Page 27 of Atop the Faerie Throne (The Fifth Nicnevin #5)

Twenty-Six

Rhoswyn

F iddling with the box on my lap became boring a little while ago. The moon is high in the sky, Caed is late, and I’m debating my outfit for the hundredth time.

I chose this nightgown because, after a long week of being on my feet, the idea of dressing up was too much to bear, but now I wonder if it’s a little too vulnerable.

It’s just dinner. I even asked the kitchen to prepare something simple, given the circumstances. Caed feels contemplative down the bond, but there’s an edge of impatience and even… surprise and amusement. When he appears, shirtless as usual, at the top of my stairs, it’s almost half an hour after I expected him.

“You won’t believe who cornered me on the way to the kitchen,” he begins with an apologetic grin, slipping into the chair on the other side of the small table.

“Drystan?” I guess, biting my lip as I imagine what threats the dullahan must’ve levelled his way.

“Nope. Your brother and the damned autumn prince.” He picks up his cutlery, then stops and frowns.

With a few deft movements, he abandons his chair, placing his cloche-covered plate beside mine and lifting me into his lap. I freeze at the contact, and his turquoise gaze settles on my face.

“Jaro argued I should be able to touch you now that we’re mated,” he begins, hesitant. “Drystan was outvoted, but I suppose I should’ve asked first.”

“It’s fine,” I clear my throat. “It’s just new.”

The mate bond between us fizzles happily at the contact, and I find myself snuggling deeper into his warmth.

He uncovers my plate, spears some kind of root vegetable onto his fork and holds it up, but instead of bringing it to his own lips, he holds it up to mine.

I try to take the fork from him, but he moves it out of reach and raises a brow. “All you need to do is open and swallow.”

My cheeks flame bright at the hidden double message, and before I know it, I’ve taken the bite from him. It’s still warm, thanks to the enchanted cloches, and I hum in appreciation as the flavour melts on my tongue.

“Food isn’t always easy to come by in Fellgotha,” Caed murmurs, as he carefully arranges another forkful. “When one of my people serves someone else first, it’s because they value that person more than their own survival.”

I swallow, accepting another bite.

“When this is over,” I begin. “What do you think will become of Fellgotha?”

Caed hums thoughtfully. “Well, the famines won’t be as severe now that you’ve connected them to Danu. I suppose they’ll have to stop mining for iron if they have a fae queen. Unless you plan on leaving them to rule themselves?”

Swallowing, I try to imagine it. “What’s the likelihood that they’ll just start raiding again the moment Elatha is gone?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time. “Raids bring glory.”

And there are few things more important to the warrior race. “I suppose asking the Fomorians to give them up would be foolish.”

“If you want peace, then the Fomorian Mountains need to become part of the queendom with their own minor royal. Someone ruthless and bound by a treaty, just like all the other courts.”

“Are you asking for the job? You were Elatha’s heir, after all.”

Though, if I’m honest… Caed doesn’t seem like a king to me. He’s too much a warrior. Too ill-suited to sitting still. But if that was what he wanted, I suppose we could make it work, maybe? With me ruling in Elfhame and him in Fellgotha, but something in my gut pangs at the idea of being so far from him.

“Not me. Prae.” He hesitates, like he’s trying to gauge my reaction before continuing, “I’m not just saying that because she’s my favourite cousin. Her children with Florian and Gryffin will be Nicnevin’s blood, just like the rest of the minor royals. She’s of Balor’s line, and she’s tough as nails. Of course, she’ll probably try to get out of it because of how badly the last attempt to put her on the throne went, but you need a staunch ally up there.” He pauses.

I think about it, frowning. In a hypothetical world where Prae was queen, I would never have to worry about another Fomorian invasion. She’s too tightly bound to Faerie with her mates and Caed to gain anything from allowing the raids to continue.

And on top of all the other good reasons Caed just put forward, she’s pioneering, too. Who better than an inventor to solve all the problems that would face her people during such a huge shift?

I don’t want to be an invader or a conqueror, but we can’t let the cycle continue. Prae gets that, and the Fomorians deserve a leader who understands them, their culture, and their unique perspective, rather than some fae overlord.

“She would be a good choice,” I finally concede.

“Exactly. Although Florian and Gryffin might not live long enough to reign by her side if they continue the way they’re going.”

Goddess, what’s going on with those three now?

“Does this have something to do with why you were late?”

“They want to surprise her with a mating ceremony.” Caed snorts, like the idea is preposterous. “They asked for my help. I told them no, of course. I like my balls intact.”

“I thought she secretly wanted a ceremony?”

He shakes his head, feeding me another mouthful. “Of course she does. It’s the kind of girly shit she goes crazy for, but I’m not going to stick my neck out and try to pick out a dress on her behalf. Imagine if she hates it. She’ll murder me and dress my corpse in whatever I picked.”

“That does sound like her.”

Caed shakes his head. “I told them it was a dumb idea and left them to argue about it.” He puts the fork down and brings a glass of sweet wine to my lips next. “But this does mean I need to find some of that enchanted fairy metal for her mating gift, or maybe kidnap her a fae smith…”

He trails off, feeding me more bites while he thinks about it.

“Kidnapping my subjects doesn’t seem like a great way to endear yourself to them,” I point out.

He chuckles under his breath but doesn’t make any promises. The conversation slows, and when I finally protest that I can’t eat another bite, he quickly and efficiently clears his own plate.

As he eats, my attention returns to the small box on my lap, but I don’t bring it up as he pushes the dishes away, his arms coming to wrap around me.

I’m not nervous, but maybe now isn’t the right time. I could give it to him later, perhaps, or save it for some other occasion.

“Are you going to unwrap that, little queen?” he asks. “Or just play with the ribbon all evening?”

“It’s for you,” I admit. “Don’t you remember? You never got to open it at the lantern festival, but Bree picked it up in the chaos and kept it safe.”

One white eyebrow climbs. “Am I allowed to open it? Or are you planning on making me wait for the next festival?”

Biting my lip, I hand it over. “It might need some explaining.”

But Caed is already tearing into the paper like a savage, leaving the ribbon I frayed with my worrying fingers abandoned on the tablecloth as scraps fall around us.

When he lifts the lid and finds the pile of large, silver rings within, he stops.

“Are these…?”

Swallowing, I launch into my explanation. “I know you gave up your armbands for me, and each one had a lot of meaning. So, I thought I would get you some without iron. Ones that mean something to us.”

Without a word, he lifts the first one, a thick band decorated with reliefs and etchings of mushrooms.

“A lot of awful things happened in Fellgotha, but you saved me over and over.” My voice gets quieter. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea? “The mushrooms reminded me of the bitterblues.”

His throat bobs, the band glinting in the light from the candles on the table as he twists it this way and that, examining the workmanship. Still silent, he slips it over his mate-marked arm, watching as the enchanted metal shrinks to fit his muscled bicep perfectly, then reaches for the next.

“Eels,” I manage. “For Pavellen. When you walked away from my fever because I told you no.”

Another tiny throat bob, and it joins the first, both of them resting over the pale lines left on his blue skin by their predecessors.

The next has tiny suns all over it, and I don’t have to explain that one. Siabetha is forever my least favourite place in Faerie. But it’s also where he saved me, followed my insane rescue plan, and rescued Bree without judgement…

That one goes over his curse-marked arm, as does the next, which has decorative lanterns on it to represent our first date in Illidwen. My eyes skip over the fifth band in the box, catching instead on the faint ink smudge in the second frame of his tattoo. It hasn’t changed much since our mating ceremony.

Drystan is trying, and yet thoughts of Beltaine consume me, until I realise Caed hasn’t moved for several minutes.

“Snakes?” he finally asks.

“You survived a nathair’s kiss.” I flick a discarded scrap of wrapping paper from my lap. “And Drystan said that you did everything you could to fight the compulsion. I’m pretty sure you had the option to knock out Bree and take me, but you chose to leave him alive, knowing what might happen.”

He faced a pain worse than death, because it gave me the best chance of escape.

“I got that one later,” I continue, nervousness keeping me talking when it’s not really necessary. “Lore tracked down the merchant in Illidwen and purchased it for me. If you don’t like it, I can get it changed to something?—”

Caed’s lips crash down on mine, the liquorice and almond taste of him laced with tears.

“You love me,” he says, as he pulls away. “I can feel it. You actually…”

The mating bond has outed me, I realise, but I can’t regret it.

“I have for a while,” I confess, pretending not to notice the sheen in his eyes, or the crackle at the end of his words. “Didn’t you notice?”

I’m sure I wasn’t very good at hiding it. Jaro certainly guessed quickly enough.

Taking the band from him, I slide it up his arm, letting it tighten magically into place, and leaving my hand there long after it’s secure. The feel of him, warm and comfortable, is tempting me, even after Drystan’s and Jaro’s efforts to wear me out.

But the second I go in for another kiss, he pulls back.

“I’m grateful for the gifts,” he says stiffly, his eyes fixing on a point behind me.

It’s Drystan. I can feel him lingering. So maybe that’s why I say. “Survive Beltaine, and I’ll get you another.”

Perhaps stupidly, I already have. It’s hidden in the drawer beside my bed, but I can’t look at it without my eyes burning and my throat thickening, because he might never get to wear it.

When I turn around, Drystan is grinding his teeth together, the vein in his temple pulsing furiously.

“We’re working on it,” Caed reassures me. “He loves me, really. Deep, deep down.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Drystan mutters. “I came to tell you that apparently your cousin’s mating ceremony is tomorrow, and she requires our Nicnevin’s help to select a gown.”