21. Chapter Twenty #2
The male across the table, piling his plate high with various meats and cheeses, shot me a curious look, but I ignored him.
Making my way back to Archer, who was still surrounded by a growing circle of courtiers, I stopped in front of him, fluttering my lashes as I offered the plate.
“Surely all this talk has made you hungry, my prince,” I said with false sweetness.
Even now, Archer didn’t meet my eyes, instead keeping his focus on the plate I held up to him. His brow scrunched with suspicion. To assuage it and make him trust I was merely playing along as his doting betrothed, I picked up the one sugar-coated berry and popped it into my mouth.
Archer accepted the plate, turning to speak to another male as he picked up a salt-dusted berry and slipped it into his mouth.
The effect was instantaneous: While the male went on and on, imagining he had an avid listener in his beloved crown prince, Archer’s eyes widened and watered.
He tried to cover his gag with a false cough as he covered his mouth with a fist. His attempts at looking cavalier all but failing, he held up a hand, seizing a wineglass off a tray from the first servant who passed by, and threw back its entire glistening gold contents in a single gulp.
All the while, I had to bite my own lip to keep from laughing aloud.
Your punishment will come. Archer’s voice was dark and smooth and nearly made me shiver despite the humid night.
It was worth it.
After a round of cheers and applause from the awful crowd at Archer’s raised empty glass, as if he’d accomplished something, the prince announced he needed to take me to the king for my official introduction.
“I can’t believe he’s settling down,” sighed a female nearby, pouting and tossing her lavender hair.
A blonde beside her shrugged. “Or maybe it’s a political marriage. No one said anything about settling down. Maybe he’ll still take lovers.” She winked before cutting me an appraising look.
I smiled back at her, the picture of composure, until she turned away, appearing unsettled.
What did this court, dressed in their blacks and greens and reds, drenched in weapons as if they were accessories, think of me in frothy pink and gold?
I was like the first rays of sun cutting through their night, an oddity among my own kind simply due to my magic and my nature.
“Father,” Archer drawled as we approached the makeshift throne, “I see you’ve neglected to make a place of honor for my soon-to-be-wife.”
“Soon?” Wystan’s orange eyes turned their full searing weight from Archer to me.
Instinctively, I held my breath, a tendril of doubt making me wonder if he’d read my thoughts after all. All my fury. All my fear. All my aching longing to escape and go home and never see a single one of the fae gathered here again.
Archer set his jaw stubbornly. “Soon. Why wait when one is in love?”
His sister burst out into laughter, musical yet harsh. “You have scarcely looked at the female since you’ve arrived. I don’t believe you, brother.” She turned to her latest suitor in line, fluttering her lashes and blushing as if he were the first to ever give her attention.
King Wystan leaned back, looking lazy. “Briar is right. I’m not wasting time preparing a celebration for some odd farce, Archer. I don’t know what you are doing, but—”
Archer whirled, finally facing me and truly looking at me for the first time that night.
His eyes consumed me, raking over my unbound hair cascading past my bare shoulders, along the curves my dress set off, and back to my face.
If I hadn’t known that he was putting on a show for the benefit of onlookers, I would have feared there was something like desire in that fervent green gaze.
He seized me by the waist, the heat of his hands making the fabric feel like an ineffective barrier, like his touch was a battering ram shattering the walls I wished could stay between us.
He leaned forward, his ragged breath sweet from the wine he’d consumed.
“No need for that.” The king waved impatiently, and I sucked in a harried breath.
Archer smirked, but he didn’t release me.
Heart pounding, I told myself it was for the best, that we wouldn’t fool anyone if we didn’t appear to want to be near one another.
If you glare at me like you’re imagining feeding me more salted berries, no one will believe us.
Archer’s thought was sharp in my mind, as cutting as his voice when he was speaking to me and not coating it in smooth charm for others.
I was imagining feeding you some of my flames, I thought back sweetly.
Unexpectedly, Archer burst into laughter, the sound rumbling through his chest as he held me against him. “Father, please announce my bride to the court.”
King Wystan stood, and immediately, the riotous gathering grew quiet: conversations halted, the music stopped, and the citizens and nobility turned, suddenly respectful.
Or afraid. “My good citizens of Emberglade, it seems that tonight is no normal party, but one in which my son and heir would like me to announce that he has chosen a bride.” He gestured toward us.
Archer’s arms remained entwined around me, as if we truly were besotted.
“Please make Isoria Gildmere welcome as our newest member of the court and soon-to-be member of your esteemed Emberglade family.”
A round of uproarious applause, stamping, and cheers filled the air, and I smiled prettily in acknowledgement, as if I cared. If they knew what I was, they’d be calling for my execution instead.
Archer released me only to take my hand and lead me to the throne. I’m afraid you’re going to have to sit in my lap.
What? I thought back frantically. Can’t you make them bring another throne?
This isn’t just a way to convince them we’re in love, Feathers. This is a way to rile my father—and also to convince the court of our love and force him to accept our betrothal.
When he put it that way… Fine, to defy your father.
Archer plopped down, pulling me into his lap.
Heart in my throat, I sat up straight, trying to mask the shock roaring through me as the heat of his body flooded me. I could feel sparks pricking at my fingertips, a burst of flames ready to erupt and consume us both as my annoyance, anger, and anxiety peaked.
“Relax,” Archer muttered, pulling me until my back was against his chest. His own heart pounded erratically, matching time with mine, as if his reminder was as much for him as it was for me.
Archer chuckled, pressing his nose into my neck as if he were nuzzling me, inhaling my scent.
Are you punishing yourself? I thought.
It’s a punishment for you as well, especially after those blasted berries. Any discomfort of mine is worth it if it makes you squirm.
And indeed, I was squirming. I forced myself to hold still, to lean into him and turn my face toward him with false adoration. I can’t wait to put more salt into your food, I thought as I stared into his piercing green eyes.
Archer’s gaze narrowed the slightest bit before the corner of his mouth twisted upward into a smirk.
I can’t wait to kiss you again. It’s tolerable when it makes you squeamish.
In fact… He leaned forward, and when I didn’t move, forcing myself to go along with the act, he pressed his lips to my neck, brushing soft kisses up toward my jawline.
Once again giving into the twisted delight of knowing he was disgusted, hating this farce as much as me, I let my eyes flutter closed and turned to press kisses against his jaw in return.
His skin was rough with stubble and he smelled of parchment and ink, like he’d fallen asleep reading and dropped a book against his face.
Abruptly, Archer pulled back. I released a breath, flooded with the elation of my victory now that he’d relented first. But something was off—something more than just his disgust of me.
Though his charming smile remained affixed to his face, darkness lurked in his eyes, and his gaze was fastened ahead.
My own emotions were tumultuous, but I thought I sensed anxiety and anger emanating from him, overtaking his annoyance.
I turned to see the winding line that had formed, all of the fae who wanted to pay their respects to me, each dipping into bows or curtsies at Archer’s makeshift throne before rejoining the party.
But that wasn’t what had caught the prince’s attention.
There was a commotion within the party: two guards were leading a struggling form past the tables and dancers and through the crowd, toward King Wystan’s throne.
When they stopped at the empty space before the king, the line at Archer’s throne moved away, widening the gap between them and the prisoner.
The air thickened as the emotions of the party shifted from celebration and indulgence to anger and fear.
“Your Majesty!” one of the guards said as both she and her companion shoved the handcuffed prisoner to his knees before the throne.
“We’ve brought before you someone harming our people and threatening Emberglade’s very existence.
For your sentencing, behold: a phoenix shifter who’s been hiding within Rainsong itself. ”