange sense of calm.
The instant I faced him, an elven speaker—a man who devoted his life to speaking with the gods in the hillside chantry—began reciting vows in elder elvish.
“I have no idea what is being said.”
The prince’s whisper startled me from the haze of the moment.
“Oh.” I kept my voice hushed. “He’s . . . he’s speaking of the honor it brings a woman to join with a new house. Now, he describes the duties the vowed must accept.”
“Hmm. What sort of duties?”
His eyes were rife in mischief, like he wanted to spar with me. So be it.
“Duties like a husband’s requirement to tend to a bride’s every whim.”
“Tell me more about these whims.”
I cast a glance at the speaker who was wholly uninterested in our quiet chatter. “He is saying desires such as solitude for reading are of utmost importance. To better a bride’s mind for her husband, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“And long baths, so her beauty never fades. For her husband’s benefit.”
“A grand benefit.”
“Also, there is a duty to ensure her need for delicacies is satisfied, lest she grow temperamental and sour toward her husband.”
Jonas leaned in, his lips close to my ear. “Tell me about these delicacies.”
Gods, had his voice always been so silken? Heat dripped in my belly. I was a weak woman and could not even rise to the challenge of unsettling this man before such a simple word burned through my veins in a strange collision of disquiet and desire.
“Delicacies like sweet cakes, obviously.”
“Foolish of me to consider anything else.”
“Honey filled, with a bit of spiced cream to be exact.”
Jonas’s mouth split into a grin, the dangerous sort, like he was head first in this game of unraveling the other, and planned to rise victorious in the end.
Before he could respond, the speaker cleared his throat, annoyed. Cupped in his palms was a wooden bowl filled with blue stain. The speaker soaked a finger in the color. “You are to be marked as bonded in this life and the journey into the Otherworld.”
Jonas watched as the tops of my palms were painted in runes of honor and respect and fealty. Next, my brow.
The speaker faced the prince and did the same.
“Bonds and vows may now be sealed with the kiss. As the gods kissed barren earth to sprout new life, you now begin your united paths.”
The world around me blurred. I knew this moment would come, by the hells, by the laws of Natthaven, he could command any piece of me now as my husband. I should not be so startled at the notion of a kiss.
I took a bit of pleasure when the prince hesitated for half a breath, like he might be as unsteady as me. Dithering did not last long. Jonas cupped a hand behind my neck and tugged my mouth to his.
Tight lips met the softness of his. His second palm cupped under my jaw, drawing our bodies closer.
Little by little, my lips parted. I shuddered when my mouth moved with his, longer than the uncomfortable, forced kiss I imagined. This was maddeningly slow, as though the prince wanted to take his time, memorizing the way my mouth fitted to his.
The tip of his tongue touched the edge of my lips and my knees stumbled. One of my palms pressed over his heart before I could recoil, and I should’ve. I ought to have pushed away, kept carefully boarded barriers in place. I ought to curse him for his devious success at clawing his way through.
I could not think of anywhere I would rather be.
The prince tasted like the morning—crisp and cool—and something horrid was happening. Somewhere deep in the marrow new, relentless hunger bloomed into a craze for more. Such a meager taste of the man would not be enough.
Jonas pulled back. His eyes were darker, like a night forest, and kicked down to the glass over my heart. The smile curved over his mouth held more viciousness than tenderness. “There’s my fire.”
Beautiful gold burned over my bodice. Damn the hells. Everyone would see the evidence that my blood rushed from the prince’s touch.
“I was told of those clever little stones. It seems, wife, your heart is racing. Is that all for me? You’re not so aloof as you let on, are you?”
Damn bastard.
I narrowed my gaze. If he wished this to be nothing more than a game, I now had our entire lives to play.
“You think you’re clever?”
“Every day.”
“All right, you might’ve discovered I am not so lost in the remnants of my affinity, but hear this, Husband”—I followed his lead and whispered near to his odd, rounded ear. There was a spark of delight when he drew in a rough breath— “I promise you, if I burn, so will you.”
The green of his eyes brightened. “I can hardly stand the wait.”