Chapter 4
Elowyn
There was something eerie yet peaceful about standing in the darkened grove.
Tall, willowy trees circled the clearing, their branches weaving together to form a secluded wall.
Dozens of candles burned around me, their flames flickering softly against the bark.
I had lit them an hour ago, long before my hands began to shake.
I was running out of time.
Every man presented to me as a potential husband had left my stomach churning. The thought of their hands on my skin made bile rise in my throat. I wanted none of them. But wanting had never mattered. Duty did.
I could not let the coven down.
Magic stirred deep within me. Magic I had chained and suppressed for years. It was dangerous. Forbidden. And yet it pressed against my ribs now, restless and impatient, as if it knew what I was about to do.
Elowyn.
The whisper slithered through my thoughts, soft and familiar. I shook my head, forcing it away.
This was foolish. Desperation always was. What if the fates answered with something far worse than the men I had already rejected? What if they sent me a monster?
The black lace veil draped over my face blurred the edges of the grove as I waited, heart pounding, breath shallow. The space I had carved out hummed with magic, the air thick and expectant.
My spell was simple:
Fates old, fates new, bring me a man blessed by the moon.
The one my heart can love.
The one my soul recognizes.
Bring me my husband.
I shall know it is him when he steps inside the binding circle I have made.
So let him find me.
Let him join me.
Once we enter the circle together, we shall be wed.
Wind whispered through the grove, making the candlelight tremble. I wiped my damp palms down the front of my black wedding gown, suddenly too aware of how still everything was.
The dress felt excessive for a summoning ritual. The deep V bared more skin than modesty allowed, lace tracing my curves as if daring the fates to look too closely. It fit snug across my chest, secure yet light, leaving me free to breathe.
Thin straps rested against my shoulders, my collarbones exposed beneath the flickering glow. The skirt brushed my legs as I shifted my weight, the fabric soft and unforgiving all at once.
I hoped my husband would like it.
My throat was dry as I waited, already worrying about the first words I would say. I wondered what kind of man the moon would send to me. I wanted kindness more than beauty, gentleness over power.
I knelt at the altar, waiting. For fuck’s sake, I should have said bring him to me immediately. This was ridiculous.
Unless the fates have decided that I do not get anyone.
My damn mother really fucked me over. If she would have picked literally anyone else to have a child with, then I wouldn’t be cursed. The candlelight flickered again. A familiar scent filled the air around me—a light scent of fire on a cold night. I closed my eyes and breathed it in.
Now I was being haunted by Abram’s scent. The moon was mocking me for wanting a god and thinking that I might have a chance. He would never notice me, not really. That was fine because I was about to meet the man the moon picked for me. Maybe this was the start of my happiness.
Elowyn.
I shook the whisper from my thoughts. Not now.
“I’ve been thinking that this is unsafe.” His voice drifted around me, and at first I thought I was hallucinating. “Are you really going to marry a man you don’t know?”
I whipped my head around. Abram stood at the edge of the grove, utterly still.
For a heartbeat, he looked as if he had forgotten how to breathe.
His gaze caught on me and stopped. Not traveled.
Stopped. His jaw tightened, and something dark flickered behind his eyes before he looked away, too quickly.
When his attention swept the grove, his shoulders went rigid. Candlelight reflected off his skin as his fingers curled at his sides.
He swallowed, eyes flashing red for the briefest instant, then turned as if the sight of me was something he could not afford to face.
“Where are we?” he asked.
My thoughts scattered. Words lodged in my throat as he stepped forward again. His boot snapped a twig. The sound jolted me back into myself. I surged to my feet, lifting my hands.
“Stop.”
He ignored me and kept coming.
“Abram,” I said, my voice breaking. “Please.”
“You don’t need to be dramatic, little weaver.” He kept coming toward me. “Let’s talk about this, because I’m genuinely concerned that you’re going to marry a prick.”
Another step. And another. Each step echoed around me like chains weighing me down. He would kill me if he were stuck with me.
“No. You need to stop,” I yelled.
He froze, just short of the faint glow etched into the ground. The binding circle.
“Elowyn,” he said carefully. “Why are you wearing a wedding dress?”
His gaze swept the grove, the candles, the veil. Understanding flickered across his face, followed by disbelief.
“You’re getting married. Right now?”
His jaw clenched as his attention snapped back to me. Gods, he looked unimpressed. Or hurt. I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t form a single godsdamn sentence.
“After everything with Belion?” he asked.
His eyes swirled red, struggling to hold their shape. I dragged in a shaky breath, my pulse roaring in my ears.
“Yes,” I said. “You need to leave. And don’t come any closer.”
My gaze dropped to his boot, two steps from crossing the spell. His eyes flashed completely red.
“You want me to leave?” he asked.
No.
The word burned in my chest. I wanted to belong to him. I always had. But he had never looked at me the way I looked at him. Whatever moments I had clung to over the years, whatever glances or visits I had read too much into, they had never meant what I hoped.
He would never be mine.
“Yes,” I whispered.
His face fell as he seemed to weigh his choices. His gaze swept the grove again, searching for the man I had summoned.
He stepped closer without realizing it.
Too close.
My pulse spiked. The circle shimmered faintly beneath my feet, invisible to him, waiting. I hated the thought that crept into my mind—I could let him step forward. I shoved it away before it could take root. I wasn't that cruel or desperate.
“Fine,” he whispered.
Silver star mist curled around his body, swallowing him whole. Then he was gone.
My shoulders sagged as the tension drained from me, my breath finally coming free. That had been close. Too close.
A frown creased my brow as the quiet rushed back in. How had he found me? No one should have been able to. Not unless the spell itself had drawn him here.
That was ridiculous.
The God of Fates was off limits.
“Hurry the fuck up,” I snapped at the moon. “I didn’t ask to wait forever.”
I flipped off the sky. My chest felt heavy, tight with the cruel joke the fates had played on me. For one foolish heartbeat, I had believed they might have chosen Abram for me.
Stupid.
“Who are we so angry at?”
His voice came from behind me. I spun around. Horror froze me in place as Abram stood only inches away. My gaze dropped to the ground. He was inside the circle.
No. No, no, no.
Fear crawled up my spine as my eyes traced his boots planted squarely where they should not be. My pulse thundered in my ears as I looked up at him.
He was smiling. Smug. Amused. Like he had no idea he was standing in the middle of my life imploding. I wanted to strangle him for ruining everything.
“Abram.” I yanked my veil up. “Why didn’t you leave?” I snapped.
He gave me a look, slow and unapologetic, his gaze sweeping the grove.
“You really thought I was going to leave you out here to marry a stranger,” he said, “in the middle of these oddly charming woods?”
My hand smacked my forehead. I dragged it down my face and started pacing, muttering under my breath. About fate. About idiots. About how he was going to snap my neck the moment he realized what I had done.
His attention never left me.
“What’s wrong, little weaver?”
I stopped and spun on him, glare sharp and wild.
He smiled.
The wind hit without warning.
It slammed into me hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. Abram lunged forward and caught me. Pain exploded across my chest the instant he touched me. White-hot. Blinding. My lungs seized as a strangled gasp tore free.
Abram cursed, his grip tightening as he staggered, one hand flying to his own chest. The wind vanished as suddenly as it had come. We stood there, frozen, both of us breathing hard. Abram stared at me, his expression no longer amused.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked.
“I told you to leave,” I snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Why do you never listen?”
Tears burned behind my eyes. He was going to be disgusted when he realized he was bound to me. To someone who was everything he never wanted.
“Elowyn,” he said, rubbing his chest. “What just happened?”
“You stepped into my binding circle,” I shot back. “I cast a spell for a husband, and the moon decided to be funny by sending you.”
He stilled.
“Start making more sense than that, little weaver.”
“You stepped into the circle,” I said, my voice breaking despite myself. “Which means we’re married, asshole.”
Silence.
Abram blinked slowly, like his mind was refusing to catch up. His mouth opened, then closed again.
“Married,” he said finally, testing the word like it might explode.
“That’s all you have to say?” I snapped.
“Why the hell would you make a spell for that?” he fired back.
“Because every man I met was awful,” I said. “And I was terrified of choosing wrong. I thought the moon would choose better than I could.”
His eyes sharpened. “Did you cast a spell on me?”
I slapped him.
“How dare you,” I hissed, fury flooding through me. “I would never trick you into marriage. I asked for someone kind. If the moon thought that was you, then it has a cruel sense of humor.”
“I can’t be married to you,” he said, pacing now, hands raking through his hair. “Undo it.”
“I can’t,” I said quietly. “I don’t know how.”