“More wine?” A servant steps between us, decanter in hand.
I’m about to say no—I haven’t had a single sip—when I recognize the server. I can’t see him fully beneath the slim gold mask he wears, but I’m sure it’s the handsome one I suspected Amelie might have been fond of. The thought sends another squeeze of pain to my chest. After a moment of hesitation, I say, “Please.”
As he leans forward to fill my cup, he whispers, “Thank you. For asking the king to show us mercy.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad he followed through with his promise to release you.”
“Of course he did.” He says it as if he’s unable to comprehend my doubt.
Oh, to be fae and never have to question another’s promise. I, on the other hand, never believed Aspen was going to release the servants after questioning, much less let them return to their previous posts. That’s how much I trusthispromises. Before I can say a word more, the fae flashes me a smile and moves down the table to serve the others.
“Are you going to eat anything?” Lorelei asks, raising a brow above her dainty green mask. I feel like it’s all she’s done the past few days—remind me to eat. She pushes a bowl of salt toward me.
With a sigh, I salt my food and wine, and pretend to enjoy my dinner.
* * *
Apparently, a celebratory feast in Faerwyvae consists of seven courses, four of which are wine. By the time we reach the end, the dining room is filled with laughter and chatter and all sorts of menacing sounds that make my head throb. All I want is quiet and to be alone.
I lean toward Foxglove. “Can I leave now?”
He’s leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on the table, head thrown back in laughter at something Lorelei said. His spectacles rest on his forehead while his mask sits askew over his eyes. Lorelei sits on the table facing him and can barely finish her story, wine sloshing from the rim of her cup as her shoulders heave with snorts and giggles. Neither seems to have heard my question.
I rise to my feet, which gets their attention. “I’m leaving.”
“No, my lovely,” Foxglove says. “You must stay until the end.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Why? Does it have anything to do with sealing the treaty? If not, I’m done here.”
Lorelei’s eyelids are heavy as she regards me. “It’s important you stay until the end,” she says, words slow and slurring together.
“But why?”
“For the treaty,” Foxglove says, not nearly as intoxicated as Lorelei. “The ambassadors should see you retire with the king so they know you’ll be mating.”
I feel the blood leave my face. “But we aren’t married yet. Humans don’t mate until after marriage.”
Foxglove throws his head back in bellowing laughter. “That’s funny, dear.”
“I’m serious.”
“Honey, you are the king’s mate now. That’s all the permission you need to take him to bed. Besides, you’ll be married in a couple weeks. There’s no need to feel guilty about it.”
It’s not guilt I feel, but I don’t say so. Propriety has never been my main concern in life, but I’d hoped the excuse would keep Aspen away for at least a while longer. My eyes flash to him at the other end of the table. The pixie in the pink dress leans over the table, lashes fluttering as she says something to him. His eyes lock on mine as he grunts his reply, his expression bored. She’s clearly flirting with him, which is oddly irritating. Does she not realize she’s at a mate ceremony?Hismate ceremony? Then again, why do I care? She says something else, then pouts. He keeps his gaze on me as she flutters away.
Lorelei lifts my barely touched wine cup from the table, stealing my attention to her. “Come on, Evelyn, celebrate with us.”
Anger roars through me. My words come out in a furious whisper. “This is not a time to celebrate. My sister is dead. Do you have no concept of grieving?”
The two fae seem to sober a little at my words. Lorelei sets down both cups of wine, while Foxglove’s lips turn down in a frown.
Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, and I can feel the lump returning to my throat. Around me, the beautiful ambassadors laugh and chat and dance. A few have taken servants to the velvet pillows to kiss—perhaps more than kiss, if I dare look hard enough. The pixie is flitting in front of a guard, finger trailing over his bronze chest plate. The Sea Court ambassador has a servant—a female fae with a dainty pink bunny nose—giggling in her lap. It all seems garish against the landscape of my loss. Even if I wasn’t wholeheartedly against this stupid ceremony to begin with, I wouldn’t be able to celebrate. Not without Amelie.
I hold my breath, willing the pain to recede. I can’t break down. Not now. Not in front of all these fae.
“May I have a word?” a quiet male voice asks.
I find the vicar at my side. His complexion has paled, likely from the excessive lust and frivolity around us. I can’t imagine he feels anything close to comfortable here. With a deep breath, I don a shaky smile. “Of course.”
