Chapter 6
Alette
My brain stops working.
The word “bride” rattles around my skull like a wasp in a bottle.
It stings, then dies, then gets up and stings again.
Bride? Of all the traps I expected, I never thought it’d be this.
Not even in a nightmare. Didn’t I just escape another marriage for a little while?
I keep waiting for the joke to land, for someone to shriek and point and say, “Ha! Fooled you, human!” But no one does.
The nymphs are screaming, in delight or panic, I can’t tell.
Their hands are everywhere, pulling at my leather clothes, weaving flowers into my hair.
My skin is a second skin now, too tight, making it hard to breathe.
The satyrs are all pounding the table, hooves drumming like a war chant, and Zomas is still holding my hand. His smile is as sharp as a knife.
I try to shrink away from him, but the nymphs won’t let me.
I want to vanish into my own ribcage, crawl down my own throat and hide under the floorboards of my own body.
Instead, I have to keep smiling, or at least keep my mouth closed, because when I open it the only sound that wants to come out is a scream.
Why would a satyr even want to marry me?
It makes no sense. I’m not even a fae. I’m a human, and not even a good one.
I’ve got scars all over my back, my skin is dry and rough, and my last bath was at the hands of a merman who wanted to enslave me.
How do I get out of this without insulting him? How do I even say no?
Because I'm going to say no. It's just about how I do it.
I try, for a second, to catch Ashton’s eye. Maybe he’ll have a plan. Maybe he can talk us out of it, or talk them into something else. But he’s on the other side of the table, two nymphs hanging off his arms, and he looks as lost as I feel.
Zomas leans in, his horns glinting in the lantern-light. “Are you happy, Chosen One?” His breath is hot and smells like fermenting fruit. “Does this please you?”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I try to shake my head, and my head sort of wobbles in a circle. He beams.
“Good!” he shouts. “Tonight, the maze has a queen!” He raises his goblet, wine sloshing down his fur. “Let us prepare the wedding!”
The cheer that follows is so loud my ears ring.
Nymphs pour more wine, satyrs jump up onto the benches, and a fox-headed woman starts shrieking in a language I don’t understand.
The table is cleared faster than I'd think possible.
Someone rips the tablecloth off and ties it around my shoulders like a cape.
I grab my pack and slip it on under the tablecloth, not wanting to lose my only possessions.
A nymph with dragonfly wings kisses me on the mouth, and it feels like she's left her lip-print in gold dust.
Through the chaos, Ashton stands, putting his own pack on. He looks weirdly dignified, even with nymphs clinging to him. He glances at me, and there's something sharp and desperate in his eyes, then he puts on a show smile, wide as the horizon.
He climbs onto the table, raising his arms, and the entire room hushes as if a spell’s been cast. He bows to Zomas. “Lord of the Feast,” he says, voice clear as bells, “it is an honor. Truly. But—”
Zomas holds up a hand. “No buts!” His eyes blaze. “Tonight is a celebration! You will walk my bride to the altar, as is tradition.”
A few guests shriek in approval. I want to vomit.
Ashton laughs, but there’s a catch in it. “Of course, my lord. But—” and here he gives a little theatrical sigh, “I must protest. It would be terribly bad luck, in both fae and human tradition, to marry a lady who is already engaged.”
The silence is instant. Absolute.
Every nymph freezes, eyes wide. Every satyr’s jaw drops open. Zomas blinks, like he’s been smacked with a fish.
The nymph with dragonfly wings lets go of my hand. “Engaged?” she whispers, scandalized.
Zomas looks at me, then Ashton, then back at me. “To whom?” he says, and the room echoes it, “To whom? To whom?”
Ashton bows, hand on his heart, but his eyes are burning. “To me, of course,” he says, and then, with a little grin, “We are madly in love.”
The nymphs shriek again, but this time it’s a discordant, angry sound. A satyr in the back throws a chunk of bread at Ashton, and it bounces off his shoulder. The fox-headed woman screams something that makes Zomas’s nostrils flare.
I want to melt through the floor, but instead I have to play along. Ashton’s counting on me. I look at him, then at Zomas, then at the table. I try to find the words, but all I can think is, what if they just kill us?
Zomas’s eyes narrow. He sets his goblet down, slowly and deliberately, and stands to his full height. He’s taller than any man I’ve ever met, and when he stands, the clearing shrinks. The air gets thicker, building into something dangerous.
He walks the length of the table, never breaking eye contact with Ashton, and I follow slowly behind, trying to close the distance between Ashton and I.
The satyrs part for him, some shuffling backwards, others staring in awe.
He stops just short of Ashton and leans in. For a second I think he’ll bite.
Instead, he laughs. It’s a deep, ugly sound. “A joke!” he roars. “A good one! But the gods do not like liars, wind prince.”
Ashton doesn’t back down. “It’s no lie,” he says, and he reaches for my hand, drawing me up onto the table beside him.
My heart is thundering so hard I think everyone must hear it.
He turns to me, eyes pleading. “Tell them, darling.”
I mumble, “It’s true. We’re engaged.”
The fox-headed woman faints on the spot. Two nymphs fan her with the remains of a pie crust.
For a second, the only sound is Zomas’s breath.
He looks at me, and I can’t tell if he wants to kill me or propose again. He leans in, lowering his voice so only the three of us hear. “Why?” he says, and his eyes are so full of hurt I almost feel bad for him. “Why would a human girl choose a king of air over a prince of feasts?”
I swallow, my tongue thick as wool. “Because…” My mind races. I could say love, but that’s a joke. I could say power, but I don’t care about that. I could say survival, but that’s not something you say in front of a man who could snap your neck.
“Because he's one of the few men I think I could be happy with,” I say, and the honesty of it makes me want to cry, because the realization hadn't occurred to me until that minute.
He tilts his head. “Good answer,” he whispers.
Then he straightens, and the whole room seems to suck in its breath.
“I will not take another man’s bride,” Zomas announces, voice echoing off the hedge. “But the gods demand a wedding! If you are to be wed, it will be tonight, before the whole court, and with my blessing!”
The guests explode into noise. The nymphs swoop down on Ashton, pinning a garland to his head. The satyrs stomp so hard the table splinters. Someone produces a veil and throws it over my face.
Zomas claps his hands. “Prepare the altar! Prepare the rings! Tonight, we join the house of wind with the Chosen One!” He raises his goblet again, and this time the wine sloshes onto the ground. “Let us marry them, and may the goddess herself sing at their bed!”
We jump off the table, where three nymphs grab me and start twirling me around, pinching my cheeks and fixing my hair. Ashton gets swept up in a mob of satyrs, who rip his shirt open and throw flower petals at his bare chest.
Within seconds, the feast is forgotten. Half the guests are moving the table, the other half are setting up a wedding arch made entirely of bones and white roses.
Zomas stalks around, barking orders. The nymphs drag me into the center of the clearing, where they start covering me in white and gold.
They try to take my bag, but I grit my teeth and keep hold of it.
I catch a glimpse of Ashton through the crowd. His face is pale, but he’s grinning like an idiot. He sees me, and for a second, he winks.
It’s chaos. It’s a circus. It’s a trick, probably.
I look for exits. The hedge is thicker than ever. At each possible break, there’s a satyr or two, arms folded, watching. The message is clear. No one leaves until the gods are satisfied.
One of the nymphs leans close and whispers, “If you run, they’ll hunt you forever.”
I believe her.
The clearing transforms in minutes. The table is gone, replaced by benches and an aisle. At the far end, beneath the wedding arch, Zomas stands, arms wide, ready to officiate. The air hums with tension and wine.
I feel Ashton’s hand slip into mine. His fingers are shaking.
“What do we do?” I whisper, teeth chattering.
“We go along with it,” he says, voice low. “It’s only real if we let it be.”
I nod, but I feel strange. I always imagined if I promised myself to someone for eternity… it'd be real.
We’re marched to the altar by a pair of nymphs. The crowd packs in behind us, leaving no room to breathe. Zomas stands over us, his face solemn and bright.
He starts to speak in the old tongue, voice booming, but I barely hear it over the pounding in my ears. My body is buzzing, not just from the tea, but from fear, from adrenaline, from the sense that if I move wrong I’ll die.
At last, Zomas turns to Ashton. “Do you swear, by wind and word and will, to protect your bride from all that would break her? Even from yourself?”
Ashton’s jaw flexes. He looks at me, really looks, in a way no one else ever has, and says, “I swear.”
A weird, hot feeling erupts in my chest. It’s not love, but it’s not not love, either.
Zomas turns to me. “And do you, Alette, swear, by life and earth and endless time, to stand with your groom, to keep his heart safe, to remember him even if the world unravels?”
I say, clear and strong, “I swear.”
The crowd sighs, a sound so soft it’s like wind through grass. The mood shifts, just a little, from farce to something close to holy.
“Now you may say your vows,” Zomas says quietly.
At the right moment, Ashton turns to me and says, “Alette, will you have me, now and forever? Will you let me love you, worship you, and care for you in all ways until my last breath?”
His eyes are so open, so raw, it’s almost unbearable.
I say, “Yes,” and some crazy part of me almost wishes this was real.
The crowd sighs, the nymphs cry, and Zomas howls with delight.
“Alette?” Zomas asks, nodding at me.
Say something. The right thing. “Ashton, I will have you now and forever.
You have shown me patience when my heart was uncertain, and you have given me a place where I feel safe.
With you, I am not afraid to hope. Will you let me love you in my own way and my own time?
Will you remember that as strong as love is, it's also something fragile, and should be treated as such?”
Ashton looks surprised. I am too. “Yes.”
The clearing is full of smiles, gentle looks, and… guilt? My stomach flips and that feeling of wrongness lingers.
Zomas produces the rings. They’re not the battered bits of wire I expected—these are gold, heavy as a promise. He hands them over, and the metal bites cold into my skin.
He has us face each other. Ashton’s hands are shaking, but his eyes are steady. He puts the ring on my finger, slow and careful, like he thinks I might vanish if he moves too fast.
I do the same, and my own hands are worse. The ring nearly slips, but Ashton catches it and steadies me.
Then Zomas slams our hands together and shouts, “Now kiss!”
We exchange a look, but to my surprise, Ashton's gaze moves to my face, then moves to my lips. Despite the strange situation we find ourselves in, heat blossoms between us, and I find that my legs tremble.
It’s supposed to be a joke. We both know it.
But Ashton doesn’t laugh. He lowers his head, and I let him, because the hunger in his eyes matches something I’ve never let myself feel.
His lips are soft at first, just a touch. But then his hands cradle my jaw, and he kisses me for real, and the world goes white-hot and spinning. For a moment, the crowd doesn’t exist, the maze doesn’t exist, and I am the center of everything.
When we break apart, I’m dizzy for a new reason. Ashton looks stunned, too, like he can’t believe what just happened.
The nymphs start to sing, voices high and sweet. The satyrs bang on the benches, rattling the whole clearing.
Zomas claps, and the noise doubles.
“Alette and Ashton! Alette and Ashton!” the crowd chants, pounding the syllables out like a sentence.
I can’t stop shaking. Not from fear, but from something else. Something alive.
Above it all, Zomas roars, “They are wed! Let the maze bear witness!”
The world blurs. The faces of the guests melt together, the lanterns spin, and the sky overhead opens like a wound.
I am dizzy, out of breath, and more alive than I have ever been.
I am married. Kind of.
The night howls with celebration as the creatures in the clearing sing and shriek and stomp.
When I try to move, hands grab me, twirl me, drag me through a rain of rose petals and shredded silk.
The crowd presses so tight it’s like being inside a throat, and I know exactly who’s the swallowed thing.
Ashton’s hand never leaves mine. When I look at him, his face is flushed and wild, eyes sharp, teeth bared in a fake smile that barely hides his unease. When I look away, I can still feel the pressure of his palm, the way he clings like we’re the last two real things in the world.
I’m dizzy. Some of it is the wine, but more of it is the fear.
At one point I lean in, lips almost against his ear, and whisper, “What the fuck do we do now?”
He squeezes my fingers. “We let them have their party. It’s just a game to them. The second we’re out of the clearing, it won’t mean a thing.”
I try to believe him, but something inside me knows this is wrong. A wedding is a wedding. Even when you don’t mean it. Even when it’s a joke. Especially when it’s in the presence of creatures nearly as old as the gods.