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CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

C ael could do this. Just put one foot in front of the other. He could do this.

For Xenia.

To keep her safe from the monster seated in the front row, spearing him with a steel stare and a disgruntled frown.

Brachos hadn’t seen fit to offer any sunshine for today’s occasion. Misty rain coated Cael’s jacket, face and hair.

He didn’t bother looking toward the guests. Couldn’t bear to see the joy on their faces. Not on the day he was giving up his dreams.

Giving up her .

He choked back his nausea and just before he reached the altar, his father stood and embraced him.

“Smart choice,” Arran whispered into his ear. Anyone watching would have only seen a proud father bestowing some final advice upon his son. “For a second, I was worried you wouldn’t show.”

“I honor my vows,” Cael whispered back. “I trust you will, too.”

“Play your part today, boy, and your little human will be safe.”

Cael glanced over Arran’s shoulder toward his three brothers. Viktor yawned, his wife Helena shooting him a sharp look. Tomas pouted next to his fiancée Constance, who angled as far away from him as possible, her thigh brushing Erik’s…who winked when Cael caught his eye.

Relief slowed Cael’s anxious heart.

Xenia was safe.

He pulled away from Arran, a weight lifting from his shoulders. As long as Xenia was out of his father’s clutches, Cael could do this.

He stepped onto the altar, nodding to the priestess of Faurana, High Goddess of Land and Life, who’d be officiating the ceremony. The serene, dark-skinned Beastrunner bowed to him, shifting her sage-green robes.

The string quartet struck up a processional, and Elodie took to the aisle, resplendent in an ivory crepe-silk gown with lace sleeves. A bouquet of white peonies dotted with red tea roses bloomed between her clenched fists.

Cael swallowed his anger and disgust, schooling his features into some semblance of contentment.

And offered a shaky smile to his approaching bride.

Xenia waited a few moments after Erik had left, then streaked out of the library and back up into the main lodge. The foyer was empty, every single family member and guest, plus the household staff, gathered out back for the ceremony.

The flute bounced against her chest as she tore through the quiet, stodgy hallways, searching for a specific room.

“Come on, come on ,” she muttered, the plaid carpet swishing under her swift footsteps. She was still in the white cotton dress she’d borrowed from Leonard’s cottage, the cuff tucked within her pocket. Her curls were a wild, bouncing spray around her head.

Because fuck them all .

She would not be invisible today.

The lingering scent of smoky licorice wafted up her nose as she turned a corner.

“Yes ,” she hissed out as she came upon the heavy oak doors of Arran’s office. She reached for the handle, panic flaring. What if the doors were locked? She hadn’t considered that.

She pressed on the brass tab, then pumped her other fist in the air when a click sounded and the door swung open.

The scent of lethaphyll was even stronger inside the office. Xenia crept along the forest-green damask wallpaper toward the desk, her gaze traveling out the two-story window overlooking the backyard.

The office was dark and the sky was overcast; no one would be able to see her through the window, but she had a clear view of the venue.

Nausea dizzied her as Elodie exited the main house, then turned onto the path that led to the seated guests and the altar.

Xenia had never been to a Fae wedding, but she’d read enough to know that Cael and Elodie’s vows would come at the end of the ceremony. First, both sets of parents would say a few words, then there would be a blessing from the priestess.

Elodie began her procession, and Xenia’s eyes bolted for Cael.

High Gods , he looked impossibly handsome. So elegant in his Brachian uniform, the talon at the peak of his sole wing polished to gleaming. She was too far away to make out his face, but his posture was stiff as Elodie approached.

And even though Xenia knew he didn’t want this, knew how much he’d prefer to be anywhere else, her heart pummeled her ribs at the sight of him awaiting his bride.

“You High-Gods-damned moron,” she muttered. “Why, why did you make that blood vow?”

She turned from the spectacle, then plopped into the leather desk chair and began rummaging through Arran’s drawers. She crowed victoriously when she found what she was looking for. Placing it atop the desk, she slipped the cuff onto her wrist and angled her head toward the window to see how the ceremony was progressing.

In the meantime, she tapped the cuff and sent one final message to a concerned, frantic, and ultimately, relieved Leonard.

Then awaited her cue.

“In times like these, one thing is more important than all else. Family.”

Cael fought an urge to roll his eyes as Arran began the final of the parents’ four speeches.

Phidion’s had been bawdy, Zosime’s teary-eyed, and Petra’s sincere. His mother’s words were heartfelt, genuine, and contained a few nuggets of wisdom about how to maintain a centuries-long commitment to a single person.

The foundation, she insisted, was to never take one’s vows for granted. To show up, always, with empathy and curiosity. To fall in love with every new version of one’s spouse.

The entire audience was in tears by the end. Cael nearly had been as well. For the wrong reasons. All he could think was how much he wanted that with someone other than the female beside him, whose eyes remained dry.

He also wondered how in the name of Stygios Arran had convinced Petra to marry him in the first place. And how the fuck had he been able to keep her all these years? Did Arran do any of what Petra had just said?

Cael’s cynical side thought maybe his mother hadn’t meant any of it. More pretty lies for an ugly day.

He turned his attention back to Arran, who had climbed atop the altar.

“The bonds that created us, the bonds we were born with, the bonds we choose to forge. They are what matter most. And though there are forces in this world, especially now, attempting to break those bonds, if we stick by each other, honor the contracts we’ve made—” his eyes darted straight to Phidion, who nodded in recognition “—then we will all thrive. Together .”

As Arran continued his blowhard speech, Cael fantasized about slipping the ceremonial dagger from his father’s belt, plunging it into his back, and ending him right here, right now, in front of everyone.

His fingers twitched and he was about to reach for it when Arran turned, hauling Cael to his side. The side opposite the dagger.

“Cael, my son,” he said with false cheer. Cael wanted to punch the stupid grin off his fucking face. “Elodie is a wonderful female. I doubt you deserve her—” the crowd tittered “—but that’s the secret to a happy marriage. Wake up every day and assume you don’t. Then spend every single minute making it up to her.”

Petra blew a kiss from the front row as Arran winked at her.

The crowd laughed louder.

Cael was going to vomit.

Arran slapped him on the shoulder, staring him directly in the eyes. “Hopefully, she’ll be able to replace what you’ve lost.”

Cael didn’t know what Arran was talking about—his wing? Xenia? That empty pit that had been inside of him for centuries?

Either way, Cael heard the unspoken threat in his father’s words.

And to replace what you’ve still got to lose .

Arran retook his seat next to Petra, who placed their clasped hands in her lap. The two of them looked every inch the proud parents of the groom and Cael couldn’t fucking stomach it.

He turned back to Elodie, who was beaming at him, then took her hands as the priestess inched forward. She raised her arms at Cael and Elodie’s backs, encouraging them to step into one another. “Gathered frien?—”

“May I say something?” Elodie’s soft voice cut in.

Wrinkles of confusion lined the smooth brown skin of the priestess’s forehead, but she bowed her head and took a step back.

Cael scanned both families, found questioning looks on their faces as well.

Then he glanced at Erik.

His younger brother’s chocolate eyes were narrowed on Elodie as he gave Cael a subtle shake of his head.

Wait. Listen.

Elodie regarded Cael expectantly. As if seeking his permission as well.

Cael released Elodie’s hands and gestured toward the crowd. “By all means. Today is your day.”

Elodie demurred, “I wanted to say just how very much I agree with High Councilor Zephyrus’s speech.”

“Please,” Arran crooned from his seat. “Call me Father.”

A pained grimace clouded Elodie’s face, there and gone in an instant. If Cael wasn’t standing right beside her, he might’ve missed it.

“Father,” she cooed, honey smooth, and inclined her head. When she looked up, silver lined her eyes. “Family is the most important thing in the world. During times like these, but also in the times to come. If civil war comes for our continent, bonds will be tested, families will be torn apart, and many of us will be forced to decide where our true loyalties lie.”

Cael placed a hand on Elodie’s bare back as the crowd twittered polite, nervous laughter. “My darling, why don’t you?—”

Elodie angled her arm behind her back, then elongated her claws and sunk the tips into Cael’s knuckles. An unmistakable warning.

“Please, husband.” A saccharine smile. “Let me finish.” Elodie cleared her throat. “As I said, many of us will be forced to make choices. Especially when our families are inevitably wronged. How long would you wait to seek your revenge?”

The guests were deathly silent, no doubt wondering where in Ethyrios Elodie was going with this. Many on the Zephyrus side looked embarrassed for her.

“Weeks? Months? Years?” Malice glinted in her eyes. “Centuries?”

She removed her hand from Cael’s, then lifted her bouquet.

“Where I come from, when someone harms your family, you harm them back. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.”

The yard was silent enough to hear the drizzling rain splattering the leaves in the woods beyond.

“Or perhaps, a son for a mother.”

Arran shot to his feet as Elodie turned to Cael, gifting him a glorious smile.

“ Per Ta Cynn Drakan ,” she whispered, then slid the top of her bouquet off the stem with an unmistakable metallic hiss. She lifted the dagger up over her head, then arced it down toward Cael’s chest.

Before he could yell or blink or step back, a flash of rainbow light bloomed behind Elodie.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” Xenia snarled.

She pressed the barrel of Arran’s gold pistol—the one he used to implant tracking devices—to Elodie’s neck, then pulled the trigger and tapped the cuff around her wrist.

Cael reached for Xenia, his fingers brushing her forearm, and the last thing he heard before he, Xenia, and Elodie portaled off the altar was the war cry that erupted from the Laskaris side of the aisle.

“Per Ta Cynn Drakan!”