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Chapter1

The Summons

Ria paused outside the workroom and sucked in a few deep breaths. Her father’s terse shout boded ill, but she didn’t dare spend time pondering how she’d angered him again. He could be upset about literally anything. So instead of scouring her memories for any possible misdeed, she shoved her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and pushed through the door.

The large, open workroom was much as she’d left it. One wall held shelves crammed full of rolls of fabric and baskets of adornments, and a few ready-made dresses stood on their displays along the other side. But the center…that was controlled chaos. Long tables held fabric in various stages of cutting and piecing, and dress forms full of partially completed projects were scattered around the center.

Her father, of course, still sat at his table on the far end.

Weaving her way around a dress form draped in fabric worth more than her life and then between a series of carts holding yet more cloth, Ria reached the spot where her father created his sought-after patterns—or something resembling. They wouldn’t be complete until she added her own touch.

Not that he would admit it.

Ria stopped again and cast her gaze down so she wouldn’t accidentally catch her father’s eyes when he glanced up.

His cold, hard voice washed over her. “You are late.”

“Please forgive me,” Ria said, careful to keep her tone pitched low. “I did not realize I had taken overlong with my luncheon.”

“It is just as well.” Cloth rustled, and her father’s wooden stool scraped against the floor. “I doubt you were fit to be seen by the kings’ messenger.”

Her eyes widened. “The kings?”

“I did not misspeak.” Her father’s hand cracked loudly against the table, and she flinched. “Pay attention. High King Toren and King Mehl have commissioned a new set of clothing in anticipation of their coming breeding alliance.”

Ria almost opened her mouth to ask what breeding alliance, but she wouldn’t escape a blow if she made the mistake of questioning him again. Even if it was a valid point. Kings Toren and Mehl had wed decades ago, but they would still need to produce an heir—and soon. Rumor had it that High King Toren’s brother intended to challenge him to the throne within the next couple of years if he didn’t. There’d also been talk of them searching for a woman to bear them a child, but no announcement had occurred.

Perhaps it was a secret?

“Although I dislike the thought of allowing you near such important clients, your gift works best if you see the people who will wear the designs. That means you’ll need to make yourself presentable enough to accompany me to the palace.”

Sick dread twisted in her stomach. If she’d thought her father was beastly in the workshop on an average day, he would be endlessly worse if she made a mistake in such an important setting. But what choice did she have? If she openly set out on her own, he would only drag her back, and if he couldn’t, he’d see her killed. He would never let the world know how much he relied upon her gift.

“Of course, Father.”

She swallowed down her fear. Kings or no, this would be just another job to complete. Ria almost had enough money hidden to pay for a true escape, and she couldn’t let herself be distracted from that goal. Once her death had been faked, she would be free. Maybe someday, she would even have a child her father couldn’t threaten to take.

A few more commissions, and she was done.

* * *

Toren glaredout at the city spread below, although his ire had no true focus. Not an external one, in any case. This fury was borne of tradition. Of helplessness. Of feeling bound. If not for the threat of his brother, he could have solved the latter two by shucking the first. Unfortunately, Toren didn’t have it in him to resign his people to misery for his own comfort.

Their people had cheered at Toren’s and Mehl’s wedding nearly a century before, and they had ruled well together since. Why did tradition demand an heir from the reigning monarchs within that first century? Toren had ascended the throne young, and he and his husband would rule for millennia more.

Barring war or assassination, of course. Not even fae lives were guaranteed.

Arms wrapped around his waist and tugged, and Toren let himself lean on Mehl’s strength for a moment. The tradition was unfair—enough so that it had largely been ignored for generations. His own parents hadn’t had him until three hundred years after their marriage, yet his uncle hadn’t thought to demand the throne based on an ancient ideal.

Mehl’s breath whispered across his ear a moment before he nipped. “Stop worrying.”

“I cannot abide this,” Toren grumbled.

“You bedded women before we committed. We’ve even done so together a time or two.” Mehl shifted impatiently against his back. “Surely, we can manage now.”

Toren tugged himself free and spun to face his husband. “Before we swore at our wedding to stay true.”

“I didn’t think about that.” Mehl frowned. “But considering the wording… If we find a woman we can agree on, we have broken no trust between us. The laws do not require you to marry her. So long as she does not expect commitment…”