Page 8 of Fey Empire (Fey Lords #5)

Chapter eight

T he wedding isn’t until moonrise, so I have no idea why I am standing at this window watching the dawn light spread across the gardens.

This is the last dawn I will see as an untapped vessel. My last dawn as a virgin.

Will everything look different tomorrow? Will my unleashed magic change me? Will I be traumatised from my wedding night?

I shiver and wrap my arms around myself. It’s hardly surprising I couldn’t sleep.

And now I have a long, busy, eventful day stretching before me. Oh well, it can’t be helped. At the moment, I swear I have enough nervous energy to power me through a year of no sleep. All I can do is hope that it is enough.

The soft knock on the door makes me jump, even though I know Rupert isn’t here, and he never knocks at all.

“Come in,” I call quietly.

A whole troop of shoulder-high fey servants file into my room. Their arms are full of silks, lotions, thick towels and hairbrushes and combs. As well as all sorts of things that I don’t recognise .

I face the servants with my head held high and a fake smile on my face.

It really is going to be a long day.

S everal hours later, and I feel like I am going to pass out from nerves. I’m dressed in what feels like thousands of layers. I’ve been groomed within an inch of my life. I barely recognise my own skin, fey lotions have it gleaming and so soft.

My hair looks incredible. Like spun moonlight. As I stare at my reflection, for the first time in my life I can truly see my distant fey ancestry. Now I can really believe it. I always knew it was there, but today it has been brought to the surface.

I don’t know how I feel about this. I think I’m too scared to know how I feel about anything. The only thing thrumming through my veins and swirling through my thoughts is fear.

The wedding ceremony is about to begin, and I’m not emotionally ready. I don’t think I will ever be mentally prepared, even if I had a thousand years.

But it is time to leave. Right now.

I turn away from the full-length mirror and walk out of the dressing room.

A fair sized entourage has formed in my sitting room. Mother and several fey that I do not recognise.

Nobody smiles at me. They all simply get into formation. This is it. The moment has arrived .

The doors open, and like one we move. Stepping out into the hallways of the fey court and parading down to the stone circle.

One foot in front of the other. That is all I have to do. Head up. Walk in a straight line. It is best if I don’t think of anything else at all.

Far too quickly, we arrive at the entrance. A long bower of bent woven boughs. A tunnel of green living plants.

My entourage doesn’t even pause, and I’m carried along by their momentum. Entering the tunnel without any ceremony.

Our footsteps sound muted in here. Fireflies and luminous butterflies are flittering around the top of the bent tree branches. Illuminating the way. Sparkling, living fairy-lights. Despite my terror, the beauty takes my breath away.

We? emerge from the bower into a space that shouldn’t exist. It defies all known laws of physics. It is both a large room in Buckingham Palace and an ancient stone circle in a clearing of an Eldar forest.

There is grass beneath my feet. And walls to my side that turn translucent and hazy as they reach the perimeter of the stone circle.

Above my head are stars, and a chandelier.

If I wasn’t already frightened to death, I would be now. This place is awe-inspiring. In the true meaning of the word.

But there is no time to stop and gawp. I’m being relentlessly led right into the stone circle where Prince Selwyn is waiting for me .

I swear his antlers are bigger. And his ears more pointed. In this dim light, his cat-slitted eyes appear to glow a fiery amber.

I force down a swallow and tear my gaze away before I get caught like a deer in the headlights.

The magic of this stone circle matches his. Like a harmony or a chord. Separate strands that go together. It is suddenly so clear that he is a creature of the wild places. Of ancient, forgotten worlds.

I’m merely a young human from Earth. Regardless of my distant, long-diluted bloodline.

We are so very different. And not like night and day or shadow and flame, not two sides of the same coin. Different like things that should not go together. Like oil and water.

He is handsome, and he put his arm around me. But that doesn’t change how fundamentally incompatible we are. He is a god. I am a bug. There is no way he could ever possibly be content with me.

This marriage is sacrilegious.

Prince Selwyn holds out his hand. Muscle memory from the rehearsal kicks in, and I place my hand on his.

Warmth flows up my arm. Golden and soothing. Placing my hand on the servant I practiced with, did not feel like this.

I draw in a shuddering breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a crowd of people forming on the edge of the stone circle. Inside the ring it is only Prince Selwyn and I. And the druid.

The druid’s cowl is up. There are only shadows where his face should be. I unfocus my eyes to try to blur the horror, as I try to calm the frantic beating of my heart .

The druid begins to speak. The words wash over me. Either too archaic for my translator, or too much for my panicked mind.

I concentrate instead on the grey sarsen stone behind the druid. It is at least seven foot tall. Slightly more pointed than the other stones that form the circle. Where is it from? How long has it stood here? Who placed it and why?

These questions are a great distraction. Though now I’m wondering exactly where ‘here’ is. Is this circle in the fey realm? Is this room that is not a room, a doorway between worlds?

I shudder. Selwyn squeezes my hand.

The druid starts wrapping a blood-red ribbon around our joined wrists. Around and around. Weaving and binding us together.

The druid claps his hands. I flinch. He claps again. And again. Three times.

Oh. That’s my cue.

On shaking legs, I slowly turn, widdershins, away from Selwyn. The red silk spools out, still connecting us. I stop with my back to the prince.

His nimble fingers run through my hair. I stand motionless as he weaves a plait. Then, I continue my turn until I am facing the path I took through the circle.

Prince Selwyn takes my hand again. He holds our joined hands up high, the red weaving on our wrists clear.

“Behold!” he calls out in a rich, deep voice. “Laurie Wyf Selwynogi.”

The crowd cheers. Yells and whoops. A smattering of applause .

Laurie? Did he just say Laurie, and not Lawrence? Are he and the fey going to call me Laurie? Oh my. That is wonderful.

“My consort will now declare his boon.”

Oh sweet goddess. I have been dreading this bit. Please don’t let my voice be all croaky and reedy.

I swallow. Thankfully, the rehearsed words are coming to mind.

“The honour of being your consort is boon enough,” I call out. “I only wish for my mother to be named ambassador so she may serve the fey court too.”

A few murmurs. I said nothing shocking or unexpected. Nothing exciting either. But it is done. It is the only time I need to speak tonight.

Selwyn steps forward. Blindly, I follow him.

He leads me out of the stone circle. Back through the bower and back to Buckingham Palace.

We enter a banquet hall, and he sits me by his side at the high table. The guests filter in. Lively harp and flute music begins to play.

The chandelier is sparkling. There are no stars in here. Everything is as normal as it can be in the fey court.

I let out a breath. This is more or less a formal dinner. I can do this bit.

I keep my head down as the first course is served on silver plates. The hum of conversation fills the air. Everyone sounds happy.

“Are you really so scared to be wed to me?” Selwyn says quietly. His eyes are looking out at the dancers who have set up in the middle of the hall. His words are for my ears alone.

“Of course not!” I whisper back .

His eyes narrow, and he picks up a gold goblet. “You believe me to be a monster.”

His tone is calm. Neutral. But I can hear the offense.

I wince. “I believe you to be formidable and not human.”

There is no point in lying to him, but apparently I need to try to soften the insult. I would have thought he would be happy that I am scared of him. That is the impression he gave before.

“I can taste your terror,” he states, still without looking at me.

I’m not denying it. What else can I say? How do I explain myself?

“I’m… it’s… the public consummation I am worried about.”

My heart slams against my ribcage. I had been doing a very good job of not thinking about it. But it has been there all day. A storm brewing on the horizon. Heavy, ominous. Threatening. Fuelling my unease.

He frowns. “We are not having one.”

“We aren’t?” I splutter.

His gold-flecked eyes turn to me. “No. I assumed it would make you uncomfortable.”

I stare at him.

He stares back. “No one told you?” His eyes flash with a fury that is astonishing. But as quickly as it appears, it leaves. Leaving his eyes unreadable.

There isn’t going to be a public consummation? He isn’t going to lead me out into the middle of this room, lay me on some pillows and take me in front of all these people?

I search his eyes, but all I can see is truth .

My own eyes start to sting. My throat goes all strange, and my chin wobbles. Frantically, I blink my tears away. I can’t be seen to be crying. I don’t even know why I am on the verge of sobbing. This is good news. Great news. I am so incredibly relieved.

‘No. No one told me,’ I want to say, but I can’t get the words out, so instead I pathetically shake my head.

Something dark swirls in Selwyn’s eyes before he turns away and watches the dancers.

I heave in a breath and frantically try to compose myself before anyone notices that I’m falling apart. I cannot cry at my wedding feast, it would be an absolute disaster.

Suddenly, Selwyn gets to his feet. The banquet hall falls silent. The dancers freeze. A thousand eyes stare at him expectantly.

“This feast looks lovely, but not as lovely as my new consort.”

Laughter.

“I’m afraid you will have to excuse me. I cannot wait until the end of the evening.”

More laughter.

Selwyn holds out his hand. Trembling, I place mine on top of his. The red ribbon is still binding us.

He helps me to my feet. We walk away from the table. Towards the sanctuary of an empty hallway. Whoops and cheers follow us. A small portion of the crowd walks behind us. Singing filthy songs.

But they are behind us, and we are escaping. Nobody can see how hard I’m trying not to cry.

We reach a set of double doors adorned with flowers. Purple, and white, and red. A huge garland adorning the entrance to Selwyn’s bedchamber .

My heart is beating so fast I think I’m going to faint.

Suddenly, Selwyn moves. He scoops me up into a bridal carry, and I manage not to squeal. I know the customs. I was expecting this.

He flings open the doors with a surge of magic, then he steps over the threshold with me in his arms.

The doors swing shut behind us. On the other side, the bedding party will be tying the handles together with ribbons and sealing them with wax.

In here, all is silent and still.

Selwyn sets me on my feet. I look around. There are hundreds of candles everywhere. On every available surface.

In the middle of the room is an enormous four poster bed, all dark wood and gauzy curtains. The thick mattress is covered with white silk sheets and scattered with blood-red rose petals.

And Selwyn and I are all alone.