Page 128 of The Chains You Defy

“No, but examining the walls should answer your questions.”

Of course. Scenes depicting humans and fae in unity were etched onto the surfaces all over the crypt as decoration. Like in Amalach, I marveled at the craftsmanship. “Luckily, our royalty only cut access instead of destroying everything.”

“Even a grieving Amarion wouldn’t have gone so far as to desecrate places of divinity. Curiosity sated for now?”

Dion was scratching his chin in a gesture so unusual for him. His nervousness was infectious, perhaps also due to the whole chain of events leading us here. So much had occurred in the past few hours, and an exhausted weariness snuck up on me.

And I still had no clue what kind of ceremony Dion had in mind down here. After the last unpleasant surprise in Amalach, I’d sworn to myself never to enter another rite blind, and if the name were any indication, I wasn’t sure I could fully trust the prince.

“Never. But I’ll save the rest of my history questions for later.”

“Then come over and stand by my side.”

“Not without an explanation.”

“We don’t have much time. The priestess won’t leave us alone for long, and only the gods know how much leniency Galrach will grant us before he comes up with a disruptive plan. But I promise to give you all your answers back in our suite.”

“No.”

“Naya—”

“No, Dion. Back at court, this whole affair will already be over, and there’s nothing I can change if some of the effects aren’t to my liking.”

“You can relax. This is only the first act. The whole rite can be aborted at any time by either party involved. But I have to start the initiation as soon as possible.”

“Mh.”

A sigh worked itself from Dion’s throat. “Fine, in short. My goal over the next weeks or months is to win your affection and prove that I’m a male worthy of you.Today, in this ceremony, I’ll ask the gods to witness my intent and give their blessing.”

“You have a rite that involves divinity in courtship?”

“Fae have rites for basically everything. It’s because my species is so damn driven by instinct. Rituals and traditions prevent at least some accidents. And even Galrach respects them begrudgingly—most of the time.”

“Accidents?”

“Like me throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you somewhere so you can never leave me again?” Dion grinned, and his joke would have been funny if I hadn’t been well aware that he’d considered such a sentiment himself already once or twice—or all the time. And although he’d told me earlier today—had his confession really been this evening?—he’d given up on such plans, the way he was changing moods lately left me somehow wary.

“No, Dion. No locking the human woman in a tower. Bad princeling.”

Dion glowered for a moment, then his features morphed into pure amusement before they settled back into a carefully crafted neutrality. “Do you trust me?”

He’d asked me the same question right before our binding. I’d trusted him, and I’d regretted having done so dearly. Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I observed Dion, who regarded me with his head tipped to the side. “I want to.”

“I’ll never let you down again. You’ll see.”

I’d promised him a chance, hadn’t I? So, I forced a deep breath into my lungs and nodded as I exhaled. “Are there special ceremonial words I have to heed?”

“No. You’ll speak from your heart. Only the initiating party has to put in all the effort during the Rite of Courting.”

My nerves lay bare, and my heart fluttered in my chest as I studied Dion’s face. Nodding at him at last, signaling my consent despite an unpleasant sense of foreboding, I stepped aside and smoothed some imaginary creases out of my gown.

His chest expanded, deflated, and expanded again before his eyes caught mine as his body was already angling to the altar. Our connection broke after a small dark blade had appeared in his hand—not bigger than a kitchen knife—which he’d formed from magic.

Without hesitation, he lifted the sharp tool, and I yelped in shock as he opened a cut as long asmy index finger right next to a major artery in his neck. Blood instantly leaked from the incision.

Calming my breath, I scanned his wound another time. The laceration was dangerously close to his carotid, and only when he didn’t sway nor had rivers of blood gathering in a puddle at his feet did my twitching fingers slow their movement. Relief replaced the spike of fear, and I jotted down a mental note to scold him later for choosing such a dangerous location for ritualistic self-mutilation.

As the prince stepped even closer to the altar, I shifted on my feet to be able to observe what he was doing. Not that his back wasn’t a sight to behold, but that shouldn’t be my primary focus here.