Page 28

Yea or Nay

Everything happened fast after that.

We’d trained so much.

In bed. But I realized in that moment, we’d never practiced for the actual ceremony.

“What do I say? What do I do?” I asked them, my heart pounding in my chest. Fear or anticipation?

I couldn’t tell.

No, I knew.

It was both. It was so, so both.

The Shadow and Mountain Kings had become familiar.

But I didn’t know the High King from Adam.

The only thing I knew about him was that I’d spent an inordinate amount of time wanting him to like me without ever knowing if he did.

As if in answer to my question, the room announced, “Mountain Princess Brigid Ryan approaching on foot.”

And for the second time in as many days, I had to scramble to find clothes.

The Strawberry dress was dirty, so I had no choice but to pull on the green one I’d bought the day before—even though I’d meant to wear that one at Christmas in a few days.

“My turn!” Brigid said, barging into the room in the same way her golf cart charged down the kingdom’s only road.

She carried a vanilla dress with bell sleeves in with her on a hanger, holding it high so the long skirt didn’t drag on the floor.

Long like a wedding gown.

Is that for me?

Brigid used the pretty frock to swat at her brother and the Shadow King.

“Shoo! Shoo! Away with you two now. The Mountain Princess has got it from here!”

The dress was for me to wear—after a shower set to strip-paint mode.

Brigid insisted, “Lest you go down the aisle reeking of my brother. Seriously, babes, did you let him put it in your bum? I didn’t think you had that in you, but it’s a good idea for us kingdom bears. I had my outsider husband put it in there on the first date. Lil’ necessary preview, if ye know what I mean.”

I did know what she meant, and it worried me that my Brigid translator had started working so well.

Less than an hour before I found out if I’d never see her again.

After zipping me into a dress that turned out to be my exact measurements and was made by the female bear whose dress shop I’d liked so much.

But how?

“You sleep like the dead, babes, and the Shadow King’s always up for a project that doesn’t involve him having to talk—like taking measurements.”

The dress fit me perfectly, squeezing at my chest and fanning out in the prettiest way until it hit the floor.

Also, the bell sleeves made me feel like something fairy-born.

And it had pockets!

“It’s a tall girl’s dream dress, isn’t it?” Brigid said, flashing me an approving look in the washroom’s vanity mirror.

“Now sit, and let’s see if that YouTuber who said she could teach anyone to braid Black hair was full of shite.”

As Brigid installed a hopeful crown braid, she told me that the ceremony had already been set up in the throne area of the palace.

“Reckon the servants are never going to forgive your High King for springing this on them right before the holidays. All hands on deck to set up chairs for the lot of us.”

“The lot of us?” I repeated, not liking the sound of that.

From what I could tell from my short time in the Secret Kingdom, “the lot of us” could mean just me and the two training kings.

Or “the lot of us” could mean the entire kingdom.

Unfortunately, it meant the latter.

“By tradition, the whole of the kingdom is invited to the ceremony,” Brigid explained.

“After all, if the High King says yea, then it basically becomes a royal wedding. Did Tadhg not tell ye any of this?”

“No, he didn’t,” I answered between clenched teeth.

The overabundance of love I’d felt for him the previous day began to cool considerably.

“Probably because he knew you’d pull a runner if you had the full gory details.” Brigid’s tone was both wise and cruel.

“I mean, who wants to risk getting rejected in front of an entire town? I tell ye, these traditions of ours are something else.”

“Have you considered amending them?” I suggested with as much politeness as I could muster, which, at that point, was not a lot.

“If the High King gives ye a yea, dusting off those old rules and updating them should probably be your first point of business,” Brigid suggested.

“Ah, ain’t you a feek piece of confetti? I cannot stand myself for doing so well with this crown braid. I am most definitely going to like, comment, and hit subscribe on Braids4U’s video.”

The braid she’d cornrowed in a circle around my head and interspersed with heather was indeed gorgeous.

I was torn between thanking her for her efforts and crying.

Both won out.

“Thank you,” I said with a watery voice.

“I hope… I hope all this effort was worth it.”

“Aw, dry those up! It’s fifty/fifty, either way. And him deciding right before Christmas might be a good thing.” Brigid tipped her head to the side with a thoughtful frown.

“Or a bad thing.”

She waved a dismissive hand.

“But either way, ye’ve got to keep up yer chin. If I were ye, I’d carry my whittling knife in with me and stab the bastard if he dares to give a bear as gorgeous as ye a nay.”

Brigid unwrapped the towel she’d put around my shoulders and shook it out.

“Just make sure ye do it somewhere fatal, okay, babes? Don’t just stab—slice open his guts. Then, for good measure, pull that other knife across his throat. I mean, that’s what it was meant for anyway, iddn’t it? What was it called again? A gutting knife?”

“A gouging knife.” I was beginning to deeply regret showing Brigid the whittling set Tadhg had gifted me.

“That’ll do it, too, I bet. Especially if you aim for the eyes.” She made a high stabbing then worrisome scooping motion to illustrate her point.

I’d never imagined saying this on my possible wedding/rejection ceremony day, but…

“I’m not going to kill the High King.”

“Aw, ye weak-as-shite spoil sport,” Brigid grumbled.

“The least ye could do is set me up to be queen if ye’re not going to get the gig. Anyways, I’m rooting for ye not to get yer heart cracked in front of every single person ye met yesterday—plus a lot more ye haven’t. Sorry ahead of time about us Secret Kingdom bears being laughers. It’s either that or cry, ye know.”

And with that incoming future humiliation briskly explained, she handed me off to Tadhg and Cian, who were waiting just outside my glass hallway door, no longer in just their underwear.

Tadhg wore a brown velvet tunic embroidered with golden bear sigils and mountain shapes.

A fur-lined cloak, nearly identical to the one worn by the Mountain Kings in the portraits on the hallway wall behind him, was draped over his broad shoulders, and a heavy leather belt with a raised bear claw emblem was cinched tight around his waist.

Cian stood beside him in silent contrast, cloaked in a high-collared black silk robe lined with raven feathers instead of fur.

They both wore grim expressions that made a new lump of fear rose in my throat.

“Well,” Brigid said, sounding far less concerned about the situation than any of us looked, “better get meself a seat before they’re all gone.”

“Greg and Darach saved you one in the front row,” Tadhg told her.

Darach . She’d mentioned her outsider husband by name, so Darach had to be the name of her High Prince one.

Which reminded me…

“By the way, just in case I never see him again—please thank Darach for being such a great listener. I truly appreciated the ear.”

Brigid scrunched her face at me.

“Say what now?”

“Get to your seat before one of the O’Neilly sisters tries to steal him from you again. You know Agnes has a crush on both your husbands,” Tadhg reminded her.

“We’ve got it from here.”

Brigid frowned but did as Tadhg instructed.

For someone who claimed not to be great at leading, I noticed he had that effect on people.She left, and then it was just the kings and me alone in the hallway.

But the rumble of the crowd from the throne foyer room was so loud, it traveled all the way down the corridor.

“What if he says no?” I asked them, though I didn’t know if I’d even hear their answers past the loud thump of my heart beating in my ears.

The Shadow King held up a pre-written sign:

OUTCOME PROBABILITY MATRIX

YAY: 59.

5%

NAY: 26.7%

CHAOTIC THIRD OPTION (e.g.

, delay, demand, twist): 4.

5%

DATA SOURCE: Pattern Recognition — High King Precedent (n=117)

CONFIDENCE INTERVAL: ±9.

3%

Okay if I was reading his right (and believe, I was not confident about that), those odds weren’t the most terrible.

But considering there was probably only a one-in-a-million chance of me being here in a secret kingdom located underneath the country of Ireland in the first place, it didn’t make my heart beat any steadier.

I’d thought the High King would continue dragging this out until my imposed deadline.

I assumed I’d have until the New Year.

And…

“I’m not ready,” I whispered to both of them.

“I’m not ready to give you up. I thought we’d have more time.”

Tadhg said nothing.

But his hazel eyes shone with everything he’d said yesterday.

Meanwhile, the Shadow King drew me into his long arms. He cupped one side of my head, pressing the other into his black shirt.

And then he breathed with me.

Just breathed, until my heartbeat slowed to match the calm one beating against my ear.

We never had a chance to tell each other how we felt, like Tadhg and I had.

But the way he looked at me when he pulled back…

I knew.

They each took one of my hands, and Tadhg fell back into the teacher role as they led me down the hallway, past all the judgmental High Kings of yore.

“It’s tradition for the presenting kings to escort The Potential down the aisle. But that tradition comes with a purpose. It’s so you don’t hurt yourself, as you must keep your head bowed and your eyes lowered until your High King tells you to raise them for his answer. If it’s yea, then you’ll join him up on the dais, and the wedding will take place with a big celebration afterward.”

I was no longer the naive girl who’d been delivered to this kingdom.

I didn’t ask about the alternative—it had already featured in my worst waking nightmares.

Heavily.

But I did ask, “What happens if I peep?”

“Don’t peep, Strawberry.” Tadhg’s tone took on a note of stern warning as we came to the end of the hallway.

“It’s considered incredibly bad luck if you look before he gives you permission. So lower your gaze now, and no matter what happens—or how he smells—keep your eyes on the floor.”

“How he smells?” I asked, even as I lowered my eyes just as he said.

Tadhg didn’t answer, and a grand ceremonial kind of music started up.

Not quite a wedding march, but not a funeral dirge either.

Something in between, that could go either way.

I sensed each row standing just before I passed by.

But I kept my eyes glued to the dainty ballet flats Brigid had brought me.

I’d never owned such delicate shoes before.

I wondered if I’d be allowed to take them with me—if the odds didn’t go in my favor.

I wanted to hold on to anything, anything I could from my magical time in the Secret Kingdom.

We came to a stop, and the smell of sweet and sour plum filled my nose.

Strange.

Maybe the High Prince was standing on the dais, too—not sitting with Brigid, as I’d assumed, in what had sounded like a very, very large audience.

Maybe the looking-down stuff was one of the Irish Bear traditions I didn’t totally hate.

The Shadow King gently pushed me to my knees on the floor while Tadhg said something in Irish.

It sounded melodic and ancient in a way that neither English nor Wolfennite Dietsch could match.

Then a not nearly as deep but much more resonant voice spoke above us, and the sound of a considerable number of people sitting down filled the space.

So many people had shown up to witness my possible humiliation.

My throat clogged, and my heart shuddered.

The incoming rejection felt certain.

No longer just a possibility but a fact that would surely break me.

Why, oh why, had I rushed this?

I could have had three whole months in this heaven on earth if not for my condition.

I stewed in misery, unable to imagine a future where I’d ever be as happy as I’d been over the last few?—

“Yea, I accept you, Sadie Ellis. You may now rise to become my High Queen.”

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

Did he…

Did he just do that thing that was the opposite of rejection?

Say yea instead of the nay I’d been expecting, given his behavior?

I could barely believe it as I lifted my eyes to find…

Just one male standing on the dais.

Handsome as one of the models in the Edinburgh airport ads for Burberry suits, the High King had a white streak in his hair, and he even wore a knotted bear medallion over his royal robes.

But his scent… it was wholly familiar.

As were the gray eyes staring back at me with a mixture of judgment and curiosity…

that could easily be mistaken for a listening face.

No. No. No. It couldn't be him. But there was no mistaking that scent.

This was the human male version of the bear from the woods.

The High King smells like rotten celery.

I hadn’t had a plum before. But occasionally, the smaller St. Ailbe community gardeners planted a celery-like fruit. One that tasted both sweet and sour, depending on how you cooked it.

Rhubarb.

This bear smelled like rhubarb, not plums.

The bear I’d been spilling my guts to this entire time wasn’t the High Prince.

He was the High King.