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“Very well, my prince.”

Neve approached, and my nostrils flared as I caught her scent, one I couldn’t quite describe, but it reminded me of waking deep in the forest on a crisp morning but with a hint of something warmer and more complex. What was that?

Vanilla. Smokey vanilla—from the campfire.I landed on the warm note as she stopped to stand before me.

“You had the glamour removed,” I said, trying to compose the primal part of myself that wanted to scoop Neve up into my arms and kiss her. To claim her, even if this was all for show. She wasn’t mine, no matter how my body reacted to her. We barely knew one another.

“I wouldn’t want to marry looking like someone else.” She cleared her throat and unease crossed her delicate features. “Do you mind?”

Mind? Stars and Fatesno.

“I prefer you like this,” I admitted.

Her shoulders loosened. “Ready?”

“As ever.” I took her hand and guided her so that we stood facing one another at the base of the Drassil tree. I turned to take in our witnesses and finally landed on the staret. “Begin.”

Grand Staret Arkyn needed no book. He had memorized every ritual his profession performed in this kingdom, and some from other fae kingdoms too. The only item he required, he pulled from his robe.

Neve blinked but said nothing as the Royal Staret laid the soft sash patterned with silver and gold stars across our left wrists. He left the ends hanging.

“We gather this night, beneath the stars and the moon and in Winter’s cold embrace, to witness the binding of two houses,” the staret began, his tone as cool as the snow falling on my cheeks.

I looked at Neve, searching for hesitation in her eyes, but there was none. Not even a flicker. Instead, a quiet strength radiated from the female.

“A union such as this is sacred,” Staret Arkyn continued, “so I ask, do you two enter this union intending to protect and honor one another?”

“That is my intention,” I said without hesitation, handing her the words.

“That is my intention,” she echoed, violet eyes still locked with mine.

The Grand Staret wound the cloth around our hands once. My tattoos, the bear claws I’d gotten inked on my hands when I reached adulthood, disappeared beneath thestarry fabric. “And do you promise to put the well-being of your union and whatever family you might create first?”

“I promise,” I said.

The staret looked at Neve.

“I promise,” she said, not a drop of tremor in her voice.

“Do you, Prince Vale, give your name to this female?”

“I do,” I said.

“And do you, Lady Neve, accept the name Aaberg as your own?”

“I do,” she replied without hesitation.

The Grand Staret wrapped the sash once more. He then tucked the ends in, binding us. “Place your free hands on the Heart Drassil.”

Neve blinked but recovered her composure quickly, and together we shifted to face the tree and settled our palms on the bark.

Above, the eggplant-hued leaves danced. It wasn’t unusual. I was of royal blood and from time to time had been called to siphon magic into Drassil trees. Every royal, and most nobles of a certain magical level, did this. It stabilized the magic of the kingdom.

Or it had, for a while.

I scrubbed that thought from my mind, not about to go down that path during such a poignant moment in my life. No sooner had I focused than a light glowed from beneath Neve’s palm, and she seemed to be . . . listening?

I shot her a sidelong glance, wanting to know what she heard. In answer, she shifted her hand toward mine and touched me.