Page 51

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“Your wedding will be one of the best days of your life.”

A Seelie Guide to Matrimony

T he gown squeezing my waist and hips may be white, but it feels as if it’s covered in muck. I didn’t buy it, nor did I pick it out. A garment bag had arrived from Madame Ella’s yesterday, along with a note from Prince Ronan telling me where and when to meet him for our wedding.

My lace veil conceals the tears in my eyes as my father helps me down the stairs of Ronan’s treehouse and into the gilded carriage.

Ronan chose to hold the wedding in the square, claiming that he wants all the people of Rosehill to be present for this farce.

I know the truth: he doesn’t give a whit about any of our citizens. He only wants the Unseelie to bear witness to our union, to carry the news of our nuptials back to Ever.

Guards have been posted throughout the crowd and next to alleys. They wait at each corner of the dais, and more stand guard along the edge of The Divide.

The king’s golden throne sitting on the dais looks like the one from the castle. A crown rests on his head, gleaming in the sunlight. Does he know what his son has done?

If only I could have begged for his help before it was too late.

Turning away from the carriage window, I yawn into my fist. The last proper sleep I had was in Ever’s bed. The only good thing about him being exiled is that he won’t be at the well. Won’t have to see me marry this wretched man.

My father adjusts the bow tie at his throat and sweeps a hand through his navy hair. “It’s almost time.”

The beginning of the end of my life.

“I’m ready.” It’s a lie but won’t be the biggest one I’ll make today. I’m about to promise to love and remain faithful to the worst man I’ve ever known. A man I despise with every fiber of my being.

Father catches the handle and throws the carriage door aside, climbing from within and extending his hand toward me.

My hand slips into his, and I step into the sunlight. My diamond-encrusted slippers meet the regal red carpet that stretches down the aisle between seated guests and enough flowers to fill the royal greenhouse.

Ronan waits upon the dais, a trellis of climbing roses arching high above him. Music from the stringed quartet near the well drifts through the air.

Not even the beauty of the day can hide the ugliness of this lie.

My father lifts my veil, silver tears lining his lashes as he leans forward to press his lips to my cheek. He passes my hand to Ronan, and the two share a smile.

Doesn’t he see the hardness in the prince’s eyes? The way my future husband’s jaw works? Even if he did, what could he possibly do to save me from this fate?

Not a damn thing.

“Good of you to come,” Ronan murmurs under his breath when my father leaves us to take his chair next to my brother and his new wife.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

His teeth flash with his wolfish smile. “No. You didn’t.”

The priest begins with a long, drawn-out monologue about duty and honor and faithfulness—three things Ronan Reve knows nothing about. The crowd stares on, smiles painted on their faces and their expressions enraptured. The kingdom’s lone heir marrying a woman as common as muck. A fairytale in the making.

I can’t do this.

I just can’t.

Maybe if I make a run for it, I could reach The Divide before anyone catches me.

I’d rather live among the wolves than marry this manipulative wretch.

The music falls silent, and then I hear it.

A high-pitched squeaking. Faint at first, growing louder with each passing second.

The priest must hear it as well, because he glances over his shoulder to where unicorns and riders emerge from between armed guards.

The crowd begins to shift and murmur, glancing at one another before shooting looks of hatred toward the newcomers.

“What the hell are they doing here?” the queen hisses to her husband. The priest’s wan smile twists into a grimace.

Ronan’s own smile never falters. “Don’t fret, Mother. I think it’s bloody brilliant that our neighbors from across The Divide have decided to join us on this most wondrous occasion.”

Poor Ever is sure to be heartbroken when he hears.

If only he hadn’t sent me away…

Ronan’s brow furrows as he searches among the Unseelie. “Where is he?”

My heart swells knowing this victory won’t be nearly as sweet for him without Ever present. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”

“You know damn well who I’m looking for.”

The queen grips the arms of her throne with pale fingers. “Ronan, why are you hesitating? Marry the girl and be done with it.”

“Not yet,” he snaps.

“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” the king snaps under his breath.

The murmuring crowd grows louder, and a few folks at the back vacate their seats. For the most part, though, they remain tethered to their chairs, witnessing the events unfolding like the scene of a play.

The queen’s expression tightens as she turns to the priest and urges him to continue.

“I said not yet ,” Ronan grits out. “Not until he’s here.”

The first genuine smile I’ve had since all this chaos began finds its way to my lips. “He’s not coming.”

The king glances between us. “Who isn’t coming?”

The only man I want to marry . “Why don’t you ask your son?”

Ronan’s nostrils flare, but he offers no explanation. The priest clears his throat while the crowd’s murmuring turns to mutters of discontent.

I might not have found a way out, but at least in this, Ronan will not win?—

The Unseelie part, and Ever steps through.

No. NO!

What is he doing here? He’s in exile. He shouldn’t even be allowed to cross the bridge.

I expect him to storm the dais, but he just stands there, dark eyes drinking me in, hands loose at his sides. Why isn’t he drawing his dagger, threatening everyone standing between us? Why isn’t he coming for me?

“Everett Gathin,” Ronan says in a whisper, his lips twisting, his expression one of sheer delight.

The king’s face drains of color as he slowly rises from his throne. “Gathin?” he whispers.

Ronan sneers at the king, a malicious gleam in his eye. “What’s wrong, father? Is there something familiar about that name? Perhaps you’ve heard it somewhere before?”

The king grips the top of his throne, his other hand flying to his trembling lips.

Suddenly, everything clicks into place.

If Ever’s mother was having an affair with the king, could that mean the king is…

No. Ever’s father was an exiled Unseelie, not the king of Willowhaven.

Although now that I see them in the same space, there are some distinct characteristics they both share. The sharp lines of their eyebrows. The shape of their mouths. The proud lift of their shoulders.

If what I’m thinking is true, then this wedding was never about me, nor was it about Ronan’s pride.

It was about drawing Ever across The Divide. Ronan never would’ve been able to do that if I hadn’t agreed to this farce.

I was right in thinking that the prince had no desire to marry me.

I was never the prize.

I was the bloody bait.