Page 28

Twenty-Seven

Rhoswyn

“ T hese can’t be all the options,” Prae snarls at the pile of dresses in front of her. “Where are the metallic fabrics? Pastels are not my thing.”

“I thought you looked pretty in the purple,” I offer again, but I’m ignored.

“Everyone knows that’s the Nicnevin’s colour. Besides, silver goes much better with my eye.”

Prae’s room in the palace has become an explosion of textiles. Most of them were brought from Illidwen and Calimnel by Lore. However, my redcap has been gone for a while, leaving me to deal with an increasingly irate Fomorian princess, and precious little time to get her dressed. She’s already thrown all the maids out, and I might be next.

“Light blue is close?—”

“No, it isn’t. Blue washes me out.”

I let loose a huge sigh and stand up from my corner of the bed to pace. Prae’s giving me second-hand jitters.

“It has to be perfect,” Prae murmurs to herself. “And fuck this. Why are fae so obsessed with covering their tits? I did not suffer those awful growing pains just so I could spend the rest of my life hiding what little I was given!”

I really want to point out that when I came to Faerie, I thought even the most conservative fae garments were scandalous. But to Prae—who wears strips of fabric barely wide enough to cover her essentials most of the time—the sheer dress she’s holding up is practically a nun’s habit.

To spare myself another lecture, I wander over to her workbench—the only place that hasn’t been taken over in the quest for the perfect garment—and pore over the careful diagrams strewn across it.

I don’t understand anything, even though it’s mostly pictures. It’s some kind of… orb? I pick up a metal shell the size of a conker and hold it up to the light as I examine the etchings on the outside.

“Get away from there before you blow yourself up,” Prae scolds. “Besides, I think?—”

“I’m baaacck,” Lore singsongs. “And I brought an expert!”

Mistress Poesy looks around the room, scratching the fur on her nose thoughtfully before she spots me and bobs a swift bow.

“Nicnevin, it’s always an honour,” she says through pointed teeth. “Though your Guard didn’t explain much about what my services were required for.”

Of course he didn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lore just plucked the poor brownie off the street. He’s currently playing with things on Prae’s workbench, though I notice she doesn’t warn him about the risk of explosions.

Is that because Lore is immortal, or because she trusts him to know what he’s looking at?

“I’m glad you made it out of the city,” I reply. “We need a dress for Princess Praedra’s mating ceremony.”

The Fomorian smacks my arm with a hushed snarl, and I smirk back at her. If she hates being called a princess, how will she react to Caed’s attempts to have her named queen?

The brownie watches us critically, her eyes wide like she expects a brawl to take place because Prae struck me. I suppose it must be odd to see me in the company of Fomorians, and her reticence makes sense.

“Never made a dress for a Fomorian before?” Prae quips, not-so-subtly trying to break the ice.

Mistress Poesy makes a face. “I wasn’t sure any of you wore dresses. Thought it was all armour.”

Prae smirks. “I’m an exception. Now, more importantly, do you happen to have any fairy magic that can turn this”—she holds up a large bolt of lime green velvet—“silver?”

There’s a moment where Poesy sizes Prae up with a critical eye, lingering on the mating marks on both of her arms, before nodding.

“I can do that.”

“How much?” Prae asks.

“Florian is paying,” Jaro calls through the closed door that he’s been guarding. “No arguments. The male has spent too many centuries hoarding his salary. You’re what, thirty?”

Prae mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Twenty-eight,” before she fires back. “I told those pompous princes to stop interfering an hour ago. That doesn’t mean you can do it on their behalf.”

“Lorcan, I was not ready!” Cressida objects, as she appears across from the small army of knights in the Temple courtyard.

I can barely see her past the glare of sunlight on all the polished armour, but I can definitely hear her.

“You mean you’d not finished smuggling the rest of your armoury into your corset?” Lore corrects with a cheeky grin, and I gravitate closer to the two of them. “Unfortunately, Kitarni said I couldn’t stab anyone here, so neither can you. We’ll go through withdrawals together.”

Cressida raises one dark, grumpy eyebrow, but she’s prevented from saying anything more when my redcap blinks away.

A small armoury? Really? Then again… everyone else here is armed, despite the towering columns and gentle chimes of the Temple around them promising peace and safety.

Is that because they’ve lost faith in the walls protecting them after the invasion? Or because one third of the trio being mated is a Fomorian princess who happened to invent the very weapon that brought the city to its knees?

If that news gets out, I don’t know if Florian’s and my combined influence will be enough to protect Prae. Right now, people are grateful to be alive, but grieving. Florian has somehow managed to forgive her, despite the number of friends he lost. Over the last week, their ‘arguments’—which all seem to devolve into raucous sex—have been heard all over the palace.

That’s part of why I arrived early. I want to catch my brother and make sure everything is okay. They’ve already mated, so it’s a little late to do anything, but this is a very public step…

Only, I still can’t find him. Gryffin is here, laughing with a troll in the far corner of the room, and Prae is still going through the purification ritual with Kitarni. So where is Florian?

I head towards the entrance, wondering if he’s running late, only for a cracked door and a flash of silver-blond hair to catch my attention.

Florian?

“Stay here,” I murmur to Bree, who’s been my constant shadow this morning. He doesn’t argue, but I feel his amusement as those ears twitch towards the door where I just saw my brother.

“He’s alone in there,” my púca tells me. “Do you think he’s having mating day jitters?”

“I’m not sure…” That doesn’t seem like Florian.

The room is some kind of meditation grotto, dark and peaceful and covered in shell mosaics. It’s also entirely empty save for my brother, who’s pacing it while running his hands through his hair.

“You’re nervous?” I guess.

“How can I be nervous if I’m already mated to her?” he asks in turn, and I raise a brow.

“That sounded awfully close to lying to your Nicnevin.”

“I would never?—”

“I know, I know. Relax.” I cross the room, adjusting the strap of his pauldron so it doesn’t stick out as noticeably. “But it is okay to be nervous. I was.”

“It’s a vastly different situation,” Florian protests, grabbing my fingers where I’m adjusting the buckle and stilling them. “I’ve known Praedra, in a way, for years.”

“As enemies,” I agree. “But not as mates. Not really.”

He lets out a small, self-deprecating laugh and releases my hand. “It’s stupid. I keep expecting her to just not show up or to try to stab me during the vows. It would probably be simpler if she did.”

I doubt that’s going to happen, but I understand.

They’ve spent so long on opposite sides of an impossible divide that this seems too good to be true, but simultaneously too hard to overcome.

“Is there anything holding you back, or are you just worried about her running away?” I ask, because I sincerely doubt that Prae would’ve spent so long on her dress if she was just going to get blood all over it.

His ice-blue eyes are too perceptive. “I’m not backing out. I know it won’t be easy, what she’s done… what I’ve done…”

My brow crinkles. “What you’ve done…?”

“I’ve killed hundreds of Fomorians in my time.” He looks down as he says it. “I’m several thousand years older than her. For all that her sins are more recent, mine are assuredly greater.”

I never thought of it that way. Prae’s weapon may have killed a good number of fae, some of them his friends and subordinates, but the city was mostly evacuated by the time Elatha fired it. Florian’s been a warrior for millennia.

“My point is,” my brother continues, when the silence grows heavy. “I’ve waited for her for so long. I’ve craved her since Danu put her in my path. I will make this work… if she lets me.”

“Not worried about Gryffin?”

Florian rolls his eyes. “I’m no idiot. He has his place with us. But do I have a place with them ?”

Frowning, I answer. “Without you, those two would never get anything done. You complement them both. Besides, what does the bond tell you?”

Florian smiles softly, turning to look at the door. “That she’s on her way.”

Bree is waiting for us outside. Florian gives me a last half-bow before he moves past us and heads for the round, pebble-shaped altar nestled in the dip in the centre of the courtyard. Gryffin is already there, and the two clasp arms in greeting.

“Everything okay?” my púca asks, and I nod.

“Just nerves,” I whisper. “We should go find Prae.”

Technically, this is a blessing and not a ceremony, though the terms are sometimes used interchangeably among the fae. Kitarni suggested—more like insisted—that although she would do Prae’s anointing, I should be the one to publicly bless the three of them.

Her reasoning, that it would send a powerful message of Danu’s approval, is sound. But I still have to take deep, calming breaths as I head towards the open temple doors.

Prae is there, just out of sight, fussing with the strap of a beautiful, flowing silver dress that clings and bunches in all the right places to show off her muscular legs. Her war paint covers her from her cheekbones to her hairline, darkening the higher it goes. Over the top, she’s painted white markings that remind me of the feathers and beak of some great owl.

It’s a savage blend of fae and Fomorian.

“You’re perfect,” I tell her, raising my brows at the blade openly worn around her waist.

Maybe my brother does need to worry about her stabbing him.

“Are you ready?”

“Obviously.” Her shoulders go back, head drawing up to claim her full height.

Her steps sashay with easy sensuality as we enter the room together, and I envy her confidence just a little bit.

My place at her side affords me the perfect view of my brother’s face as he takes in his mate in all of her finery. His jaw actually drops, and the loss of composure makes me smile.

Her stride is longer than mine, so she reaches them first, taking her place in the middle of the two males and accepting their offered hands.

No stabbings yet.

I round the altar, taking my place on the other side with my own mates lingering behind me. With a breath, I deliberately lower my shoulders and ignore the courtyard of gathered fae to focus solely on the three people in front of me.

“Are you all here today of your own free will?”

I don’t stutter or stumble, but only because I’ve caught hold of the thread that connects me to Danu, and a little of the Goddess’s serenity leaks into my body.

“Yes,” all three of them answer, without hesitation, though Prae rolls her eyes the tiniest bit.

“And do you now commit to honour your bonds in love and trust before Danu?”

Three yeses echo back, and the disconcerting impression of the Goddess studying them intently through my eyes grows, like she’s weighing up their souls and the sincerity of their promises at the same time. She holds my tongue silent while she searches for whatever she’s hoping to find, and the crowd beyond grows restless.

Her gaze switches between eyes of ice, of stone, and of fire. Inexplicable understanding flows freely inside me, as if Danu is giving me insight into her choice to tie them together. Eventually, she finds whatever she’s looking for and lets me continue, offering up the blade lying on the altar.

“Then pledge your vows to each other.”

Prae grabs the knife before either of her princes can, drawing it decisively through her skin before Florian, and finally Gryffin, can do the same. Their blood drips from their hands onto the stone as Danu takes their palms and layers them over one another.

“Blood to blood, now three are one. Mate to mate,” they chant, and Danu’s approval warms me from my head to my toes.

She takes full control before I can say the next traditional words, laying both of my hands on either side of theirs.

“What I have decreed, none may tear asunder.”

Dozens of eyes fly to mine, and I know they see the Goddess’s glow, because I can see it reflected in Florian’s armour.

As quickly as they look up, heads bow, but Danu’s next words are soft and designed not to carry.

“I have set you on a difficult path. Forge it well, for hundreds follow in your wake.”

With those ominous words, she shifts her focus to those gathered. “I bless this mating and charge each of you as witnesses of my Will made flesh. There is no difference between Fae and Fomorian that compassion, tolerance, and love cannot overcome.”

The priests and priestesses around the courtyard are on their knees now. I’m pretty sure someone in the corner is scribbling down every word that comes out of my mouth, but Danu has already withdrawn.

I have to blink a little, shifting my weight to dislodge the heavy sensation that lingers after Danu’s possession, but the three of them are already stepping back, Prae kissing Gryffin and then Florian without prompting.

Then the cheers go up, the knights’ loudest of all, and the Goddess’s interference is forgotten, save for a few sideways glances.

“You okay, dragonfly?” Bree whispers, coming up behind me and resting both of his hands on my shoulders.

His thumbs press into my neck, kneading muscles I didn’t know were tight until they start to loosen under his touch.

“Fine,” I whisper. “Danu seems invested in those three. We should make sure their party goes off without a hitch.”

Judging by the way Lore is blinking around the room, stealing nibbles from each of the trays, someone might need to corral him into something productive sooner rather than later.

Before I can take more than four steps towards him, a small cough from behind me captures my attention. I sigh inwardly but don’t let my pleasant expression falter as I turn to face Cressida. The queen of autumn has been surprisingly civil, given that Prae snubbed her by refusing to hold the ceremony in Illidwen. For a second, during the vows, I actually thought I saw her smile.

Despite her manipulative actions in Illidwen, I think she secretly loves her nephew.

“Nicnevin.”

“Cressida.”

“I liked it better when you called her Cressidick,” Lore murmurs in my ear with his mouth still full, before blinking away with a crumb-covered kiss.

“He hasn’t changed.” The autumn queen adjusts her skirts as we both watch the redcap causing subtle chaos wherever he goes. “I am surprised, however, that you permit me in his presence, given how you reacted with Aiyana and Máel.”

Is she asking if I’m jealous about their previous relationship? I’m distracted by Lore blinking onto a table behind her and sneakily balancing a tiny flaky pastry in the coiled braids of her hair, so perhaps I don’t grasp her full meaning, but I answer her anyway.

“You have your own mates.” I shrug, doing my best to hide my smirk. “I understand how strong that bond is, and Lore has no interest in you.” Pausing, I snort lightly. “I’d have my hands full if I tried to kill every fae who’d ever slept with my Guard.”

Though for Bree, I’ll make an exception.

Cressida’s brows crease, her head tilting to the side slowly as something akin to surprise flickers in her gaze.

“You don’t know.” Her cold chuckle makes my blood chill. “Of all the things for him to keep his mouth shut about… I wonder if I should be grateful or alarmed.”

My hands fist by my sides, my body rejecting what she’s insinuating.

Lore doesn’t keep things from me.

Cressida offers a tiny head shake, which I almost miss because I’m searching for my mate. “I believe that’s my cue to take my leave. Enjoy the rest of the celebrations, Nicnevin.”

I’m too distracted to even stop her.

“What did she mean by that?” I ask Bree, quietly.

He’s silent for a long moment, like he’s choosing his words. “Lore has history with Cressida.”

That explains everything and nothing, but I recognise what he’s saying; it’s not his story to tell.

My thoughts are cut off as Jaro separates himself from the knights and surveys the room, his eyes finding me with unerring accuracy. Those brows furrow, and I feel him digging into the mating bond. The wildness of his wolf is at the forefront, the predator demanding to know what’s unsettled me before the male has even realised I’m not fine.

He’s in front of me in a flash, sandwiching me between my two seelie mates. “You okay, Rosie? You look like you want to leave.”

“Will Florian notice if we do?” I ask, guiltily.

“Your brother is very wrapped up in his mate right now,” Bree reminds me. “And I don’t think he’d want his sister to stay just for his sake.”

That’s true… “Then, yes,” I whisper. “I’d like to go home.”