Page 58

I’m late.

The ornate clock in the corner of my bedchamber ticks as Catherine tries to salvage what remains of my gown.

Six weeks of careful fittings and alterations, and it’s little more than a tattered ruin, courtesy of the fae assassin who decided today—Kiaran and Aithinne’s coronation day of all days—was the perfect time to express his displeasure.

With a dagger.

“If you don’t stop squirming, I’ll stick you,” Catherine mutters around a mouthful of pins as she attempts to stitch the torn silk back into something resembling a dress fit for a royal coronation. “Now, hold still.”

I try not to think of how efficient Derrick would be. He would have mended the gown in minutes—

My heart squeezes. I force that grief in a box, bearing his death the same way I have for months now. Locking it away. Focusing on what’s in front of me.

Catherine steps back with a sigh. “Well, I suppose this is as good as it’s going to get, given .

. .” She waves a hand at me, encompassing the general air of disaster.

“At least your hair survived intact, which is always a novel thing to see. Dare I ask what happened to your attacker? I imagine there’s a body to dispose of? ”

“Parts of one,” I reply, shifting the bodice higher. Testing the fit with a cautious inhale, and—yes, that’ll do. It’ll keep me decent. Kiaran will enjoy peeling me out of the scraps later.

Three rapid knocks sound at the door, followed by Gavin’s muffled voice. “If you’re both dressed, we need to leave.”

“Suppose we can’t put it off any longer,” I say.

She pats my shoulder. “Chin up. He’ll probably find the blood terribly fetching.”

It’s been weeks since I’ve seen more than fleeting glimpses of Kiaran.

He and Aithinne have both been consumed with their work in the Si?th-bhru?th, navigating the tricky waters of uniting the ancient courts.

To say nothing of the fae response to their king having a human consort who works as a fae assassin.

The few precious hours we’ve managed to carve out for ourselves have been spent in bed, too exhausted to do more than kiss.

Catherine opens the bedchamber door, where Gavin is waiting in the hall. “You look dashing.”

Gavin smooths a hand down the front of his evening kilt. He tilts his head, attention flickering from my blood-splattered hem to the fresh rents in the bodice. “Should I even ask?”

“Probably best you don’t,” I say. “I’m adding to my growing credit with the modiste. At this point, she can comfortably retire on my business alone.”

“You’re going to empty your family coffers on replacing gowns, you know.”

“Good thing I’m consort to a king, then, isn’t it?”

I hold up the necklace Kiaran gave me—an artefact imbued with his power—which connects to our bond and makes crossing into the fae realm easier when we’re apart.

The journey to the Si?th-bhru?th is a blur of shifting mist, distance compressing and expanding as we cross the veil. Reality grows thin, gauzy—shot through with gossamer threads.

And then, between one breath and the next, we’re standing in the heart of the new fae kingdom.

It will never not be strange coming here. Straddling the line between realms, between lives. But for Kiaran, for the future we’ve bled and bartered for, I’ll gladly walk it.

Muted whispers greet our arrival at the palace gates, the crush of fae parting. I feel their eyes on me, a thousand stares fixed on the rust-coloured stains freckling my skin, the tatters of my gown. And, of course, my glowing skin—courtesy of my completed consort bond.

Kiaran is waiting for me on the dais, wreathed in shadows and silver. He’s forgone a crown in favour of a simple circlet—a slim band of dark metal, ancient runes etched into its surface. Binding words, the key to shaping this new world from the ashes of the old.

His eyes find mine as I drift closer.

“You’re late,” he murmurs, holding out his hand.

I lace our fingers together and take my place beside him. Our twin marks pulse between us. The bond humming with contact.

“I was unavoidably delayed by a fae who took exception to my continued breathing. Inconsiderate of him, I know.”

Kiaran’s gaze flicks to the stains marring my bodice, the new tear in the cloth, and he raises an eyebrow. “Why do I have the feeling there are pieces of him scattered across Edinburgh as we speak?”

“Well, I could hardly let him make me even later than I already was. I do have some standards.”

“That’s my bloodthirsty lass.”

“You have such a way with words. With talk like that, it’s a wonder you remained unclaimed for so long.”

Aithinne glides up to stand at Kiaran’s left, resplendent in a pink silk gown.

Unlike her brother, she’s donned a full crown—a delicate confection of rose gold and diamond that glitters like captured starlight against the fall of her black hair.

Lena is with her, wearing a black dress that covers the shifting words across her skin.

No one in this court knows who she is—other than an esteemed guest of the monarchs. And we all intend to keep it that way.

Kiaran leans in, his breath warm against my cheek. “I’ve missed you,” he says, quiet enough that only I can hear.

I squeeze his fingers. “How long is this ceremony again?”

“Two hours, Kameron. The minimum propriety demands. Then I’m barring the doors and peeling you out of the sad remnants of that dress with my teeth.”

Heat floods my cheeks. Good lord.

The room falls silent as Kiaran and Aithinne step forward, ancient words spilling from their lips to echo through the chamber.

Magic hangs thick in the air, raising the fine hairs on my arms. I watch as they slice their palms, blood mingling on the altar.

Power in blood. Power in vows spoken and promises made.

I feel the bloom of pain through our bond when Kiaran’s dagger bites deep. I track the crimson trails snaking over his skin, gathering in the cup of his palm.

Sealing this new alliance between courts that have only ever known war.

And then it’s over, that final vow echoing into silence. The room seems to exhale, swaying forward for a better look as Kiaran turns. As he hauls me against him and slants his mouth over mine.

It’s less a kiss than a claiming. Everything else falls away—the watching crowd, the ache of my injuries, the clinging tatters of my dress. There is only this. Only him. He tastes like power. Decadent. Of all the wicked things he’ll do to me the moment we’re alone.

“I don’t think you were meant to kiss me quite like that,” I murmur when we finally break apart. “At least, not with an audience.”

Kiaran hums. “The ancient coronations included monarch and consort engaging in a night of public debauchery. Count yourself lucky I want you all to myself.” He leans in again, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Now I have two demands for the rest of this evening.”

“And those are?”

“The first”—his hand smooths down my back—“is getting you out of this sorry excuse for a dress.”

“I think that can be arranged. And the second?”

His eyes hold mine. “Marry me.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis as the words register. I can only stare at him, scarcely daring to breathe.

I have to clear the knot from my throat before I can speak. “That depends. Do you intend to ask nicely?”

He considers me for a long moment. Then his mouth curves—a slow, sinful thing, full of heat and promise. “No, mo chridhe . I intend to ask thoroughly .”