Chapter 38
Reid
“It’ll look good on you,” Emlyn insists, holding a deep green stretch of fabric up to me.
We stand inside a small clothing shop, with tunics of mostly earth tones and undyed wool hanging from pegs and racks sticking off the walls and ceilings. Only a few other customers wander among the wares.
“That can’t possibly qualify as a shirt,” I say, eyeing the tangle of straps in his hand.
“I never said it did.”
“Then I’m not wearing it.”
“It’s a wedding. What’d you expect to wear?”
“Clothes?” I lean close to his ear, not that it matters with fae hearing. I just have to trust no one cares what I’m saying. “Please tell me fae wear clothes to weddings.”
“Of course we do.” Emlyn smacks my shoulder with the back of his hand. “It is clothing. Just not a shirt.”
“Then what is it?”
“Um…” He holds it up, tilting his head as he squints at it. “I’m not honestly sure. But I’d like to see you in it.”
I hold back the smile that wants to break my face. “Another time. Right now, I just need something clean.”
We arrived in the capital two days after the meeting in White Spring. Just me, Emlyn, Taran, and Ellie, traveling like a flock of chickens and ducks. Everyone else went their separate ways, aiming to meet again at the wedding when Taran’s plan goes into motion.
If it had been up to me, Emlyn and I would’ve traveled separately, too.
I can’t stand being around Ellie and Taran.
They aren’t overly affectionate, but the way they look at one another…
Ugh. But Emlyn insisted on sticking with them, at least during the day, so I tried to ignore the anger that ravaged my insides every time I laid eyes on them.
It was Ellie’s choice. And Taran’s—he, at least, should’ve known better. Emlyn barely defended him, only mumbling how Taran’s cracks are finally showing.
But it wasn’t my fault.
At least we camped separately. I could have spent that time fretting over the horrible things my absence was providing them the opportunity to do to one another, but Emlyn didn’t give those thoughts a chance to enter my mind.
Our nights have been good. So good. My experience with such things is rather limited since there weren’t that many men with similar tastes in Haven, but damn—Emlyn knows what he’s doing.
He spent our first night together exploring every inch of my body with his fingers, lips, and teeth trailing along my skin, testing everything from tender caresses to spine-tingling bites until he knew more about what I liked than I ever did.
The whole thing culminated with him gasping my name as I came inside him, after he somehow kept me at the edge of bursting for almost half a fucking bell.
I was a moron for hesitating as long as I did. And as mind-blowing as the sex is, it’s got nothing on waking up to his beautiful eyes, still wrapped around each other. He hasn’t been out of arm’s reach for more than a few minutes during these last few days.
But now the journey’s over. One of Taran’s allies, a shepherd named Cadoc, moved his entire clan to the outskirts of the capital, and we’ve joined them.
Tomorrow’s the wedding, and according to the plan, Ellie and I will attend as Aerona’s guests—Ellie as her servant, and me as her escort. Hence the shopping for clothing.
Emlyn came along, claiming it would be good to get some more information. The key word being ‘would.’ He’s made it quite clear he has no intention of working today.
“This is clean,” he says, still waving the questionable garment. “It’s clearly never been worn.”
“Because no one could figure out how.” An olive-green tunic catches my eye. “How about this?” I hold it up to myself.
Emlyn shrugs. “I suppose it’ll work. Try it on.” He nods toward the curtain hanging in the corner, then follows as I head over.
“Stop. You’re staying here.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m trying on a shirt, not putting on a show.”
I know exactly what’ll happen if he follows me back there. While I’m already going hard at the thought, that curtain wouldn’t offer even an illusion of privacy. Emlyn doesn’t care, but despite his efforts to immerse me in fae culture, I’m not into public copulation just yet.
“Whatever. But I’m getting you this.” He brandishes the swash of green threateningly.
Five minutes later, we join the crowd of people swarming Aedallan, the capital city of Aedys, for the royal wedding.
Emlyn explained that this is a big event, since fae royals rarely wed; they can live for thousands of years, and typically only marry once in their lifetime.
People have traveled from all over to attend, and while the official celebration isn’t until tomorrow afternoon, the common folk have been celebrating all week.
It’s not as nerve-wracking as the last time I walked through a fae village, despite the teeming crowds.
Everyone’s so focused on getting from one celebration to the next, with bodies constantly bumping into one another, that no one spares me a second glance.
Emlyn holds my hand as he leads the way, weaving through the party-seekers.
Aedallan’s built in a forest of ginormous pine trees.
The late afternoon sun peeks through their canopy, the shadows lit by those same floating orbs I spotted in the woods after I incanted.
As best I can tell, the places for public gatherings—shops, gardens, taverns, and the like—make up the lower levels of the city.
Emlyn swerves off the main path toward a walled-off area with a line of people waiting outside. Pulling me to the front of the queue, he whispers something to the woman at the entrance. She purses her lips, then nods. Emlyn kisses her cheek and guides me past.
I glance back, but she’s already out of sight. “Who was that?”
He lets go of my hand and squeezes my shoulders. “An old fling. You don’t need to worry about it.”
Even if he could lie, I’d believe him. I see how he looks at me. Though it does leave me wondering just how many people he’s slept with.
We stand at the start of a twisting path through a maze-like garden, full of people mingling. Most gather at what looks like barrels—if someone smoothly molded them out of solid chunks of wood—standing about a dozen feet apart along the trail.
Emlyn grabs two wooden cups from someone passing by and hands one to me. “We’re gonna find a drink we both like or get completely sloshed trying.”
My stomach flips over as I recall the fig wine. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do something else?” I focus intently on his eyes. “Literally anything else?” After what I’ve learned the last two nights with him, that’s not an offer I make lightly.
“Hmm…” He trails his finger along my jawline, sending a tingle through me. “Tempting, but no. This is important to me.”
I’m not proud of the whine in my voice. “Why?”
“I want to have something we can share.”
The sentiment would normally have butterflies flitting through my stomach, but I’m too busy gagging at the gooey liquid oozing down the sides of the nearby revelers’ cups. Emlyn pulls me toward the first barrel.
I yank him back. “No, we’re skipping that one. Nothing thick. Not unless you’re into me spewing my guts all over you.”
Emlyn clicks his tongue. “Can’t say I am.”
The next drink at least has a normal consistency for potable fluids, its bright red liquid filling my cup as I dip it into the barrel.
As I bring it to my mouth, my stomach heaves in warning at its sickly sweet scent.
I glance at Emlyn, who watches me as he takes a sip, then swallow the whole thing in one gulp.
Its sweetness smacks my tastebuds, but at least it passed through my mouth fast enough that its taste doesn’t linger.
“Thoughts?” Emlyn asks.
“Definitely not that one.” I try to wash out what remains with my spit.
“That’s unfortunate. But I appreciate the enthusiasm.” He leans in to kiss me, slipping his tongue between my lips.
“Nope!” I yelp, pushing him off me. “You do not get to kiss me tasting like that!”
“Fine,” he sighs. “Let’s find something bitter, then.”
The sun has basically given up and set by the time we do.
I’ve never considered myself a lightweight, but I’m well into tipsy before we find something I can take more than one swig of.
Emlyn’s brow crinkles as he drinks it, but he claims it’s bearable.
He disappears briefly to ask what it is, and when he returns, we refill our cups and find somewhere out of the way to sit.
Laughter fills the air as we watch the crowd continue hunting for their new favorites.
It’s no different from the festivals back home. I wish everyone could see this—that despite being splintered and warring for millennia, fae and humans are basically the same. We all just want to enjoy life with our loved ones.
I wrap my arm around Emlyn, then nod at the glowing orbs dancing above our heads. “What are these things, anyway?”
“Wisps.” He snuggles into my chest, careful to avoid my injury. “Spirits of the dead.”
“Those are dead fae?” My skin prickles, and I squeeze Emlyn tighter. The ones in the forest… they were my doing.
“Their spirits,” he continues. “The spark of the Land within us that gets released when we die.”
His voice lacks its usual flair. It’s… solemn. He’s had moments like this ever since White Spring. Not wanting to linger in such darkness, I change the subject.
“You never told me how you became a spy.”
Emlyn’s fingers fidget against the side of his cup. “My mom was Taran’s governess. When the queen was exiled, we moved into the palace. I think I was two at the time? Younger than I can remember, at least. We grew up together.”
Just like Caeo and me. “So he’s basically your brother?”