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I’d deceived her, and there was not a single shred of doubt as to how she felt about that.

I had as much right to be angry as she. What business did the Queen of the Elemental Fae have sneaking out of the palace? Her own brother had been murdered mere months ago in this very throne room. Did she not care even a little for the stability and safety of Annwyn? If she died, the process of tracing lineage and finding the next elemental heir would be too much. Annwyn would fracture, the tentative peace between the fae realms dissolving. I had left everything I had ever known—my family, my home—for this spoiled, selfish princess.

Despite the fact that my cock was hard, my chest tight with the desire to claim, I bared me teeth. The crowd gasped.

Veyka rolled her shoulders, loosening her muscles as if she was about to join a battle.

She was going to lose. I would ensure that.

But the priestess at the center of the hall was having none of it. The priestesses had been stripped of most of their power at the same time that the Ancestors put the accords into place. The priestesses had meddled in crown politics and as punishment, lost their power over anything but the most formal ceremonies. In Wolf Bay, we hardly bothered with them at all.

But this priestess was reminiscent of the stories told about the Great War. Powerful, canny, and clearly desirous of remaining in control of the Offering.

The water the priestess had summoned for her little history lesson coalesced into a sphere the size of a large melon, rotating slowly in the center of the room several feet above her head.

The elementals were not as impressed by the magic as my own terrestrial fae brethren behind me. Most had never met an elemental until we crossed the Spit. Fewer still had seen such a display of power from one.

I used the moment to examine Veyka more closely. She wore a jeweled belt with two scabbards and two daggers. Weapons, even to a formal, peaceful ceremony. My blood heated in appreciation.

But my mind noted what was missing—the sword. The rumors were true, then. Excalibur was missing, had not presented itself to the new queen. It didn’t bode well for any of us.

“Heirs, approach,” the priestess ordered.

The hate bleeding out of Veyka’s eyes was palatable. I met it with my own.

I hadn’t held out much hope that my betrothed would be a worthy ruler. But I assumed after witnessing her own brother’s murder and living through the turmoil that followed, she’d at least be concerned about preserving peace and consistency in Annwyn.

Instead I was betrothed to a selfish twenty-five year old brat who snuck into enemy-laden forests without a guard in sight. Lucky me.

Now we stood face to face, the length of a body separating us. I wanted to grab those muscled upper arms and shake her like the child she’d proven to be. I wanted to drag her mouth onto mine and see how she tasted before I leaned her over and took her from behind to punish her for her foolishness.

Instead I looked at the priestess.

Her dark hair was straight as a line, falling in a perfect waterfall over her shoulders and down her back. Her clothes were similar in style to the loose, airy fabrics preferred by the elementals. The priestess, however, wore blood red.

Was it meant to be a reminder of how this would end? At the Joining, when she would drag a knife across each of our palms and seal me to Veyka Pendragon with the blood oath?

Or she wanted to stand out. It would have worked well, if the Queen of the Elemental Fae herself had not shown up to the Offering spitting in the face of her kingdom’s traditions by dressing in midnight black.

The color of my eyes—something that was known across Annwyn. Eyes the color of a demon were fitting for the Brutal Prince. Maybe her courtiers thought she’d dressed this way in homage to me, to show alliance. But I knew nothing could be farther from the truth.

She was being petulant and childish.

The priestess waved an elegant hand at the space between us and a gleaming golden chalice appeared. Surprise bloomed—water magic and the ability to conjure. She was powerful, indeed. From the satisfied look upon her face as she heard the audible sounds of admiration from the crowd, she had the potential to become a problem.

But that worry would have to wait.

The priestess stepped forward, her spindly fingers closing around the base of the goblet. She looked to me.

“Do you, Arran Earthborn, son of Pant and Elayne, Offer yourself as the Heir of the Terrestrial Fae, to seal the accords made by our forbearers, the revered Ancestors?” Her voice boomed across the hall.

Over her shoulder, an elemental female collapsed, power expended. The other courtiers dragged her away.

I knew my part. I held out my hand and said the words: “I, Arran Earthborn, do Offer myself.”

The priestess drew a small knife from the folds of her gown. She lifted it high above her head in a dramatic flourish, and then sank the tip into the mound of flesh at the base of my thumb. My thick red fae blood trickled out in a single line. The priestess caught the stream with the golden chalice, letting several drops fall before pulling the knife away.

My wound began to knit together instantly, the blood flow stemming before even a single drop hit the goldstone floor.