Repeat. “The water in you is the water in me.” My words come out breathless. From the exertion of the dance? From nerves? From the terror of what comes next?
He lifts his right arm out to the side, ribbons clutched in his fist. I do the same. With his other arm, he puts his hand at my lower back, pulling me close. My arm trembles as I mirror the motions. We circle and sway, circle and sway. Foxglove steps forward to take the ribbons from Aspen. Lorelei takes mine. Next, they move behind us and remove our masks. The freedom from the mask makes me feel surprisingly naked, and I wish I could shove it back on.
We pause. The music, however, continues. I feel the drumbeat in my bones, feel the harp rushing through my blood. It’s dizzying, terrifying, invigorating. We release each other and press our palms together, bodies remaining close. Lorelei and Foxglove stand on each side of us, tying the ribbons around our joined hands. I lift my head and meet Aspen’s eyes for the first time since we began the dance, meet his penetrating gaze with a glare. I know what happens next.
Before I can prepare myself, Aspen leans in and presses his lips to mine. A raging fire roars through my blood. I want to push him away, but with our hands bound, I can do nothing but squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself it will all be over soon. Besides, the ridiculous fae custom states we are to kiss until the ribbons are untied from our hands. It feels like an eternity that Aspen and I stand there, lips pressed limply together. I wonder how much longer it will be before Foxglove and Lorelei get on with it and free us already.
Aspen’s lips flinch against mine, and for a moment I think he’s going to pull away from the kiss early. But instead of pulling away, he moves closer, lips parting slightly to sink the kiss deeper. It ignites my rage, but I find myself leaning into the feel of his lips, the press of his torso against my breasts. The music seems to wrap around us, weaving our kiss into its song. Aspen’s lips part again, and I find myself doing the same. His tongue brushes against mine. Something roars inside me, and I can’t tell if my anger has reached new heights or burned into something else entirely.
Before I can ponder it further, the kiss ends and Aspen stands upright, a confused look in his eyes. Did he feel the rage coursing from my lips to his? Or is it thatsomething elsethat has him so bemused?
It takes a few moments to realize our hands have been freed. I let go of him and take a step away, burning him with a glare. That kiss was far more than I signed up for. Not that I signed up for any of this.
He tears his eyes from mine and takes my hand again, raising our fists in the air.
Our audience erupts with cheers.
Chapter Twenty-Three
With the ceremony over, we adjourn to the dining room for a celebratory feast. I’m about to take my usual seat at the middle of the table when Foxglove sidles up next to me. “Not anymore, sweet one,” he whispers, then ushers me down to the end of the table, opposite of where Aspen sits. It’s the secondary place of honor. Cobalt’s usual seat.
“What about the prince?” I whisper.
“You’re the king’s mate now,” he says, “and soon-to-be queen. Your place is here.”
The king’s mate. I grit my teeth, trying not to think about that infuriating kiss. As if he can sense my thoughts, Aspen lifts his eyes and meets mine from the other end of the table, a crooked smile quirking his lips. I avert my gaze and take my seat.
The guests quickly fill up the remainder of open chairs. Cobalt sits to the right of his brother at the other end, while Foxglove and Lorelei sit on either side of my end. I’m relieved to have them here, especially surrounded by so many strangers. The remaining guests are the fae ambassadors as well as Sableton’s vicar. I’m surprised to see the latter take the seat opposite Cobalt, next to Aspen.
I look over the table, finding it laden with aromatic fruit, plates of oysters, bowls of violets, and towering tiered trays of chocolates. Several decanters of wine in every shade of red are set out. Everything is rich and decadent, evocative of sensuality. Even the room has been decorated to match the mood; deep red tapestries cover the walls, the floor is strewn with plush velvet pillows, and dark red lilies fill every vase.
My eyes rove to the fae ambassadors. They chat animatedly as they settle in, reaching for foods to fill their plates, holding their glasses for the servants to fill with wine. I can’t see much of their faces, since only Aspen and I have taken off our masks, but they all appear quite civilized. I see a few whiskers, snouts and swishing tails, a few mouths with pointed teeth, but nothing I haven’t already seen here at the palace.
I lean toward Foxglove. “Are all the fae ambassadors seelie?”
He nods approvingly. “You are correct in your observations. The ambassadors from every court, regardless of political affiliation, are seelie. This is because they must interact with humans on occasion, and we learned long ago that unseelie make terrible ambassadors to the human lands.”
It makes me wonder what it would be like if I were in a room with unseelie fae instead. Are the unseelie kings and queens goblins and trolls? Vicious beasts like the kelpie? Whatever the case, the ambassadors are an interesting sight. Their gowns are bright and elaborate, like costumes in a play. The more masculine suits are composed of varied colors and fabrics, some with padded shoulders, others with trailing, glittering coattails.
A painful thought comes to mind.Amelie would have loved to see this.My throat tightens, lungs constricting as I try to keep the tears at bay.
To distract myself from my grief, I return my attention to the ambassadors and challenge myself to discern which fae belongs to which court. It takes a moment to recall all eleven courts Cobalt had named during our picnic, but I’m pretty sure I have them committed to memory.
I see a fae female with blue skin and a mask of seaweed and coral—an obvious Sea Court fae. A male with dark brown skin, a leafy-green suit, and moss for hair seems a candidate for Earthen. An androgynous fae next to him seems composed entirely of shimmering particles of glitter, making me think Star Court, while the next fae over must be Lunar, with her black dress speckled with glimmering opals and moon-white skin. Or did I get the two swapped? The pixie in a ruffled pink dress with wings the color of a robin’s egg could be Spring. Or perhaps Wind? No, Wind must be the fae with the streaming hair that constantly moves as if in flight. And the two fae with golden skin and bright hair are equally convincing as both Fire and Solar.
I’m lost in my game of logic, certain the fae female in the revealing, paper thin gown in shades of green, orange, and blue is Summer Court, when the sound of my name startles me. Silence falls over the room. I find Aspen’s eyes at the other end of the table, lips pulled into his mocking grin as he raises a wine glass. All eyes lock on me, staring expectantly. Even the vicar watches from his seat next to Aspen. I feel my face flush with heat. What in the name of iron did I miss?
“He’s raising a glass to you,” Foxglove whispers under his breath, “as his mate.”
With a trembling hand, I reach for my glass and lift it. “Thank you.” My voice comes out flat and uncertain.
Most of the ambassadors smile with approval, while the rest squint at me, as if puzzling over a foreign object, but all reach for their glasses. Sound returns to the dining room, and before long, I’m once again forgotten in favor of the meal.
“Did he get the human gesture right?” Foxglove asks. “Atoast, I think it’s called? Silly name and quite deceptive.”
“Yes, why? Was he trying to impress the vicar?”
“No,” Foxglove says. “It was meant for you—”
