Chapter 37
Caeo
Less than three days until my wedding. I don’t have it in me to attend supper this evening, so I attempt to get food delivered, like Owena did last night.
My throat twists, making me gag as I lie to the servant about feeling sick.
But it works in my favor for once, and he returns shortly with a bowl of some kind of brothy soup and fruit.
Not the most filling of meals, but worth avoiding my mother for.
I spend a large chunk of time lying in bed while whispering to myself, attempting to willbend, but it’s kind of pointless.
My words don’t feel any different, and there’s no way of knowing if I’ve succeeded—I can’t willbend myself, and my mother would undoubtedly hear about it if I practiced on other people.
Not that I want to do that to anyone, anyway.
The next morning, sunlight smacks me awake through the open window.
I drag myself over, eyeing the gardens below.
If I can’t convince Owena to help me, it seems like the best I’ll be able to do is figure out where the largest gap between guards is and hope I can scale the wall faster than they can run.
My stomach tightens. I’m pretty sure I know where that is, but I’ll only have one shot. If I fail… I don’t want to think about what’ll happen. So I need to be sure. Find the best possible spot, and the best possible moment.
Once dressed, I open the door…
… and almost immediately shut it.
Mother’s right there. She isn’t even mid-knock. Just standing there, waiting for me.
I feign surprise. But not really, because I am surprised, my heart thundering against my ribs. I feign pleasant surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was told you seemed ill.” She looks me up and down. “It would appear you’re feeling better this morning.”
Could I knock her out faster than she can say ‘stop’? I’ve never punched anyone before, but it seems like she’d see it coming. And if she does, that’s it. I’ll have blown all other chances.
So I choose my words carefully. “I have more energy now.”
Her crimson lips press into a tight smile. “You’ll need it—we have a busy day. Come.” Her command echoes in my head, and my feet yank me after her as she turns down the hall.
Fuck.
Now that I’m aware of what’s happening, it’s so obvious. I tense my legs, fighting the forward pull of my feet, but it only makes me stumble. She eyes me, eyebrow raised, as I attempt a nonchalant recovery.
I can’t let her see me fighting it.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Breakfast. Then rehearsal.”
“Will Owena be there?” Seems like an appropriate question for someone who’s smitten.
Mother’s face tightens. “At the rehearsal, yes. But this will be your last meal with your mother as an unwed man. I am not sharing it.”
My brow furrows. “But the wedding’s not for two more days…”
“After the rehearsal, the two of you will share a small meal before beginning a fast in isolation until the ceremony.”
“What?” I swallow back the panic that threatens to spill out. “Why wasn’t I told about this before?”
“There was no reason to. Does this somehow interfere with your plans?”
A chill crawls down my spine. “What plans?”
Mother tilts her head as one side of her mouth curls up.
“What plans indeed?”
* * *
The rehearsal takes place on some hill in the gardens. It isn’t only for the wedding, but my coronation as well—which doesn’t involve Owena, so she stands aside with her father, the embodiment of patience and poise, while I go through all the motions of the ceremony.
It was too much to hope that they’d just put a crown on my head and be done with it.
I have to say a bunch of words in a language I’ve never heard before, and no one bothers to tell me what they mean.
I could be promising to dance in the blood of my firstborn for all I know.
That’s starting to seem like a fae thing.
But I lock away my frustration and pretend I’m excited to bind myself to the Land.
Mother doesn’t seem convinced, and I’m willing to bet the Land can tell, too.
If the ground’s gonna be sentient, it’s good She’s not stupid, but I’m starting to regret not putting more effort into understanding Her before now.
On the bright side, if She takes offense at my insincerity and smites me down, at least I won’t be getting married. Now that I’ve rehearsed the ceremony, a swift death would be a blessing.
Fae weddings are fucked up.
Everything was going fine until Owena and I were standing under the wedding arch.
There were so many rules about how we got there—when each of us took a step, when we could look at one another—but that’s typical for all the fae propriety I’ve learned in the last week.
Then they pulled out the obsidian blade we’re supposed to slice one another’s arms open with before drinking each other’s blood and I almost passed out.
Seriously. What the actual fuck? I don’t even want to drink Ellie’s blood, let alone Owena’s. That shit’s supposed to stay inside your body, not oozing down someone’s throat. A shudder runs through me just thinking about it.
Owena doesn’t seem fazed at all.
“I’m not doing that,” I say to everyone present, then turn to her. “Why didn’t you tell me that was a thing?”
Owena’s brow crinkles in what seems to be genuine confusion. “Is that not part of mortal weddings?”
“No! It most definitely is not!” I’m minutely relieved this wasn’t an intentional deception on her part, but my horror overshadows that completely. I choke back bile as my stomach lurches halfway up my throat.
My veins freeze over as my mother’s expression hardens. “You will do your part in the ceremony, and you will do it with a smile on your face.”
This time, her words don’t echo, my mind and body remaining my own, but I recognize the threat.
If I don’t, she’ll force me to.
And of course, the blood-sucking will be followed by my public ravishment of Owena for everyone to see.
I’m gonna need something a lot stronger than speckled long leaf.
As it is, I would’ve bolted the second rehearsal ended if it weren’t for my mother’s willbending. She knows it, too—I can see it in her eyes. She knows I’m aware of what she’s doing to me, and an icy dread grips my insides, making it almost impossible to breathe.
How did I ever find comfort in this person?
Sure, she had awful moments… most of them were, in fact, but between them were spots of genuine affection.
Wiping my tears, tucking me in, laughing at my jokes.
And it’s not like I wasn’t a disappointing kid, never listening and being terrible at everything.
Was it all an act? Did she ever actually love me?
Thinking back, I can’t remember a single time she ever said she did. The realization should probably devastate me, except I’m too busy dealing with the absolute panic of how the fuck am I getting out of here?
“I can’t do this!” I hiss at Owena the second the dining room door closes for our private meal. No servants, but my mother stands just outside. “I have to get out of here!”
“She can hear us,” Owena warns.
My fingers clench as I try to stop from exploding.
Owena nods at the food. “You should eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“We don’t get another meal for two days. To ensure we’re hungry enough to stomach one another’s blood.”
Fuuuuuuuck.
“How do you just accept this?” I snatch some roasted vegetables and smash them onto my plate.
“I have little choice. My father has just as tight a hold on me as your mother does on you.”
But their gift is curses, not willbending. That must mean…
“Has he—”
Owena shoves her fingers against my lips and makes an exaggerated glance toward the door.
Right. She’s listening.
Which effectively makes our time together useless. I channel my anger into my chewing, scarfing down as much food as possible because I do not want to end up hungry for blood.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” That’s the last thing Owena says to me.
She didn’t need to warn me—I don’t get a chance.
It’s impossible to take a single step without my mother’s direction as she leads me and a dozen escorts to the site of my isolation.
In this instance, that means sitting in a forest clearing that would normally be stunning, with the sun’s golden light filtering through the majestic pines, forming rays in the fog.
Except I’m surrounded by heavily armed guards.
‘For my protection.’ Right. Then why are half of them staring at me instead of looking for intruders? I can’t even take a shit without them watching.
I’m supposed to be ‘communing with the Land,’ whatever that means; no one’s bothered explaining it and the guards ignore all my questions. So I sit on the grass and ask if She can sprout some mushrooms for me. The good kind.
She doesn’t. I blame the language barrier.
Or maybe She’s just ignoring me. Why should She give a damn when my own mother doesn’t? I rip out a chunk of grass, scattering the blades in the wind, just to spite Her.
The rest of the afternoon crawls by, with me lying on my back, staring at the sky while dread digs through my guts. I try to breathe away my spiraling thoughts, but they keep creeping back, like an army of ants swarming an apple core.
Blood, dripping down Owena’s arm. Me, licking it up. Its awful, metallic taste as I swallow it down, turning her into a part of me I never wanted. Either I do it on my own, or my mother forces me. And then…
My guards say nothing, just standing there, eerily still, spears sharp. Until they shift, grass crunching beneath their feet, the tiny sound startling me into thinking someone’s approaching. Sparking hope that they’ll take me far away from here. Tell me it’s all a mistake.
But no one’s coming.
My stomach growls just as the sun sets. Maybe I should sleep? Seems pointless. Asleep or awake, what’s the difference? Hunger pangs won’t bother me while unconscious, but sleeping will only bring me closer to the bloody fuck-fest that is my wedding.