Page 51 of Atop the Faerie Throne (The Fifth Nicnevin #5)

Fifty

Rhoswyn

T he steps outside the palace are scattered with so many petals that it’s hard to make out the stone. It’s a warm, bright day, the sun glowing as it hits the pale pink, flower-covered gown that Mistress Poesy unveiled to me that morning.

Unfortunately, even the pretty blossoms and the swishing satin around my legs can’t mask the fact that my stomach is in knots and has been since I woke up alone for the first time in weeks. I knew it was coming, of course. I knew they’d be gone from the moment I woke up, getting ready themselves.

But now the day is finally here, I could really have used some reassurance.

“You look far too nervous,” Florian tells me, stepping up behind me. “It’s your mating ceremony, not a fifth war with the Fomorians.”

“Oh, like you were any better.” I shush him with a wave of my hand, pausing as I realise all of my brothers are here. Even Bram’s fox peers out from behind Uther’s legs. “Wait… what’s going on?”

“Our mother saw this day coming a long time ago,” Roark explains as I take in the horses saddled and waiting behind Wraith. “And she made us all promise that we’d be here.”

Florian clears his throat. “It’s traditional for a female’s mother and sisters to walk her to the Temple. Our mother knew that wouldn’t be an option for you. So, if you summon Bram back for a little while, you have six brothers ready to keep you company instead.”

My throat catches, hand rising to cover my mouth even as Danu surges forward, like she’s been waiting all this time to do so.

But it’s not just Bram who the Goddess brings back to solid form.

A curvy female with his bronze skin and Roark’s straight black hair appears in the middle of my brothers, facing them with a bright and slightly cheeky smile as the folds of her white dress flutter in the breeze.

Dare doesn’t wait, rushing forward and embracing her so tightly that she lets out a small huff of surprise.

“Ma,” Florian chokes out, stopping midway through offering Bram a pile of clothes I hadn’t noticed he was holding.

Roark is silent, throat working, and Uther just smiles knowingly. Dare releases her, and she walks towards them, embracing each of them in turn. She whispers words I can’t hear to each of her sons, exchanging tiny laughs and wet-eyed looks.

She doesn’t acknowledge me, and I’m grateful, because right now I can’t breathe. That’s Diana? That’s my… mother? I know my grandmothers said that Danu was the reason the Nicnevins didn’t look related, but she’s almost my complete opposite.

“My sons,” she greets, pressing kisses to their cheeks. “Your fathers and I are so proud of you.” She hesitates before Bram, who’s managed to shove himself into his uniform, then offers him a sad wink. “Brave warriors of Elfhame, all of you.”

Their hug is a half-second longer, packed with some emotion I can’t name, and finished with a whispered, “I’ll see you soon, my love.”

Then finally, she turns, and two pairs of violet eyes lock together as her lips curl into a wobbly smile.

“You’ve achieved so much,” she murmurs, stepping closer. Slowly, cautiously, she raises a hand to cup my cheek, as if unsure how the maternal gesture will be received.

Some part of me, the part that’s been without her since before I can remember, soaks her love up like it’s sunlight after a year in the Deep Caves.

“Mother?” I whisper.

Her smile grows a notch, and she leans in to kiss my forehead—easily done since she’s almost as tall as Jaro. “You are, and always will be, my beautiful, brave little Rose.”

Her arms barely wrap around me before she’s gone, the imprint of her hug tingling.

The air is thick with memory and loss and love, all of us silent in the wake of what was undoubtedly a gift from Danu. My heart sings with a bittersweet ache, and my mates’ concern joins the symphony shortly after. Sending reassurance back to them, I dab the corner of my eye with the heel of my hand, wary of smudging the glittering violet ‘war paint’ Prae gifted me.

“I don’t think she’s allowed to stay long,” I whisper when the introspective quiet becomes too much to bear. “From what our grandmothers told me, there are rules.”

“It was—” Florian clears his throat. “It was enough.”

“It’s your mating ceremony,” Uther says, and I suppose, as a medium, it’s understandable that he’s the most put together of our group right now. “There will be a time to mourn, but it’s not today.”

No. It isn’t.

At the reminder, I pull myself up and offer them all a shaky grin. “I suppose we should get going.”

“Or we can always help you flee.” Dare offers me a trademark grin. “I could stick them all to the altar to give us a head start, if you want to torment them a little.”

Shaking my head, I laugh. “No. I want this.”

My Guard is my everything, and just the thought of them standing around the altar in the Temple makes butterflies take wing in my gut.

With that thought firmly in my mind, I take my first step towards where Wraith waits in front of the line of horses, then pause.

Those black mares have skeletal paint over their fur. Are they…?

“Your dullahan predicted that there would be a lot of spirits around,” Bram says, coming up behind me as he straightens the clothes that Florian brought for him. “He pulled some strings.”

And now my youngest brother can ride with us, when no normal horse would carry a spirit. My head spins a little as I realise that my Guard knew that my brothers were planning this.

I send a pulse of love down the bond to him as I mount Wraith, and I am rewarded with the same smugness that I’ve come to know so well.

My barghest isn’t really one for waiting, something he proves when he tries to start towards the Temple without my brothers. I rein him in slightly, petting his neck, as I try to ignore the necklace of ear-roses that he’s wearing.

Lore still hasn’t gotten over the disappointment of severed tits, and now he’s going through a phase of experimenting with other body parts.

The palace staff line the route, alongside what must be most of the knights of Elfhame. The gates to the inner city are open, and all kinds of fae have gathered to fill every available space, waving and calling out words that blend together into a raucous cheer.

“I think the people are happy to see a royal mating ceremony,” Dare says slyly.

“Whatever gave you that impression?” Florian mutters. “At least Jaromir’s knights are doing their jobs.”

“You said you trusted him to be knight commander,” I remind him.

“That was before I realised some of the Fomorians were going to demand to join the ranks. They’re fucking awful soldiers. Good warriors, but zero respect for authority.”

Chuckling, because Jaro has said the exact same thing after collapsing into bed at the end of a hard day, I wave at the crowd. The mass of people has only grown thicker now that the shadow of the Temple looms over us, and their cheers deafen me as I turn my attention to the collection of females by the steps.

“Are you ready?” Kitarni asks, helping me down from Wraith’s back with a smile.

The season is almost completely over, but there are still a handful of blossoms stubbornly clinging to her hair as she waves my brothers past us and into the Temple.

“Please, this is the Fifth Nicnevin,” Maeve says, leaning into my side as I extend the magic, making Bram solid to cover her and my other grandmothers as well. “She’s slain tunnel wyrms and single-handedly charmed Elatha into stripping naked and jumping into his poorly made portal.”

My cheeks flame red, as they always do at some of the more outlandish tales the bards have started spreading. For a people who can’t lie, the fae certainly have found some miraculous ways to embellish the truth.

“You look beautiful, dear heart,” Titania says, nudging Maeve out of the way and hugging me as well. “Now, you remember the words?”

“Like you won’t be mouthing them to her if she forgets,” Mab interrupts, offering me a rare one-armed hug as well. “Come on. They’re waiting for you. The Fomorian even managed to trick the redcap into brushing his hair.”

The three of them offer me one last hug each, then head for the narrow gap between the doors, beyond which my mates wait impatiently for my arrival.

Prae rolls her grey eyes, stepping forward to hand me my bouquet of pastel pink and violet roses that match my dress. “I should not be surprised that my cousin and that psychopath get along so well, but somehow…”

We exchange a knowing look, and my eyes dart up to the iridescent drake gold crown on her head. It’s delicate but lethal, the spiked design reminding me of blades.

It’s the second such crown made from Balor’s medallion. The original was bigger, but as soon as she found out Caed survived, Prae ordered it melted down and the metal split in two.

The other half is wrapped around my Fomorian’s bicep in a band shaped like a tunnel wyrm biting its tail, just beneath the flame-etched one I gave him for surviving Beltaine.

The Fomorian queen gives me a quick hug, then follows my family into the Temple.

“Let’s do this,” I tell my high priestess, my nerves spiking at the sight of the huge doors.

Kitarni smiles and gestures to the lingering priestesses on our left.

The fanfare that fills the air silences all conversation, and the double doors swing open, exposing a room full of fae, who seem to let out a collective breath as I take my first step forward.

I don’t really remember the walk down the aisle, but that’s probably because I’m too busy blushing under the intense stares coming my way from the five males by the altar.

All of them are wearing their finest. Lore’s hat is stiff and grows taller as he takes in the thigh-high slit in my skirts. Bree’s ears seem even fluffier than usual, his tattoos swirling in the spotlight. The full dress armour Jaro is wearing has gilded wolves and roses emblazoned on the pauldrons, echoing the golden glow of the beast burning from within his eyes. Drystan’s hair is braided and hung with charms that gleam in the light, and Caed has found a starched white shirt, albeit a sleeveless one that shows off his armbands and tattoos.

I settle between Bree and Lore, the former twisting our fingers together in greeting while the latter wastes no time in plopping his hat onto my head. The fabric seems to do… something… to the delicate weight of my crown, but I don’t have time to reach up and figure out what.

Kitarni leads the six of us through our vows, passing around the ritual dagger. I’ve been through a lot since I arrived in Faerie, but cutting my hand still makes me grimace. I distract myself by watching my mates do the same. My high priestess layers our hands over one another, and the contact with Jaro’s skin makes me wince.

The scarlet splashes over the altar, and Lore’s eyes flash with excitement as we speak the ritual words.

“My blood to your blood. Now we are one. Mate to mate. Nicnevin to Guard.”

“What Danu has decreed, none may tear asunder,” Kitarni finishes for us before projecting her voice over the gathered crowd. “In the name of the Great Goddess, I bless this mating. Each of you present is now witness to the unity of Danu’s daughter and her Guard. Goddess Bless the Fifth Nicnevin!”

“Long may she reign,” several hundred fae reply without hesitation.

Lore is the first to claim my lips in a feral kiss, his hand winding around my back to press me against him as his smile meets mine. His fangs nip teasingly at my lower lip as he reluctantly relinquishes me so Bree can have his turn.

My púca’s kiss is sweet and tender, and we break apart with matching red cheeks. Then Jaro twirls me around and lifts me so he can claim his. The hard metal of his armour presses against my front as Caed’s body heat warms my back. My Fomorian’s kiss is decidedly less chivalrous. Caed plunders my mouth with the skill of someone who was raised to take what he wanted, then steals a second before the two of them relinquish me and give me that tiny shove towards Drystan.

The Lord of the Wild Hunt traces his fingers over the antler necklace around my throat before shifting his grip higher, collaring me and tilting my head up. There’s a moment where he doesn’t kiss me, something dark and arrogant floating along the bond. My eyes flutter down in discreet submission, and that’s all it takes.

He kisses me like he owns me, the nip of his teeth over my bottom lip promising all sorts of things for later.

I can’t wait.

The two of us have discussed at length what’s happening tonight, and our plan to drive all of my mates wild includes him, too.

I’m panting when we break apart, aware that there’s a lot of well-wishers to greet before we make it back to my bedroom. My cheeks are flushed, chest heaving as I wave at the gathered crowd, my Guard surrounding me.

Goddess. Whose decision was it to put all our families at the front where they can plainly see how much my mates affect me?