THIRTY
“T he staff are positively flummoxed,” Elion said the following morning.
It was far too soon to be awake after getting so little sleep. But the steward had entered after knocking once, declaring there was no time to waste and that he expected me fed and ready to be wed as soon as he returned with his supplies.
I was getting married. Not to a prince. To a king.
Our little secret.
How long Atakan intended to keep a secret that was anything but little was beyond me. I’d been unable to escape the memory of his father’s heart in his hand, and though I itched to pepper him with questions, I hadn’t seen him since he’d vanished from his chambers last night.
Since he’d told me that Queen Kalista was his mother.
“Why?” I asked Elion, my fingers continuously rubbing over the silk ties of my robe.
The steward pinned another tiny braid into the nest encircling my head, then walked in front of me to inspect his work. “Because…” He laughed and made a face that said it should be obvious. “It’s happening. No one believed Atakan the heartless would actually marry you.”
Few things were obvious in the faerie realms, but I kept my mouth shut.
Elion dabbed a finger into a pot of pink powder selected from the tray of supplies on Atakan’s nightstand.
He then crouched before me to brush it over the crest of my cheek. “And the bond,” he whispered, dusting my other cheek. “Rumors gather force like a storm since Syndrid collected the soiled bedding this morning.”
The ruby-haired faerie who’d arrived with breakfast after Elion had woken me. When I’d returned from the bathing room, she was gone. The bedding too, and in the doorway of the dressing chamber, a sleeveless gown had been hung. An array of dried flowers decorated the lilac gossamer overlaying the ivory silk skirts.
I refrained from looking at the gown or the bare mattress. The small dark-red stains that had seeped through the sheet.
“No one thought he’d do that .” Elion scoffed. “Honestly, I’ve always known he isn’t as heartless as he seems, but I still never thought he’d accept a mate.”
Quietly, I confessed, “I didn’t know.”
Elion went back to the tray. “Then he has indeed kept all trace of being fated to you well-hidden.”
It didn’t take much thought to understand why Atakan had done that. “Because I’m a halfling, and he loathes me.”
A tiny brush and another pot in hand, he returned. “Does he, though?”
I was rescued from answering when he combed kohl onto my lashes and asked me to open and close my eyes.
He stepped back, surveying me and smiling. “Beautiful.”
I returned his smile, but it fell when he held up a golden-framed oval mirror. A faint and glittering pink tinged my cheeks. Half of my yellow hair had been piled into a braided crown atop my head. My green eyes were brightened by the dark weight of my lashes.
And you have the darkest green eyes I’ve ever seen, but I don’t call you seaweed.
As if summoned by the memory, Meadow scratched at the balcony doors. Elion let her in, then collected his tray and bowed. “I’ll have your slippers waiting for you beneath the stairs, Princess.”
I thanked him, absently stroking the felynx’s ears.
Mercifully just fine, she’d let herself out with the arrival of breakfast. I opened the balcony doors so that she wasn’t trapped, allowing the crisp spring breeze to kiss my cheeks and wash away unwanted thoughts of Vane.
Yet as I struggled into the ivory and lilac gown, I couldn’t resist wondering where he was and what he was doing. If he was furious—with me or just with my absence—and how long we had until that fury darkened our skies.
Guilt poked, irritating because I hadn’t done anything to warrant the feeling. Nothing except demand that the prince marry me to keep our kingdoms united. I refused to acknowledge the part of me that had done it from a place of hurt—from a place hungering for vengeance.
There was no room for guilt in games of life and death.
The gown was almost too ginormous for the tower stairs. I did my best to lift and gather the skirts, but the heavy mixture of silk and shimmering gossamer still brushed against the railings and snuck beneath my feet.
At the bottom, I stepped into the lilac slippers and dropped the skirts. I lifted my long hair to fall over the matching lilac bodice strangling my chest, then drew in a breath and opened the door.
The halls beyond were quiet and coated in the glow of midmorning. No clouds drifted through a sky so blue, it resembled the soft purple of my gown.
Only a handful of people waited in the throne room.
Pholly and Phineus stood with Cordenya among a smattering of faeries who carried the air and telltale signs of wealth. Nobility, maybe, here to bear witness. I supposed there hadn’t been enough time for every influential faerie to attend.
I also supposed that had been intentional.
Entering through the doors farthest from the throne, I stopped and inspected the cavernous space. Nervous energy muddied my thoughts, rendering me unsure what to do. Where to tread next.
A mural of rainbow-forming butterflies dancing amid clouds in an endlessly blue sky spanned the ceiling. All four of the chandeliers were aglow. Candles flickered within crystal spheres floating upon the curving, branch-reminiscent brass.
As if he was the sun missing from the painted sky above, warmth tapped along my skin, and his energy drew my eyes.
Atakan stood before the throne in a soft gray dress coat with a high collar that tried to touch his hewn jaw.
His back was turned to the people in the room, black-booted feet braced apart and his hands clasped behind him. He appeared to be gazing through the row of arched windows lining the far end of the throne room, lost in thought.
But I knew he wasn’t lost at all.
The calm violence of last evening, the way he’d casually lured his own father from his rooms to his death, made me wonder if it had been thoroughly thought out.
And if Atakan Ethermore did anything that wasn’t premeditated.
He’d wanted his father dead. That much he’d admitted. He’d even told me why. Yet I’d known him long enough to know there was more.
As much as I wished I was as cunning as he, this marriage wouldn’t be happening if he didn’t also want it.
A priestess with hair that was half-silver, the other half dark brown, walked toward the prince. Her lacy sky-blue robes draped from her thin shoulders and arms, and trailed behind her over the worn floor.
Eyes of deep orange found me as she stood beside Atakan. Her dark-red lips parted in a slight smile.
Atakan turned then, speaking low to the faerie priestess.
Behind them, upon the seat of the throne, perched two black goblets, the rims inlaid with sapphires and rubies. As I waded across the room, I saw the slim knife glinting between them.
I’d known faerie customs were far more dramatic than what I’d grown up with in the mortal realm. I still looked from that knife to Atakan with a brow raised.
Only to find him glowering at me.
Not me, I realized as he and the priestess took their places before the throne and I stood before him, but my gown.
Quiet settled over the room.
The priestess began to chant, and Atakan’s hands clenched with his jaw. His eyes slowly rose over my body, and when they collided with mine, that glower turned blistering.
Our blood was drawn from the lifelines in our palms, collected by those awaiting goblets. Atakan was to recite the oath first.
He dipped his finger into his goblet, then painted my lips in his blood. “We’ve done this already,” he said, teeth flashing.
The priestess, hands pressed together beneath her pointed chin, cleared her throat. “Please say the oath, Your Highness.”
But Atakan gathered more blood from his goblet first. Delight brightened his eyes as he took his time decorating my lips. “Mothers above, witness and bless my love, as I bind myself to thee.”
The word love sucked the air from my lungs and threatened to send heat climbing up my neck.
I fought it, and smiled to feign nonchalance, as I dipped my finger into the goblet of my blood and painted his lips. “Mothers above, witness and bless my love, as I bind myself to thee.”
“Seal it,” the priestess instructed.
Against my mouth, Atakan whispered, “You have no right making that monstrosity of a dress look good.”
“Oh.” I kissed him, then whispered, “Did you intend to embarrass me by making me wear this beautiful gown?” I kissed him again. “I’m afraid you’ve failed.”
A growl rumbled from his chest. But he didn’t let it pass his bloodstained lips.
As we stepped back for the priestess to weave between us with her cloying pink smoke, I held his furious gaze. I relished the tic of his jaw.
And I smiled.
His eyes narrowed.
We were then forced together, his arms tight at my waist and mine at his neck, as she danced around us to a round of raucous applause from our few guests.
I pushed away first, but not without whispering, “I might need assistance to remove this monstrosity.”
His hands squeezed my waist, mouth skimming my temple. “I might be able to assist you.”
I battled another smile as Phineus stepped between us, clapping and grinning. “Pholly owes me two gold coins.”
The priestess scowled at Phineus, and I noted his dress shirt was a similar shade of blue to a certain steward’s hair before a familiar scent stiffened my spine.
I whirled, my skirts swooshing, and beamed. “Royce.”
My sister’s husband bowed, although he was now a king, and smoothed the brown lapels of his dress coat as he straightened. He offered his arm.
I took it, and we walked along the wall adorned with tapestries of the Ethermore royal crest to the opposite end of the room for privacy.
“The prince notified us of your nuptials, and that he’d send for someone to bear witness. Of course, your sister is in no state to be vanished by a faerie, so I thought I’d provide her some relief and come myself.” He patted my hand. “I must admit, I too am relieved to see you.”
I stopped us near the doors. “How is she?”
His smile comforted. “Good, though her feet are forever swollen, and she hates not wearing shoes.”
I laughed, taking his hands and squeezing them. “How long now?”
“A few weeks, they say.” He swallowed, peering over my shoulder. When he looked back at me, his brown eyes hardened. “The prince informed us about the assassination.”
Between that, the looming war, and this wedding, Atakan’s disappearances were beginning to make more sense. Not to mention getting rid of his father’s corpse and any evidence.
Though Royce certainly wasn’t referring to Garran’s demise, I still hesitated before nodding. “I overheard the truth during my time in The Bonelands. Ethermore indeed had no part in it.”
“We suspected as much, which is why I’m witnessing this marriage rather than demanding your immediate return to Nephryn,” he whispered, then exhaled heavily. “Their deaths were too much of a statement, much too…” He didn’t say more, and he didn’t need to.
He’d seen it, then.
“We did demand your safe return, by the way,” he said, and my heart swelled. “Numerous times. Your father intended to collect you himself.”
Sorrow cinched tight around my throat, rasping my words. But if I missed my father, even after all he’d planned for me, then poor Bernie… “How is she?” I asked again. “Really?”
Royce swallowed. His gaze drifted to the brown laces of his pointed dress shoes. “She rises with purpose to see to what must be done, but I’m afraid the evenings are spent far differently.” My concern must have shown, for he smiled sadly. “She grieves, Mildred, and as she should. She grieves her parents and also the life she lost. But she was raised for this moment.” He nodded, as if to reassure himself, too. “She’s managing.”
There were so many things I wanted to ask.
But the look Royce gave me reminded me that now was not the time. He sighed, then opened his arms. I stepped into them, tears pressing at my eyes.
A thin piece of parchment was slipped between my fingers.
“Come home whenever you like,” he whispered in my ear. “We’re willing to deal with any repercussions. If no one else will, then the guard with no hair and violet eyes will vanish you.”
Somehow, it seemed Bernie had a faerie spy under her employ. Perhaps the male I didn’t dare seek out had worked for my father. I didn’t know. But I was grateful when Phineus arrived to take Royce back to Nephryn, and I unfolded the parchment to find Bernie’s perfect handwriting.
Butter, you are loved.
Closing my eyes, I bit my lip so hard it bled as my shoulders quaked. When I opened them and brushed an errant tear from my cheek, I found Atakan frowning at me from across the room.
He stood alone against the side wall. He had a perfect view of everyone in the throne room, yet he stared at me for an unnecessarily long time.
So long, I took a step toward him.
Then Pholly hooked her arm through mine and dragged me toward the arched windows beyond the throne.
She released me and pointed at two stools that hadn’t been there before we’d been married. “Stand completely still or sit.”
Though skintight, her black pearl-lined gown folded easily with her as she bent before the banquet table lining the wall between the entrances.
A giant piece of parchment in hand, she stood.
I balked. “We have no time for portraits.” I glanced around, then hissed, “We need to find the eggs.” It wasn’t merely an excuse.
Elion had informed me that they intended to look for those near the castle right after the ceremony. He hadn’t told me I’d needed to accompany them. But even without the odd trick that’d already led me to one, I would want to.
“You won’t do this again, should you be so lucky.” Taking a seat upon the wood floor, Pholly glared at the throne.
At Atakan, who now leaned against the arm made of thinly twined branches.
“Please,” she drawled. “Take all fucking morning.”
I thought he’d ignore her—ignore me too—now that we’d said our oaths and it was done.
I was his wife, and he was my husband.
The weight of that sagged within me when he straightened and stalked toward us. “You have thirty minutes,” he told his cousin, then seized my hand.
I was tugged in front of him. His hand splayed across my stomach and the other curled over my shoulder.
An unmistakable display of possession.
Pholly’s gaze widened comically. Then she blinked and nodded, fumbling with her charcoal. “Right, very uh…” Her tiny nose crinkled. “That will do.”
I should have shoved his hands away and sweetened the pose, but when his fingers spread over my stomach, I leaned back into him instead. He hummed in approval, lips stirring my hair, and opened and closed those fingers.
“Where’s the egg?” I whispered. It hadn’t been on his bed when I’d woken, which led me to believe he’d returned before then and taken it.
“Safe,” was all he said. His hand at my shoulder became firmer—heavier—when I shifted. He tsked. “You were told to stay still, wife .”
I swallowed, trying to determine whether this was the worst kind of torment he’d handed me thus far as that hand at my stomach dipped lower. As those fingers continuously opened and closed.
And as I became so aroused, I nearly wept in relief when Pholly had formed an outline of us that would certainly be enough for her to complete later.
But before I could leave, a male came forward from the small crowd, dripping in gold with blue tassels hanging from his waistcoat.
Atakan’s sigh warmed my ear. “Lord Nibbledon.” An introduction for me more than it was a greeting to the male.
The lord bowed, pushing long strands of his fuzzy golden hair back as he straightened. “Congratulations, Prince.” His dark brown gaze slid to me, his mouth curling slyly. “Princess.”
I smiled thinly, almost grateful for Atakan’s possessive hold as the lord took his time to remove his knowing eyes from me. Instinctively, I knew this was a male to avoid—one with the ego of a king.
To Atakan, he said, “Where might your father be?” The lord made an unnecessary show of peering around the throne room. “I’ve yet to see our dear king at all.”
I tensed but kept my features neutral, though he wasn’t looking at me.
Feeling it, Atakan squeezed my shoulder. Apathy oozed from his tone, as if each word required a horrid amount of effort. “He has more important matters to tend to, as I’m sure you are abundantly aware.”
“Of course,” Nibbledon said. He shifted, and I thought perhaps he’d take the hint and leave. But he tapped his chin and huffed a brief laugh. “Though I just can’t help but find it a bit strange. The king would never miss such a history-making milestone.”
But I knew exactly what the lord really meant. As did my new husband. That Garran wouldn’t have gone through with marrying his son to a half-mortal.
“What I find a bit strange is your interest,” Atakan said crisply. “When it is a privilege for you to witness such a history-making milestone.”
The lord’s bushy brows nearly met above his long nose. “I am aware of the incredible honor, my prince, I’m merely—”
“Then kindly breathe elsewhere or cease doing so.”
I trapped a shocked laugh behind tight teeth and averted my gaze when fury reddened the lord’s face. But beneath his apricot and whiskey-like scent, a sour aroma wafted.
Fear.
I didn’t need to look to know Atakan was delivering the lord a withering glare. I felt his impatience in the curling of his fingers at my stomach, and in the flaring of his own scent.
Finally, the lord left.
Pholly smirked at her parchment. It made me wonder if she knew what Atakan had done, or if she was just amused by the awkward exchange.
As some less audacious guests dared to offer quick congratulations, I then wondered if I was the only one who knew what had befallen Garran. And if those who might assume correctly were simply too afraid or indifferent to say something.
“Still so tense,” Atakan murmured quiet enough that only I would hear. “Are you not pleased, dread?”
“Are you?”
He took his time responding, as if knowing I longed to leave the watchful eyes in the room, and that I longed to hear what he’d say. “Pleased doesn’t begin to describe it.” He placed his mouth over the crest of my cheek. “Victorious is what I feel.”
The crooned words struck like a dull blade.
His low chuckle stalked as I hurried through the doors and haunted long after I’d locked myself in his chambers.