Page 8 of The Ever King

A choking noise from my mother drew our eyes. My mother glared at Sol and jabbed a finger toward Rorik who, again, mutteredassunder his breath.

Sol mouthed a quick apology, then winked at me. “Girl, you look more like your lovely mother every day. Fortunate for you.”

The praise was welcome, but a stretch of the truth, and utterly meant as a jab to my father.

True, my mother was beautiful, but eyes were the only thing we shared. Even then, the sea blue of my eyes matched Sol’s more than hers. My skin was a soft, roasted brown like my father’s, and my hair was a shade of night with hints of red and a touch of blackened blue.

I batted my lashes, then stepped to embrace my Uncle Tor. Serious and thoughtful, Tor was a beautiful balance to his royal consort. I had fond memories of learning the patience of battle from Torsten. He was firm, decisive, powerful, and cunning with every strike.

By the time I met my father’s gaze, he’d clasped forearms with Aleksi, shooting me a glance over my cousin’s shoulder. “Oh, is it my turn now?”

I wrapped my arms around my father’s waist. We had a bond, and since I was young, he’d been the safest place I could think to ever fall.

He pulled back, a smile on his face as he cupped my cheeks in his rough palms. “I’ve decided to take you with us to the council.”

I smirked. He said the same thing every turn.

“Valen, you will not,” my mother called from the coach. “You will let her out of your sight and let her be free.”

“Free to be scooped up by fools who only think with their cocks,” he called back.

“All gods.” My mother closed her eyes, then kissed Rorik’s cheeks with a look of pity. “It is no wonder he says the things he does with such a family.”

“Liv.” My father let an arm drape around my shoulders as he pulled me to one side. “I wanted to warn you, I’ve had more than one request from—” He swallowed like he’d tasted something sour. “Our noblemen for yourtime.”

My heart stopped. “Time as in . . .”

He frowned. “They’re interested in a match, little love.”

All gods. Foolish to be taken off guard for such a thing; I was the heir of the Night Folk clans, the whole of the regions in the north. I would be expected to claim a consort or husband, eventually. The truth throttled me from behind. Of age, yet I’d hardly experienced . . .anything. A few stolen kisses from gentry boys across the kingdoms, usually on dares to show Jonas I wasn’t a prude.

I wasn’t bold with men, but Mira was the only one who knew how inexperienced I was in the facets of love.

A match. It sounded so . . . dull.

I didn’t just want a match because that was expected. I wanted passion, the burn that if my love didn’t touch me soon, I’d burst. I wanted heat, and mess, and obsession.

What if I selected a match only to discover we bored each other after five turns, and I had never experienced another’s hands?

“Livie.” My father tilted his head, voice low while the others chatted around us. “You know I’d never agree to anything against your will.”

“I know.” I forced a smile and gripped one of his hands.

He kissed my knuckles. “It does leave me unsettled to know a slew of unworthy bastards will be here with you while I am not.”

“I wouldn’t worry, Daj. I’m surrounded by overprotective men. One wrong move and there will be missing fingers.”

He scoffed and tugged me against his side. “Forgive me, but putting your safety under the watch of Jonas Eriksson does not put my mind at ease.”

“I heard that! Now, I feel I must prove you wrong by stirring something on purpose.” Jonas’s voice rose over the bustle from his family’s coach.

“See? No worries,” I said through an embrace. “Stieg and much of the Rave are with us.”

My father pressed a kiss to my forehead. I bid farewell to my mother and uncles once more, then watched as every ruler over the fae realms loaded their coaches and left the fort, Rave guards following on foot or on horseback.

While leaders of the realms toiled over duties, on the morrow their heirs, nobles of the gentry, warriors, and courtiers celebrated with games, archery, axe throwing, sailing trips around the coves of the isles, then the masquerade with more feasting and debauchery when the sun faded.

Guards were always nearby. Even Jonas and Sander had appointed guards, but they were rarely seen, forced to be as sly as their royal charges who sought to lose them every turn. It was safe here; we could roll our eyes, taunt our parents, but they would never leave us completely unprotected.