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Talan sighs heavily. “And when is that?”

“In a week’s time.”

My muscles relax. Thank god for Fey royal traditions. “We can’t make the moon shine brighter,” I say, trying to sound frustrated. “We’ll have to wait.”

“Is this also symbolic?” Talan asks. “Can we say that we lit a candle to signify the moon’s light?”

“No, not for this,” Griflet replies, “but you’re in luck. The Grand Cleric announced that the gods permit royalty to wed outside that auspicious day, probably at your father’s behest, so you could wed Lady Arwenna tomorrow.”

“So, the grand cleric can just change the rules?” My heart sinks.

“My lady, the Grand Cleric talks directly to the gods,” Griflet tells me. “I am but a humble cleric who can only listen quietly and do as he says.”

“Anything else?” Talan asks.

“I assume both of you ate no meat for seven days?”

“I haven’t eaten meat,” Talan says. I suspect he’s lying, and I also suspect that he doesn’t really give a fuck about the gods.

“Well, I can’t say the same.” Perhaps, this is my salvation. Fey always avoid meat before marrying. “I had venison yesterday. I’m afraid I didn’t know we were getting married.”

Talan cuts me a sharp look, his dark eyes sparking with metallic intensity. He holds my gaze for a moment too long.

Griflet frowns. “I can’t wed you within a week of eating meat.”

“I think you can,” says Talan, his voice dripping with a hint of venom.

I meet his cold, dark stare square on. “We don’t want to offend the gods. It would be terrible luck. We’ll have to figure out a way to buy ourselves some time, to delay your father for a week.”

“When did you become so pious?” His eyes burn like embers in the firelight.

A chill settles over my skin.

I’m navigating a razor-thin tightrope. On one side, I die at the hands of Arwenna and Auberon, ripped to shreds by dogs. They might send my head and hands back to Avalon Tower as a warning and leave the rest of me hanging off the castle gates.

On the other side of the tightrope, Talan learns the truth about me. Hemightkill me himself. The question is, will it be fast or slow? Will he torture me in my dreams first?

My job is to stop myself from plunging down either side.

Talan leans back in his chair and traces a finger over his lower lip, thoughtful. “Wait a moment, Griflet. Didn’t I have a cousin who got drunk the night before his wedding and ate duck confit off a courtesan’s tits?”

“Ah, yes. Archduke Bors de Ganis,” Griflet says. “A fine gentleman.”

“He did a purification ritual.” Talan straightens. “He spent a night in the forest, hunted by the spirit of a basilisk conjured by a cleric. After he survived the night, he was considered purified.”

Griflet pales. “That’s correct,” he stammers, “but it was very dangerous. He nearly died, and he wasn’t heir to the throne, washe? So, it was a risk we could take. If anything should happen to you, gods forbid…”

“But youcansummon a basilisk?” Talan says.

He smooths out his robes. “Technically…I don’t like this idea very much.”

Talan’s lips curl in a half smile. “Well, I think it’s a fantastic idea, and it’s been a long time since anything exciting happened around here.”

Says the man who just rode a dragon to a battlefield.

“Hang on, a basilisk?” I say.

Horrific creatures—part serpent, part bird, all violence. One look into its eyes will drive you mad. According to the records in Avalon Tower, the fuckers were extinct.