Chapter 33
We walked into the mountain forest. My wedding slippers, delicate creations meant for dancing on polished floors, caught on countless roots and stones. The elaborate dress now felt as burdensome as plate-mail.
More than an hour had passed since we stole away from the wedding, putting plenty of distance between us and the merriment, but still we pressed on, guided by lantern and a trail of glowing willemite.
The stones pulsed with unnatural light, like breadcrumbs leading to something ancient and unsettling.
My insides somersaulted. Florence was vague about the details, but the implication was clear: tonight, the Lord of Night would bless my womb. Tomorrow, I’d wake with child. In between, I would lie with the prince.
“What if the trail never ends?” I jested, wincing at the dull ache in my toes. “Or what if it’s just a big circle?”
“Tired?” Nicolas replied, setting the lantern down atop a stump. He grinned. “Perhaps I should carry you.”
“Perhaps you should—eek!”
Nicolas hoisted me into his arms, adjusting the hold until he was comfortable, then managed to secure the lantern below me. I looked up at him, eyes wide, and held an arm around his neck.
Florence had planted the glowing stones along a path to a secret meeting spot, according to the prince; somewhere far from anyone who might hear or see what came next.
“May I say something?” asked Nicolas.
I nodded, burying my face in his jacket. His heart drummed against my cheek, too fast for simple exertion.
“I’ve come to accept what I feel for you.”
A mild breeze rustled the canopy overhead. I tilted my chin to look at him, expecting more distance than he was giving. His eyes locked onto mine, shining with immense fondness.
“At first, it was strategic; I thought myself bewitched, and was merely taking advantage of the weakness you exploited. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone having so much control over me.”
He shifted my weight, arms tightening beneath me, and navigated carefully around the roots of an ancient oak. The willemite painted his face in ethereal green.
“Then I started to trust you,” he went on, the redness in his cheeks visible even in the moonlight.
“You weren’t frightened away, not even by the attempted abduction.
You fought back. You learned to navigate court when you’d never spent a moment outside of that little cottage.
You were remarkable, and what I felt for you became so much more than a fabrication. ”
He stopped walking as we came near a clearing. Firelight blinked between the silhouettes of the woods. Before he took another step, Nicolas set me down.
“They call it ‘falling in love’. I wonder why; it feels more like I’m drowning in it. It’s slower than a fall, deeper.” His voice roughened. “And yet it also feels like floating. This goes beyond magic. I love you. I need you to know that.”
I lifted my chin, searching his face in the dark. A few steps further and we wouldn’t be alone. I had to speak now, while the trees were our only witness.
“I hated you,” I whispered. The words visibly wounded him, but I recovered, caressing his face. “Taking me from my home, trapping me with you in that hornet’s nest you called a palace, demanding I poison and scheme to survive… At first, I thought you might just be another snake to step around.”
Nicolas’ arms tightened around me, but he didn’t interrupt.
“When you danced with me…that was the first time I really knew you. Then you kissed me, and you were vulnerable, gentle… restrained, even though you are a prince and you could have used me as you saw fit. You struggled through signing lessons where you might have expected others to translate for you, even though I was ignoring you at the time. You opened up to me, let me see what lay beneath your crown. And I care for you. Today I saw in your eyes that you would let me go if I wished, but I chose to stay.” I paused to laugh, brief and embarrassed.
Nicolas watched me with breathless wonder.
“Despite how afraid I am, I choose this. I choose us.”
Nicolas’ lips quivered. He looked between my eyes, then pressed a kiss to my cheek.
“Come, wife.” He smiled tenderly. “Let’s see what terror awaits us.”
He took me by the hand and led me into the clearing.
A circle of painted stones lay before us, the runes atop them somehow painful to behold, as if I was staring directly at the sun.
Outside the circle stood Florence and a stranger in sorceress’ robes.
I swallowed, unwittingly squeezing my husband’s hand.
Florence’s eyes went down to our connection. She smirked. “I believe congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you,” I replied. Nicolas let go, caressing my arm.
Florence nodded. “All right. The moon is high, and we have much to do. Princess, please follow me; Prince, remain here with my assistant.”
I regarded Nicolas one last time, then disappeared down a candlelit trail with Florence. Once they were out of sight, the sorceress turned to me.
“You’ll need to undress. Do you need help?”
“Please,” I replied, unfamiliar with the gown’s many laces.
Florence helped me out of my wedding dress, carefully setting it atop a stump so that it stayed clean.
I covered myself as she retrieved a vial from her basket.
There was something white inside: a liniment of some kind, judging by the viscosity.
She dipped two fingers in and pressed it to my navel.
It was cold, with a texture like yoghurt, and as Florence painted my stomach in a spiraling pattern, I couldn’t help but shiver.
“Why must I always be nude for the Lord of Night?” I complained. “Can a ritual not occur in a nice, cozy robe?”
Florence snorted, then trailed pathways down each of my limbs, about my breasts, and lower, stopping at the peak of my pubic hair. I fought the urge to jerk back, and at last, Florence offered me a cloak for warmth.
“The Lord of Night will be watching tonight, dear,” she said, the thought settling like ice in my blood.
I remembered Quinn, touched by shadows in the garden, and parted my mouth to bring that up, but she continued.
“In the moonlight, any witch’s power over men extends.
They become more susceptible to their baser natures in our presence. It is one of His gifts.”
My heart pounded. “Does he possess the men?”
“Oh, nothing like that. It is more like an opening of the mind,” Florence replied.
“The effect wanes with His absence. During the new moon, men are no different from their usual selves. And in daylight, or rooms ablaze with candlelight, His reach falters. Light is the Lady’s domain, after all.
” Perhaps she sensed some worry in me, because she added: “The Lord merely removes inhibitions, amplifies what already exists. A man who desires you will burn with it, and if a man fears you, he might flee in terror.”
Quinn had done both. Gods, was any of it real? How much of his passion had belonged to him?
“Tonight’s moon is full. The prince will feel it strongly. He may seem unleashed. The ritual requires this: for the magic to take root, both participants must surrender completely to instinct.”
She marked lines beneath my eyes, across my nose, down from my lip, then drew a crescent moon at the center of my forehead, surrounded by twelve dots. The mixture smelled like jasmine, and it dried quickly so that I hardly noticed it unless I happened to glance down at my hands.
“What is this for?” I asked.
“The liniment assists with conception by heightening certain senses, and by channeling the seed.”
I blinked.
“You’ll see soon enough,” Florence sighed, motioning with her head for me to follow.
We went back to the clearing, finding Nicolas alone and kneeling.
He awaited me within the stone circle, adorned in a pelt; the wolf’s head sat atop his own, teeth dripping with red jewels.
The pelt was held together over a matching cloak, fastened across his neck with ornate metalwork, but it was parted enough for me to see that beneath it, my husband was every bit as naked as I was.
I paled. He, too, was painted with liniment, though his was a deep scarlet.
It struck across his cheeks and trailed along the contours of his torso.
Muscles long hidden by his usual fashions came to light.
The prince was leaner than his clothing suggested, yet there was an undeniable strength to him.
The scarlet paint traced paths across the planes of his chest, down a smooth, flat stomach, along powerful arms. In the otherworldly lighting of the runes and the moon above, Nicolas looked utterly savage, both a sacrifice and a god at once.
Before I could stop myself, my gaze traveled lower, and…oh.
Oh.
I’d wondered, of course, through all the impassioned moments we shared.
Now I understood what Angharad meant when she mentioned those satisfied mistresses.
The man was proportioned like everything else about him: elegant, and intimidating.
The paint swirled around him there, too, making him resemble some ancient fertility god, which I supposed was the point.
I realized I was staring and forced my eyes back up, but they didn’t meet his gaze; instead, they fixed upon a scar along his stomach, and another near his heart.
A knife from his uncle, an arrow from some assassin.
.. as if the emotional toll wasn’t enough, every time he undressed, the prince would see those betrayals carved into his flesh.
But he was breathtaking.
My mouth was dry. This was nothing like my fumbling with Quinn, nothing like the descriptions in the books; it was primal. My body remembered the weight of Nicolas from our stolen kisses, but seeing him so exposed made my knees weaken with a confusing combination of desire and trepidation.