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“Alright,” I groused, standing up and snatching the orange from the air. I dug my thumbnail into the tender flesh. “I assume the priestesses have arranged everything?”

“They have,” Parys agreed.

“And all that we,” I gestured with my orange-filled hand in Arran’s direction. “All we have to do is show up dressed in our finery and the thing will be done?”

Parys snickered. “How romantic you make it sound, Veyka.” He cast a glance at Arran. “You must be so flattered.”

Arran’s face gave away nothing. My passionate, fierce… what? Lover? Partner? Ally? There had been no words of love between us.

Betrothed.

It was the simplest and most inadequate word for what lay between me and my Brutal Prince. But it would have to be enough, because my heart would allow no more. I’d barely survived losing Arthur. I couldn’t stand that sort of risk again.

“Be ready tomorrow evening and you shall appease the priestesses,” Parys confirmed.

I stripped away the last of the orange skin, a neat single swirl. I walked to the corner of the room, disposing of it in the trash. A flash of memory struck my mind. Arthur carefully setting aside the cups that day in the practice ring, rather than chucking them away to be cleared up by a lesser fae.

My heart hurt.

But at least it was there.

“We will be there,” I said, turning back to the balcony.

Parys’ eyes went to Arran and found confirmation there, too.

“Good. If you’d argued, I would have left you to deal with the priestesses yourself,” my friend said. “As for the Royal Council, they want to meet with you straightaway. What remains of them. After the Joining, of course.”

“Of course,” Arran grumbled, turning away and stalking out onto the balcony.

His mind had been as busy as mine these last few days. I knew that once Parys left, the words would start to spill out. The future we’d been avoiding had come to claim our lives as its due.

Parys stared uneasily at Arran’s back, shrugging and loosening his limbs noticeably as he tried to fight off the anxiety. He, too, had travelled to hell and back. The fact that he stood here before me was a testament to the skilled healers of Baylaur and more than a little luck. Perhaps a bit of destiny, if the witch’s words were to be believed.

“I’ll spare you the rest of the gossip,” Parys said, turning for the door. “For now.”

“Wait.” I tossed him the peeled orange, smiling at how easily he caught it, at the crinkle of his eyes. “Tonight, at sundown, come to my antechamber. Lyrena, Gwen, and Cyara as well.”

Parys frowned. “For what?”

“You’ll see. Tell the others,” I said.

Parys nodded, throwing a questioning look at Arran. But he only shrugged, his eyes slipping to mine.

I have given up trying to uncover all your secrets, Arran’s eyes said.

Good, my heart answered.Because I have one more.

85

ARRAN

For once, Veyka told me of her schemes without sneaking around first. And for once, I didn’t feel inclined to argue with her. The plan she laid out had pride building in my chest with every word. I’d come so close to losing her in that tower. The cold, the wounds… I still didn’t quite understand how the healers had managed to warm her body, to coax her organs back to working. If she’d bled from those wounds, it would have been even worse.

Fae could survive almost anything, save a beheading. But when I’d lifted her into my arms in that tower, I’d questioned the reality of that truth I’d lived with for my entire immortal life.

But she stood beside me now, fully healed, that wicked smile on her face as she watched everyone she’d summoned file in.

Four palace guards stood watch outside in the corridor, selected by Gwen and Lyrena. Four, to fill the void created by Gawayn’s absence. It still didn’t feel like enough. For all that she brandished that grin, I knew the pain of betrayal was heavy in Veyka’s chest. But I didn’t force her to talk about that, either.