Page 47

That and the fact that, although Sian was the eldest son of Balik, he was not the heir to their house. That honor went to my squire, Filip, for House Balik, and Vidar for House Virtoris—both the magically strongest of their lines.

Of course, Sayyida and Sian would still be required to expand their noble houses, but once that duty was done, I expected the pair could pursue their own desires. A clever match, indeed. Normally, I would offer to broach the topic with Father, but after my actions, that would not go over well, a fact that I was sure Sian had considered already.

“It’s odd that the king has not set any matches yet,” Vidar mused.

“The Festival has only been on for a few days,” Sian countered. “I’d rather the king take his time. Observe usand set matches that benefit those in them. Not just House Aaberg.”

At that, my cheeks warmed. A Courting Festival had not been called for a long time. And everyone recognized it for what it was: a way for the king to curate matches, power structures, and the futures of noble houses that benefitted the king and his lineage.

Not that matches benefiting House Aaberg were theonlyreason for the Courting Festival. Far from it.

“I see nothing wrong with you and Sayyida marrying,” I replied, not about to bring up the Ice Scepter.

My friends, nor anyone else, knew of how Father, Mother, Rhistel, and I suspected one noble house held the Hallow of Winter’s Realm. And, though I disagreed with Father and my brother in many respects, in this, we were of one mind. The search for the Hallow of Winter would stay a family secret.

Sian waved over the closest brownie bearing a tray of wine and switched his out for a fresh glass. All the while, he watched the circle around my father. “I wish those jarls would shove off. Then I’d go speak with the king about a union between my house and the Virtoris family right now.”

“One is Jarl Salizier,” Vidar said, taking in the group of lesser nobles with interest. “He tried to court Sayyida just last turn.”

Neve twisted, apparently having been listening in despite appearing engrossed in her own conversation. The sly fox. “She told me that! We ran into him on the way to the tourney and Sayyida mentioned how shedidn’t like him at all.” My wife smiled at Sian. “No competition.”

To my shock, Sian, an elite warrior of the southlands, blushed at Neve’s attention. Had I not known him so well, I’d almost have thought he was taken with her romantically, but that wasn’t it. No, it was that Neve was so sincere and bright, it took Sian by surprise.

“Thank you, Princess Neve,” Sian replied. “I?—”

Horns blared, making me start slightly. Perhaps it was the bubbly drink, or perhaps being among my closest friends, but I’d lulled myself into a sense of calm.

My father waved for attention and the crowds fell silent. “My wife, Queen Inga, and I would like to thank you all for coming today. I realize we sent invitations to the Courting Festival on short notice.” Father lifted his glass. His pale cheeks had already taken on a ruddy sheen.

“Invite?” Sian whispered with a snort. “A summons, more like.”

“Shh,” his sister, Baenna, hushed him.

“I’ve called you here to announce that I have settled on two more matches during this Courting Festival,” Father continued. “As you know, my first blessing did not go as planned.” His ice-blue eyes sought Neve and, taking the king’s gaze as an open invitation to gawk, others stared too.

She slunk back, but I would have none of that. I took my wife’s hand and squeezed it. Remembering herself, and I hoped that she was stronger than nearly all the fae in this room, Neve’s shoulders rolled back, and her chin lifted.

The king scowled but continued on. “The matches I’m about to announce, however, I believe will be quite beneficial to both houses involved. And the kingdom at large.” Father turned to a gathering of faeries, most of them with red hair and wings in various shades of green—House Armenil. “Marit Armenil, come forward.”

Neve sucked in a breath, but I waited, wondering what Father had decided. Marit was the eldest child of House Armenil, the great house of the northern territory. She was not the most magically powerful and hence not the heir, but to hear Saga tell it, Lord Sten Armenil, Warden of the North and his wife, Lady Orla Armenil née Balik, valued Marit’s opinions on many matters. Their daughter was well-educated and kind and knew how to relate to the people of the northern territory.

The Armenils would expect an excellent match for such a prized jewel.

With grace born from many turns of etiquette classes, Marit glided over to stand next to Father. Though she appeared pulled together and was quite far away, I caught the slight trembling of her light green wings. The king nodded at her, a smile growing on his face—one that made my blood grow cold. That was the smile Father used when he was about to deal a blow.

What was he thinking?

The Courting Festival was a means for the king to exert power and dominance over other houses, but if Father was about to set a poor match for Marit . . . No, that was a horrible idea. He wouldn’t be so foolish.

“You, Marit of House Armenil, will wed a maleI have chosen for you. One with great wealth and influence. Together, you’ll bring the midlands to prosperous times.”

I blinked. Midlands? That left only a handful of lords.

“Jarl Triam, please come forward and greet your bride,” Father said, loud and clear.

I stiffened as murmurs rippled through the crowd. Father was matching Marit with a jarl who had been thrice wed already? One who had likely murdered his wives?

He’s insane.