“More of a reason for you to be careful, not me. Surely, he’d prefer his fiancée to remain alive.”
“He didn’t seem to mind murdering his last one.”
“Murder!” She gasps, eyes growing wide. Finally, I’ve triggered her fear. “Do you really think…”
“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to be careful. In fact…” I say, then get up from the bed. Once I reach the dressing table, I begin to rifle through my bag. From the bottom, I retrieve my surgery kit. Amelie joins me, peering over my shoulder. I grab one of the smaller knives and face my sister. “I want you to keep this on you at all times.”
She furrows her brow, looking at the knife as if it’s some vile object. “I don’t know how to use it.”
“Take it anyway. I don’t have a sheath for it, so wrap it in silk and tie it to your waist or around your thigh.”
She presses her lips tight. I imagine she’s considering how she can follow my instructions without them interfering with her clothing choices. Reluctantly, she takes the knife. “Are you going to carry one too?”
I go to the bed and pull my belt and dagger out from behind the pillow, then begin strapping it around my thigh. “I’ve been wearing this since we left home. Now, let’s get dressed before Lorelei comes to wake us. We don’t need her to see what we’re hiding.”
Amelie watches me as I finish strapping the belt. A mischievous grin plays on her lips. “Will you be wearing a dress then?”
I pause, realizing a dress will provide the only easy way to reach the dagger while hiding it from view. “I suppose.”
She squeals, then runs to the wardrobe. “I’ll pick one for you.”
We finish dressing just before Lorelei knocks, once again barging through the doors before we can tell her to enter. This time, Foxglove follows in her wake.
“Good morning, good morning,” he says. “And don’t we look lovely.”
Amelie and I are dressed in another set of fae gowns. My sister wears the shimmering pink one she was looking at yesterday, while I wear a pale blue dress with flowing, bell-like sleeves and two strands of pearls crisscrossing over the low-cut back. The skirt is loose with multi-layered ripples of floral-patterned fabric, hiding my dagger. My sister has her knife wrapped in pink silk and stashed in a tangle of gauzy sashes she wears around her waist.
“I was just about to do Evie’s hair,” Amelie says. Hers has already been brushed into long copper waves.
Foxglove nods. “Proceed. I can share what’s on the agenda for today while you do so.”
Lorelei steps forward, looking annoyed like always. “Need me for anything?”
Amelie hesitates before flashing her a smile. “Sure. You can hand me the hairpins.”
“How nice,” the fae mutters, then joins us at the mirror.
I pull up a chair and sit while Amelie attacks my hair with a brush.
Foxglove stands behind us. “King Aspen has finalized the date for your weddings. Normally, the hosting court of the Chosen is given one month to secure a wedding alliance to validate the treaty. But because of the mishap with the Holstrom sisters, our schedule got a bit thrown off. Worry not, we have it all sorted out. The human wedding ceremony will be exactly one month from now. The mate ceremony, however, will take place much sooner. It’s scheduled ten days from now and will happen on the topmost balcony at sunset.”
“The mate ceremony?” I echo.
“Yes. It’s a fae celebration for paired couples. We don’t call the resulting pair husband and wife; we call them mates. While it isn’t nearly as binding as a human wedding, it is the closest thing we have here in Faerwyvae and is required by the treaty. It’s usually reserved for noble pairings and alliances, situations where a bit of fanfare is needed. Afterward, you and your mates may perform…um…the ritual.”
I swallow hard, wondering if he’s referring to consummation. “What exactly doesthe ritualmean?”
He hesitates before answering. “That’s a private matter, one you will discuss with your mate. It’s a very ancient and sacred ritual, one that is not discussed with such informality as we are speaking with now.”
“Are you talking about sex?” Amelie doesn’t so much as blush, just looks at Foxglove questioningly.
“Sex?” He puzzles over the word, then his eyes go wide with understanding. “Oh, you mean mating. Ha! No. Mating is not so sacred here in Faerwyvae. Honestly, your human ceremony puts much more emphasis on the sanctity of the mating act than we do. I mean, it is expected that you and your mate will…well, mate, but—for the love of oak and ivy, you’re doing it all wrong. I can’t stand by and watch this.”
Foxglove steps forward, shoving Amelie out of the way and taking my hair in his hands. With deft moves, he undoes the few pins my sister already had arranged, then coils several strands of my hair at the base of my neck. He pins them in place, then pulls a few loose strands to frame my face.
“Now you,” he says to Amelie, snapping his fingers for her to replace me in the chair.
I’m surprised when she rushes to obey. She never wears her hair up, preferring a longer style that showcases her natural color and texture. But when he finishes and steps aside, my sister is glowing, jaw hanging on its hinge. “I was offended at first, but my goodness, Foxglove! I’ve never done nearly such a beautiful job as that!”
