Page 6

Cate

Day passed into night. The sun rose and set again. I didn’t care. The witches came, chanting their blessings, smudging oils across my lips and forehead. I didn’t care. The world kept spinning.

I didn’t care.

Cedar from the previous night’s ritual lingered in the air like a punishment, mocking me with its cruelty. Lach’s scent. I couldn’t escape it or the memories it dredged up: his obnoxious smirk and those swirling, telling tattoos; the raw vulnerability I’d glimpsed under the moonlight the night I knew I’d never break the bargain; the utter calm on his face the moment before he took MacAlister’s life and spared mine. Gone.

He was gone. Dead.

I tested the words as I waited for the final ritual, staring out the window to where blue sky met endless sea. I didn’t notice when night cloaked both in darkness. I waited for it to swallow me, too. But it stretched before me like my future—a never-ending night as grim as a glimpse of the Otherworld beyond the court.

I pressed my cheek to the glass to cool my feverish skin, steadying myself with my palm when I thought I might collapse. Ribbons of moonlight fell across my skin…and twisted—like the tattoos that had wound themselves over Lach’s body. I stared, my heart leaping slightly, until they vanished.

“Pathetic.” Hallucinating was a new blow. Likely brought on by low blood sugar and lower expectations. The perfect combination for a bride on her wedding night.

Because that’s what this was: the last night of the ritual. Oberon would probably have a priest waiting to jump in as soon as Ilsa spoke the final incantation or waved her magic wand or whatever she did.

Knowing I would be married by morning cut through my numbness like a knife. Panic clawed at me as though, despite everything, my shredded soul was still desperate to escape. But it was the only way to shield Lach’s family and Channing—my friends and the closest thing to a family I’d ever known. His family was all that was left of him now, and I would not leave Channing unprotected, no matter how he had betrayed me.

I could give them the future that was stolen from us .

It was a justification, a futile attempt to find some scrap of purpose in all this pain. Becoming Oberon’s bride, giving him the ring, would keep him from going after the Nether Court.

I could do this one thing to keep them safe, even though it meant breaking my promise to Lach.

I just needed a sign. Minutes and hours passed—maybe even eternity itself—as I waited for another glimpse of gold. Even if it was only a hallucination, the possibility was a small comfort.

A soft knock at the door jolted me from my vigil.

“Come in.” The words were rough in my dry mouth. I forced myself to swallow, straightening as the door opened. The mute maid shuffled inside, a delicate white gown draped over her arms. She laid it across the bed, its fabric flowing like spilled milk, and turned to me. Our eyes met, and hers were filled with a sadness that mirrored my own.

I forced my feet to move, each step a cruel reminder of what waited for me as I followed her into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, laying out a towel by the sink, and nodded before disappearing into the bedroom. A polite reminder that I hadn’t bathed for days.

Shedding the dress I’d worn since my arrival, I stepped under the water. The heat loosened the tension knotting my shoulders after sleepless nights spent huddled by the window as my last moments of freedom slipped by. I reached for the soap, lathering it until its lavender overwhelmed the cedar oil that had haunted me all day. Every motion was automatic, performed out of habit. Just like the rest of my life would be.

I wrapped myself in the soft towel and returned to the bedroom, ready to get this over with. Lingerie had been laid out. My stomach dipped at the sight of the lacy undergarments and what they implied. That had not been part of the discussion. Oberon could have his ring, but he would never have his bride.

The maid studied me, an understanding in her eyes that broke my heart. Some words didn’t need to be spoken. Some scars were shared. I swallowed as I picked up the skimpy bra, nausea twisting my guts. She moved to the vanity, pretending to busy herself as I put on the underwear. After I hooked the bra, she returned to help me with the dress.

It wasn’t an actual wedding gown, not by modern standards, with its flowing layers of gossamer long enough to pool into a small train. Tiny, hand-stitched flowers and vines were embroidered on the gauzy fabric that rose into a high neckline before tapering into a pair of fluttery sleeves that draped off my shoulders like butterfly wings. There was no denying its virginal pretensions. It would be laughable if I was capable of laughing.

She slipped it over my head, layering me in an innocence long stolen. The dress clung to my curves, a second skin I neither recognized nor wanted. Her fingers moved nimbly up the buttons. When she was finished, she started toward the full-length mirror, but I moved to the vanity. I didn’t need to check my appearance. Today was a performance. Nothing more.

I sat on the stool, staring into the mirror without really seeing anything. She worked with a quiet precision, weaving my hair into an intricate updo, but each gentle touch felt like an apology—as if she wished she could protect me.

“I don’t need to be saved,” I whispered to her. “I’m the savior.”

Her gaze held a flicker of something more, a desperate communication barred by the cruel spell that stole her voice.

“Can you write?” Opening the drawer to search for a pen and paper—for a lifeline to express the words trapped inside her—I found only cosmetics. No glamours, then. I couldn’t be certain that she was human, but I suspected if she wasn’t, she wasn’t allowed to do magic. I uncapped an eyeliner pencil and held it out to her. But she shook her head, the glimmer of commiseration flickering out, leaving me with the heavy certainty that she deserved to be rescued, too.

She placed a cautious hand on my shoulder and squeezed before returning to her duty. When she finished, she gestured to the mirror as if seeking my approval. Since she wasn’t the one blackmailing me into marriage, I complied. A stranger looked back. She had my eyes, my mouth, my nose, but I wasn’t inside.

As I stared at my reflection, a golden filament flickered over my skin. I grabbed my wrist like I could catch it, but it vanished in a blink. The illusion shattered, and I turned away from the glass.

No more escape. No more denial.

Today, I would marry Oberon and seal my fate—and the future of those I loved. It wasn’t such a bad trade-off.

I barely had time to catch my breath before the bedroom door opened. I turned to see Oberon and the witches entering my room, their presence filling the space with an unsettling energy. They wore matching robes of emerald green embroidered with silver thread. Ilsa raised an eyebrow at my appearance but didn’t say anything. Her gaze flickered to the maid and lingered intently until the poor thing scuttled out of the room.

Oberon, however, was dressed for the modern world. He looked every bit the regal king he craved to become in his expensive tailored suit, the black fabric accentuating his dark hair. The choice was a stark reminder that the clock was ticking.

Titania trailed behind them. Her vibrant red dress, cut scandalously low, was a jarring contrast to my own. The tight-fitting fabric clung to her curves, and I couldn’t help but feel that her choice of attire was a wedding wish especially for me. The message? Fuck you.

At least she and I saw eye to eye. We’d be best friends in no time.

“Ready to get this over with, Cate?” Oberon’s voice pulled me back to the present.

Relief shot through me, short-lived but welcome. Maybe I’d misread the lingerie.

“You look…” He paused, raking his gaze down my body in a way that made my skin crawl. “Exquisite.”

Or maybe not.

“Before we begin the ritual, there is one more thing you must do to show the goddess the sincerity of your intentions,” Marin said, withdrawing a knife from a sheath under her cloak.

I swallowed hard as its blade glinted in the light, my heart pounding in my chest. “What is that?”

Oberon dutifully held out his left hand. He didn’t flinch as Marin pierced his index finger. Blood welled on its tip, and she smeared the blade through it before she turned to reach for my hand. I started back a step, repulsed, and she scowled, grabbing my arm.

“Blood helps seal powerful magic.” She pricked my skin. My blood seeped across Oberon’s blood, staining the blade as she murmured, “ Mother goddess, sacred and true, let blood unite this spell anew. Beneath the surface where secrets lie, threads of fate may crimson tie.”

Worst wedding ever.

Marin nodded to Oberon. “The handfasting.”

Alarm bleated inside me, but I found myself transfixed, unable to move, as Oberon produced a length of silk rope. I didn’t have to ask what it was for. Only days ago, I’d stood in another room—in another life—as Ciara was handfasted to Bain. Unfortunately, I doubted mine would end as fortuitously as hers. But I didn’t protest as Oberon laced it around my wrist. My hand trembled in his as he wrapped the silk around his, binding us together in a symbolic gesture that felt all too real. A knot formed at the base of my throat, the finality of the act striking me with a cold dread.

I waited for the tattoo to appear—proof of our marriage bond.

But it never came.

Oberon’s eyes narrowed. His hand clenched around mine, nails digging into my flesh.

“Where is it?” he growled, scanning my arm for the missing mark.

“You must be patient,” Ilsa advised, the authority in her voice daring him to challenge her. “This is a witch wedding, not a fae one. The mark shall appear once the goddess blesses the union tonight.” She pointed out the window to where a sliver of crescent moon inched ever closer to its zenith. “It is nearly midnight. We must begin.”

He dragged me toward the door, the rope still wrapped around my wrist, but Ilsa held up a hand.

“The rituals of the Belle Mère are for women alone,” she said firmly. He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. “If we do not begin soon, we will have to start over from the beginning.”

I wasn’t sure what was worse: the reality that I’d be married to Oberon according to fae and witch customs tonight, or the thought of being anointed and chanted over for one more minute.

Reluctantly, he released me. The silk rope slipped to the floor, but the sense of confinement lingered. He turned to Titania. “Watch her.”

Not a request. A command.

Titania nodded, though her lips curled in a mischievous smile that matched her rebellious dress. Oberon didn’t follow as they ushered me out of the room and through the halls, past guards, their eyes following us in silent curiosity.

Night embraced us as we stepped outside, the cool air soothing as my heart began to race.

Moonlight spilled over the flower beds and mixed with the flickering candles lining our path, casting elongated shadows that danced with the wind. The hedge maze loomed before us, its paths twisting and turning. The powdery softness of night-blooming flowers choked the air, my already shallow breaths catching on the knot forming in my throat.

I skimmed the dark silhouettes of the estate’s boundary, remembering the desolate wasteland Oberon had shown me. This was my last chance to make a run for it, to escape into the night. But what then? The stark reality of the world beyond—cloaked in an eternal darkness that promised no refuge—dashed the fleeting temptation. There was nowhere to run. I had no way to return to my world. I was trapped in Oberon’s web, and soon he would devour me.

“We must begin.” Ilsa’s voice cut through my racing thoughts, firm but not unkind. She placed a guiding hand on my shoulder, a spark of magic tingling across my skin as she directed me into a circle of salt—a solitary island under the vast expanse of the night sky. Candles glowed on the makeshift altar before me, their flames flickering in the breeze without extinguishing. Ilsa crossed to it and lifted a book from the cradle at its center. Marin and Titania took their places in their own circles, their faces illuminated by candlelight. The younger witch wore a fixed expression of reverie. Titania, however, looked torn between curiosity and boredom, like a cat considering a bit of string.

“Belle Mère, goddess of many faces, accept this offering of three,” Ilsa cried out. “Bless our cause.”

If there was a cause, it was a lost one. I doubted a goddess was listening, and if she was, I really doubted she cared about what I wanted. But I found my eyes turning up, like a child searching for a star to wish upon.

I didn’t want to marry Oberon.

I didn’t want to give him the ring.

I couldn’t trust anything he said, especially about the safety of my family and friends. Only a bargain could hold him to his word.

That’s why I was here, standing in a salt circle under the moonlight in a not-quite-wedding dress.

Because I was desperate.

I’d been here before. Lesson not learned.

Ilsa began to chant, her ancient words vibrating in the air. My skin prickled as energy hummed, building and expanding as she called forth magic. She picked up a silver goblet from the altar and dipped the knife, coated in our blood, into the cup, and plumes of smoke rose from it and vanished into the night. Ilsa passed the cup from Marin to Titania. They both drank without comment, their eyes glazing slightly, and a sense of inevitability settled like lead in my chest.

But when it was my turn, I hesitated, my hand trembling as she held it out to me.

“You must drink,” Ilsa hissed. “Trust the goddess.”

If she only knew trust was not one of my life skills.

Not that I had a lot of options. I stared into the chalice, a little concerned that it was still smoking. Hardly any remained. I downed the contents, gagging as a bitter earthiness coated my tongue. That’s when Titania hit the ground.

Was that supposed to happen?

Marin let out a triumphant cheer, whirling toward me with wild eyes.

Shit . I hurled the cup toward the altar, but it was too late. I swayed, my knees buckling. The world spun around me, darkness beckoning me to finally sleep. Ilsa’s voice echoed distantly. “Sleep now, child. The goddess will guide your path.”

My vision blurred as my knees hit the dirt with a teeth-rattling crack, and I sent up a prayer of my own.

Belle Mère, if you ’ re listening: help.