The magic of this stone circle matches his. Like a harmony or a chord. Separate strands that go together. It is suddenly so clear that he is a creature of the wild places. Of ancient, forgotten worlds.
I’m merely a young human from Earth. Regardless of my distant, long-diluted bloodline.
We are so very different. And not like night and day or shadow and flame, not two sides of the same coin. Different like things that should not go together. Like oil and water.
He is handsome, and he put his arm around me. But that doesn’t change how fundamentally incompatible we are. He is a god. I am a bug. There is no way he could ever possibly be content with me.
This marriage is sacrilegious.
Prince Selwyn holds out his hand. Muscle memory from the rehearsal kicks in, and I place my hand on his.
Warmth flows up my arm. Golden and soothing. Placing my hand on the servant I practiced with, did not feel like this.
I draw in a shuddering breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a crowd of people forming on the edge of the stone circle. Inside the ring it is only Prince Selwyn and I. And the druid.
The druid’s cowl is up. There are only shadows where his face should be. I unfocus my eyes to try to blur the horror, as I try to calm the frantic beating of my heart.
The druid begins to speak. The words wash over me. Either too archaic for my translator, or too much for my panicked mind.
I concentrate instead on the grey sarsen stone behind the druid. It is at least seven foot tall. Slightly more pointed than the other stones that form the circle. Where is it from? How long has it stood here? Who placed it and why?
These questions are a great distraction. Though now I’m wondering exactly where ‘here’ is. Is this circle in the fey realm? Is this room that is not a room, a doorway between worlds?
I shudder. Selwyn squeezes my hand.
The druid starts wrapping a blood-red ribbon around our joined wrists. Around and around. Weaving and binding us together.
The druid claps his hands. I flinch. He claps again. And again. Three times.
Oh. That’s my cue.
On shaking legs, I slowly turn, widdershins, away from Selwyn. The red silk spools out, still connecting us. I stop with my back to the prince.
His nimble fingers run through my hair. I stand motionless as he weaves a plait. Then, I continue my turn until I am facing the path I took through the circle.
Prince Selwyn takes my hand again. He holds our joined hands up high, the red weaving on our wrists clear.
“Behold!” he calls out in a rich, deep voice. “Laurie Wyf Selwynogi.”
The crowd cheers. Yells and whoops. A smattering of applause.
Laurie? Did he just say Laurie, and not Lawrence? Are he and the fey going to call me Laurie? Oh my. That is wonderful.
“My consort will now declare his boon.”
Oh sweet goddess. I have been dreading this bit. Please don’t let my voice be all croaky and reedy.
I swallow. Thankfully, the rehearsed words are coming to mind.
“The honour of being your consort is boon enough,” I call out. “I only wish for my mother to be named ambassador so she may serve the fey court too.”
A few murmurs. I said nothing shocking or unexpected. Nothing exciting either. But it is done. It is the only time I need to speak tonight.
Selwyn steps forward. Blindly, I follow him.
He leads me out of the stone circle. Back through the bower and back to Buckingham Palace.
We enter a banquet hall, and he sits me by his side at the high table. The guests filter in. Lively harp and flute music begins to play.
