Chapter 8
Aoife, one year and seven months ago
“Your Majesty, what are you doing?”
My head snapped up from where I sat in my bathtub, luxuriating in the hot water as I looked at the town dressmaker.
“I’m taking a bath,” I said to Ceri, who was also the wife of my future husband’s brother.
She was nice enough, and she certainly had some wonderful ideas for the dress I was wearing today.
“Oh honey,” another voice said, Marsten stepping forward and flipping his long hair over his shoulder. “Your hair is all wet. I can’t curl it until it dries, and I can’t do your makeup when you’re in the bathtub.”
I threw my head back, letting my hair soak in the water.
“Do you know that I used to have to draw Fairwitch’s bath for them?
Every single morning and evening because they insisted on bathing twice a day.
Castle didn’t warm the water, then, so I had to heat it over a hearth, and if it was too hot, Fairwitch would make me do it all over again. If it was too cold . . .”
“Fairwitch would make you do it all over again,” Ceri said, her brown eyes shining with sympathy.
“His Majesty is going to be annoyed if she’s late,” Marsten said out the side of his mouth, his pink-painted lips matching his pink nails.
Ceri gave a half shrug. “She can bathe just a little longer. It’s her wedding day, after all. What’s the rush?”
Marsten pressed his lips together, and I sank deeper into the brass tub, staying like that until my skin was wrinkled like a raisin.
I finally got out, letting Ceri and Marsten fuss over me, towel me off, get me dressed.
The entire time, I stared at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing this woman with her thick hair that Marsten curled into loose waves, with the golden dress Ceri had made for me that had long sleeves and a plunging neckline that showed my ample cleavage.
It hugged my thick waist, and clung to my legs, dropping all the way to my feet, which glittered with golden heels.
It was beautiful, something I’d never dreamed I’d be able to wear.
“Are you excited?” Marsten asked as he leaned forward to dust a dark shade of pink onto my eyelids.
“I’m . . .” Well I wasn’t sure how I was feeling. When I’d first awoken a few months ago, I’d been horrified that I was to be married, to rule by someone else’s side. I’d felt betrayed by Castle, lied to, chained once more.
But as I’d learned the history of Fairwitch Isle, everything my people had been through since the godwitches cursed them and left for the Otherworld, I’d thought that maybe Castle had a good reason for choosing a mortal and one of the Fair Folk as its rulers.
Maybe Lor and I were both needed to truly bring these communities together.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever love Lor. He was too serious, too rigid, too self-righteous. But I could have fun with him. Heat stirred between my legs as I thought of our wedding night. My body was aching for a release, and my rugged, muscled husband might just be perfect for that.
“You’re a lucky woman, Your Majesty,” Marsten said, and my gaze met his glinting one. “That Lorcan Wolfgang is . . .” He fanned himself.
Ceri swatted him. “Will you stop it? That’s Cillian’s brother.”
Marsten shrugged. “What can I say? Those Wolfgang boys are just made different.” He made a sound of satisfaction, and a laugh burst out of me.
“He is very handsome,” I said. “In a rough sort of way.”
Marsten painted my lips with a brush. “Oh, yes. He’s like a tree. And I would definitely climb him.”
“Marsten,” Ceri said again, exasperated, but I just laughed, feeling light, hopeful. Today was my wedding day, and I was going to enjoy it.
Lor and I had a rocky start, but maybe today could be a new beginning for us.
* * *
Hours later, my feet ached from dancing, my cheeks ached from smiling, and my tight dress was squeezing my ribs.
Lor held me in his arms as we danced, surrounded by everyone who’d come to celebrate the marriage of the new king and queen of Fairwitch Isle. Bodies were packed into the throne room, trays floating past us as hands grabbed flutes of champagne off them.
He looked handsome today as candles floated high above us, washing the room in the warm glow of the flickering light.
His hair hung to his shoulders, a dark brown that was almost black, and his white silk shirt was only halfway buttoned, showing his toned chest underneath with a dusting of thick dark hair.
I wondered if I kept unbuttoning that silk shirt if it would show a sculpted abdomen as well.
I wondered how Fairwitch would feel knowing that I now reigned in their throne room, that the very Castle they’d made sentient had chosen me as its queen. I didn’t want to think about Fairwitch tonight, not on what was supposed to be a joyous occasion.
“You look lovely,” Lor said as we swayed back and forth, my hand clutched in his, his hand gripping my waist tight, warm enough that I could feel the heat of it through the fabric of my dress.
“Thank you,” I said. “You’re looking grand yourself.”
He shot me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, tired and . . . unhappy, maybe? I didn’t know him well enough to read that smile.
My stomach clenched, and I wondered if he was still upset with me over how I’d reacted when I’d first awoken. We admittedly hadn’t seen a lot of each other since that day, both of us so busy figuring out our roles, how we’d move forward, we’d been like passing ships.
“Did you enjoy the ceremony?” he asked, and I tensed.
I hadn’t expected to be married in the temple of the love and relationship godwitch.
They weren’t the worst of the godwitches, and they hadn’t owned slaves.
They were the godwitch of love, after all, and slavery went against their morals.
But they were still a godwitch; they’d still attended other godwitches temples and homes where slaves were present.
They hadn’t joined in our uprising to overthrow the godwitches.
“It was a wedding,” I said simply. “I attended many of them in my time as a slave.”
Whenever Fairwitch was invited to a wedding, I had to attend as well, answering to their every request before, during, and after the ceremony.
Ambrose danced past us, a mortal blond in his arms, as he twirled her around. I’d had to end things when Lor and I got betrothed, and he’d been distant ever since.
Lor and I continued to sway at our own rhythm, at odds with the fast tempo of the violin and flute harmonies drifting through the air.
“I’m sorry,” Lor said, genuine sympathy in his voice. “I’m sure so much of this is difficult when you have such horrible memories. I hope as queen and king, we can rectify the mistakes of the past.”
I raised my chin, smiling at him. “Me too.”
He huffed a laugh.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, his face sobering.
“Tell me. What’s so funny?”
He swallowed, then met my gaze. “Not funny, exactly, but when you smile, it’s infectious. You smile so rarely, but when you do, it’s like I can’t help but smile as well.”
The comment caught me so off-guard I’d stopped dancing, not even realizing it. Maybe this marriage truly wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Eventually, the music died down, the candles slowly flickering out one by one.
Everyone began filing out of the room, stopping to wish us their final congratulations of the night until it was completely empty, just Lor and me, the moonlight slashing in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of us.
My heart hammered. I wasn’t sure what happened now.
In typical marriages, I knew what occurred after the wedding, of course.
But this wasn’t a typical marriage. I hadn’t even been staying in the castle the last few months, preferring to sleep outside, under the stars, where I felt a freedom I hadn’t in the castle.
Before either of us could say anything, the floor began shifting. I stumbled into Lor, and he wrapped his arms around me, his musky scent swallowing me as the entire throne room disappeared, stones building on top of each other to create stairs.
“I think it wants us to go this way.” Lor nodded his head toward the stairs.
We walked up them, Lor leading me until the stones dropped around us, creating a floor, walls, and a single door at the end of the hallway.
My husband was still clutching me tight to him, his heart pounding in rhythm with mine, an unreadable expression on his face. He grabbed my hand, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. “I want to show you something.”
He led me down the hallway, and my heels clicked on the stone floor as I let him pull me along. I had no idea what he wanted to show me. My room? His room? My heart pounded. Our room?
He’d assured me we could have separate sleeping chambers, but maybe tonight, with champagne and giddiness filling me, I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with Lorcan Wolfgang.
He flung open the door and turned, our faces inches apart. His dark eyes widened in surprise like he hadn’t expected me to be this close.
“I hope you like it,” he said. “I had the royal suite redone for you.”
His hand was still twined through mine, and I let out a half laugh, hardly hearing what he said, just staring at his full lips, the swell of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
He leaned down, lips close to mine. “Aoife,” he said in a low voice that sent a shudder through me. “I only wanted to give you your wedding gift. I don’t expect anything in return.”
Before I knew what I was doing, my finger was trailing up his hard chest, circling the dark hairs. His eyes flashed, breathing growing erratic, lips hovering so close to mine that I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to close the distance.
I leaned up to whisper in his ear exactly what I planned to do to him when I caught sight of the room over his shoulder.
The feel of chains closing over my wrists enveloped me. Cold, hard metal, rough and rubbing my skin raw.