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Her shoulders and arms were bare, warm skin an absolute treat.

He wanted, of course, to cover her in jewels, but knew she would object, yet the delicate golden necklace that draped itself over her collarbones was perhaps even better than glittering garnets and amethysts.

Her curls had been bundled at the back of her head, sprays of white phlox woven in—another compromise to a shimmery bauble or two on her head, but it proved perfect.

When she moved, she was like a flame, alive and bright as she walked up to him.

“My Lady.” He gave her the deepest of bows.

“Oh, stop it,” she hissed, fingers gripping at the generous poof of her skirt. “Get up.”

“As you wish.” If only she knew how she fed his thrill when she scowled at him so prettily. “One last touch,” he said and held up an eye mask, its deep red hue matching her dress and adorned with gold lace.

Maewyn’s lips formed a small circle, and instead of protesting, she simply turned.

He hesitated, such a strange sensation, then brought his arms around her head and placed the mask.

It needed no tie, magic simply holding it in place, and when Maewyn realized, she turned back to him, foxlike eyes glowing through the veil.

He quickly placed his own mask before she saw too much. “Shall we?”

Ulric’s manor had been transformed into a display of all things bountiful.

Faelings skittered all over, carrying trays of food and drink despite the buffet tables stacked precariously with every delicacy from across the realm—not just the earthy splendors of fall but the fruits of spring, the bright bite of summer citrus, and winter’s decadent sweetness.

A separate musical ensemble filled every corner of the grand ballroom, each playing a different tune yet remaining harmonious with one another, and new reliefs had been carved into the pillars to honor the occasion.

“ This could be our wedding,” Maewyn said breathlessly, taken by the abundance at every turn.

“Ulric has always had quite the eye.”

“Where does it all come from?” she asked. “Is he a king too?”

“It’s just magic,” he said with a grin. “Ulric is very gifted.”

She nodded toward the room filled with many more fae than the score they’d brought. “But his…subjects?”

“Not subjects, only loyal friends who he undoubtedly rescued at some point in their otherwise mundane lives.”

“Rescued?”

“Ulric’s other proclivity: altruism. Most live here at the manor now, not as a subject but as a friend,” Roan told her as he led her out to the dance floor.

“Oh, no, I don’t do this.” She shook her head, necklace catching the lights as she gestured to their feet.

Roan scoffed. “One does not come to the fae realm and not expect to dance.”

But expectations and attainment were not the same.

It was like Maewyn had five legs and only three feet, and the generous skirt was doing no one any favors, yet Roan minded not at all, his arm tight around her waist as he tried his best to lead the unleadable across the dance floor.

She was completely inelegant, too stiff one moment and too loose the next, and the two made quite the ridiculous spectacle of themselves.

But Roan could only laugh despite how many times his feet had been stepped on, and eventually Maewyn joined in.

Breathlessly, they went around and around, laughing and tripping and holding onto each other as they battled to remain upright.

It wasn’t at all a proper way for a prince and his future wife to behave, but Maewyn neither knew nor would likely care, and Roan did know and didn’t care one bit.

They didn’t even stop to sample the food, just snatched what they could as they passed.

That was dangerous too as Maewyn nearly took off his finger when he plied her with a lemon tart, but as he admired her pointed grin in the aftermath, he thought he might have enjoyed her drawing blood this time.

The wine was also plentiful, but Roan only took small sips, wanting to remain in Maewyn’s presence rather than lose himself in drink.

His father always said that drunkenness was unacceptable, so Roan usually overindulged at every opportunity, but the fae king was not here—he didn’t care for Ulric, or parties, or much at all—so with no one to disappoint with his inebriation, Roan didn’t bother.

Their messy dancing was disturbed only when Ulric requested to cut in, but Maewyn was returned to Roan when the music slowed, and after her absence, he was quick to pull her close again.

There was less tripping to be done when one only swayed, and Roan’s firmer hold on her back helped to keep Maewyn upright.

Her eyes widened at the feel of his hand slipping around her waist, big pupils following how he guided her hand to his chest and clasped it there.

“We must make a good show of it,” he told her.

“We’ve only two conspirators here amongst so many other courtiers. ”

She lifted her chin slightly and then sank toward him with an ease he wasn’t expecting. “If you insist.”

“I don’t,” he said, sharper than he meant. “Or, well, I do, but…” Roan’s mouth went a little dry, and he suddenly wished he had an extra glass of wine to swallow back.

“Why do you think we’re tethered?”

Roan blinked as if he’d been slapped, not the question nor the inflection he’d expected. Maewyn was gazing up at him with that curiosity he’d admired in the woods, but there was a melancholic sheen to her eyes, a bit like Aunyx in that way, specifically when Jyny was about.

“Because you stabbed me,” he answered with the only truth he could muster.

Her gaze darted upward with a hint of annoyance, but the smile that played on her lips told him it was only in jest this time. “If that were the case, wouldn’t enemies be tethered to one another all the time?”

“Not if you do it right and actually kill your rival.”

Her lips pulled into a pout instead of the scowl he expected.

A lump formed in Roan’s throat, and he held his breath.

“I’ve been reading…”

I know. I’ve been watching.

Maewyn casually glanced about, other dancing couples very near. Roan tugged her closer—for balance only, of course—and spun them away into an empty section of the dance floor where the colored lights were deep scarlet.

Her eyes were glassy even through the mask. “Your books say that tethering doesn’t simply happen because blood is spilled. It doesn’t even always happen when a vow is spoken in marriage.”

Dryness scratched at Roan’s throat, and he was gladder than ever for the mask, though it didn’t cover his mouth, so he smirked and injected sarcasm into his voice for further protection. “Are you hoping for something grander with me, human? Seeking a way to ensnare me tighter? Drag me deeper?”

She snorted. “I’ve been researching how to break it.”

Ah, no, don’t hide away from me, Maewyn . “Of course, I know, and I am grateful, but I’m just…” Roan rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand while his thoughts swirled with sensations, none of them appropriate.

“To be on one end of a tether,” she said, softness returning to her voice, “means both desire it. At least, according to every book I find on the matter.”

Roan knew this— always knew this—and it had gnawed at him like a chained animal on the last of its marrow. “This is what we’re taught, yes.”

“But why us? Neither of us wanted this. We didn’t even know each other before it happened.”

“Because the soul is always searching,” he said as if the words were being pulled out of him by the tether itself. “And when it thinks it’s found whatever it’s searching for, it latches on with a death grip. The quickness of our bond suggests an…eagerness in both of our souls.”

The words hung between them in the near nonexistent space that their bodies left, but instead of squirming in to push them apart, the two were drawn together.

He felt the heat of her humanness, felt it slithering right into the wound she’d made, the one that was already healed but still stained his veins.

What would it hurt to ask, he wondered, so that he could know her more intimately? “Your life before this, was it…fulfilled?”

Maewyn shook her head without hesitation. “I longed to leave Goulmead. The people there, they never—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed, unblinking.

“Tell me.”

The words spilled out of her then as if they’d been stoppered against her will for far too long.

“They hated magic, but I always loved it. I collected books about it from merchants when they came through town, and I played silly games with the other children— just games ,” she said with the insistence of someone in the deepest of troubles.

“But when bad things happened in the village, they needed something to blame, and the fault of poor crops or two-headed calves fell on me. They treated me like a curse, and even those who claimed to be my friends only spent time with me in secret. Even my own mother kept me at arm’s length. ”

Cruel , he thought, and he wished they had starved the entirety of the human realm with the elonhyea , but instead he swallowed back his anger. “That desire to belong must have been tempting to the tether. And there was a…a space here looking to be filled.”

Maewyn’s head tipped upward, those lips of hers parted and painted red like the blood she’d spilled. What would it hurt to press his mouth to hers again? For her, for him, for the crowd, for no one in particular—just to know for sure this was all a mistake.

“Then it could have happened to anyone who was lonely, to be fair,” she whispered, biting down on an unkissed lip.

“Yes, and we must be fair.” Roan threw back his shoulders as the music swelled. “Ah, I love this one!” A bitter smirk took over the only unmasked part of his face again, and he danced her toward the nearest tray of wine.