Chapter 48
Lor
“On guard, you scoundrel!” Sir Arthur waved his wooden sword in the air, and I frowned at the knight as I passed by him and toward the front doors of the castle.
Moonlight shone through the windows high above, motes of dust dancing in the blueish rays.
I stopped in front of the knight as he attempted to bend a leg, but he was too rusty, and he ended up stuck. “Sir Arthur, what are you doing?”
The knight straightened, his joints screeching in protest. “I’ve heard the rumors about the brotherhood closing in, and I’m preparing for a fight!” He jabbed his wooden sword forward.
“There won’t be any fighting tonight,” a voice said.
I turned to see Aoife at the top of the staircase, and my breath momentarily left my body.
She wore a deep maroon dress that hugged her hips and dropped to her slippered feet.
Her long dark hair flowed to her waist, and a golden crown hovered over her head, glittering, the same as the crown that hovered over my own head.
“Your Majesty.” Sir Arthur attempted to bow, but his armor just squeaked and protested.
“It’s all right, Sir Arthur.” She waved a hand as she descended the stairs, and I met her at the bottom.
I’d seen very little of her in the last week, something that she no doubt noticed. But I’d been busy planning. I held out my hand, and Aoife hesitated before placing hers in mine.
“What is this?” she asked. “Why did I get a note to meet you here wearing this dress?”
Sir Arthur poked his wooden sword between us. “Three steps back, Your Majesties.”
We both paused looking down at the barrier between us.
“I must insist. Last time you two stood in this foyer, I nearly lost my head when a stray plate got thrown my way.”
Aoife pressed her lips together, and I couldn’t help the smile that came to my face as she tried to hide her own.
“That seems like a lifetime ago,” I said.
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“As a knight who only has Your Majesties best interest in mind, I will have to take extreme measures if you both do not step away from each other.”
So at least one person hadn’t heard all the gossip about me and Aoife.
I held up a hand. “It’s all right, Sir Arthur. There will be no plates thrown today. I’m just taking my queen on a walk.”
“A walk? In these times? With vagrants roaming about our mountaintop? Well, then I will come with you, guard you with my very life.”
Aoife’s brows raised in question. So she really had no clue what I’d been doing over this last week. Good. I’d hoped to surprise her, but I wasn’t actually sure I could pull it off.
“Sir Arthur.” Aoife shot the knight a look and placed a hand on his arm. “You are our last defense for our home. Should our city be breached, you must protect Castle at all costs. We need you here.”
“Ah, yes. Right you are, my queen. I will stay here and keep this castle safe. I swear it.”
He stepped aside, and I led Aoife out the castle doors.
“I told you they’re not fighting,” Tal whispered behind us to Barty.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Do you hear any yelling or screaming?”
“No.”
“Then they’re not fighting.”
I shook my head as we approached the wide, curved steps that led down toward the cobblestone road. We got to the bottom of the stairs, and Aoife sucked in a sharp breath as she stared at the town, which had been transformed.
Her hand floated to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, and I wasn’t sure if that meant I’d done good or very bad.
“I know it’s not your traditional Fairtine,” I said. “I wish you all could go to that same field. I wish you could have the Fairtine of your dreams. But until that day, I hope this will suffice.”
Our single cobblestone road was filled with people.
We’d built fire pits that groups sat around, big bubbling pots of soup over a few of the fires, the scent of onions and garlic wafting through the air.
At some fires, people sang, at others people conversed, and at others, they were eating or dancing.
An older faerie who must’ve been at least ten thousand years old was passing out flowers, putting them in people’s hair or placing them in their outstretched palms.
Ambrose stood at a fire toward the bend in the road, and he sang a song in his low timbre. No instruments, just his voice, the song lulling and a bit sad, about a lost love.
Aoife still hadn’t said anything. She just stared at the festival. “This is . . .” She shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek.
I thumbed it away. “We can cancel this entire thing. I know it’s nothing like the original Fairtine.
I just wanted to”—I shoved a hand through my hair—“be a little more like you, I suppose. Focus more on community and coming together than trying to fix an unfixable problem. And I should have run this by you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but now I’m realizing this is probably too much—”
Her mouth crashed into mine, and she wound her arms around my neck. I tasted the salty tears on her lips as she kissed me hard. A long, slow, sumptuous kiss that set my body on fire.
“Thank you,” she said against my mouth. “Thank you for this. It’s wonderful.”
I was still reeling from that kiss that had nearly undone me.
I wanted to grab my wife, throw her over my shoulder, and march her back into the castle so I could have my way with her.
But I’d spent an entire week planning this festival, consulting with the Fair Folk to make sure every detail was perfect, and we were going to enjoy it.
We were going to give our people hope on the eve of what might very well be war for all of us.
Aoife threaded her hand through mine and tugged me toward the revelry. “It’s time for your first Fairtine.”