I watch him in silence for a few moments, and he offers me a small smile. The expression paired with his stoic calm has me second guessing myself. Am I overreacting? Am I treating a man like a villain just because he belongs to a faith I abhor? Or is there validity to the way my skin crawls when I look at him and the pin on his lapel?
My gaze leaves him to assess the chairs and couches. Finally, I push off from the door and claim the seat farthest from Marus. Perched at the edge, I ball my fingers on my lap to keep them from shaking.
“What would you like to ask me?” he says.
My mind whirrs, but I can’t form a single question. I just want this conversation to be over.
“Then tell me something, Miss Montgomery. Why do you hate Saint Lazaro?”
It takes a few breaths before I can steady my voice enough to speak calmly, and still it comes out with a tremor. “My mother died in the rebellion eleven years ago. She was shot by one of your brothers. Died from the iron bullets your brotherhood smuggled into Faerwyvae.”
“How?” he asks, tone neutral. “Was she a soldier? Or a bystander?”
“A soldier.” I bite the inside of my cheek to distract myself from the grief I expect to strike me at any moment. It doesn’t come. Instead, it’s relief I feel—relief at being able to talk about my mother without Mrs. Coleman shutting me up or shoving her own narrative down my throat. For once, I can tell the story the way Father always had. “Long before I was born, my mother was a royal guard of the Wind Court, favored by Queen Minuette. When she chose to marry my father, a human, she was dismissed from her position. She and my father moved here, to Lunar, and I was born. We were happy here. But when the rebellions started, Mother refused to abandon the Wind Court without at least trying to help. Since Wind was the first court attacked and suffered many casualties, the queen welcomed her back. Mother fought with her former comrades and helped them defeat your brotherhood, but she paid dearly for it.”
He gives a knowing nod and leans slightly forward. “I do hope you believe me when I say I’m sorry. What my predecessors did was wrong. They may have fought for religious freedom, but they went about it in the wrong way. I was but a boy during the rebellions, just fourteen years of age. I played no part in what happened. After the unrest was quelled by our fae monarchs, I saw the church change into something far better than it had ever been. Our radicals were executed and any brothers who proved to sympathize with their cause were taken out of the upper rankings of the church and replaced by men of peace. Men whose footsteps I have chosen to follow.”
I want to believe him. I want to trust that I’m safe, that he doesn’t see me as a demon to be put down. Such vile teachings were how the zealots tipped the scales from unrest into full-on rebellion in the first place. They poisoned the minds of the good humans, hardened the hearts of the poor and downtrodden citizens—primarily those who had been displaced by the previous war, people who lost their homes and jobs when the isle was unified. They used the greed of aristocrats to fund their battles, but it was the poor who fought them. Once the radicals had their funds and fighters, they smuggled guns and bullets made of iron—an illegal metal for the fatal effect it has on the fae—and attacked three courts. Wind, Lunar, and Spring.
“What kind of fae was your mother?” Marus asks.
“A sylph.”
“What did she look like?”
My eyes unfocus, memories of Mother filling my mind. “She was so beautiful, both in her seelie and unseelie forms. In her seelie form, she looked much like me. Perhaps an inch or two taller with a blue cast to her skin. In her unseelie form, she was incorporeal. She had some humanlike features. A face, arms, and legs. But she was the most beautiful shade of blue. As bright as the sky, but transparent. She could fly, float, dance with more grace than a ballerina.”
“You loved her.”
I nod, a tear escaping down my cheek.
“And can you…shift forms like your mother could? Do you maintain any fae magic?”
All the grief-tangled-warmth I felt from speaking about my mother vanishes, leaving a chill in its place. “No,” I say, an edge to my voice. I wonder if he can read what I’m hiding. It’s not that my answer is a lie. It’s true about the first part of his question, at least, for I cannot shift forms. Most human-fae hybrids can, but I…I never learned. Without my mother alive to teach me, I doubt I ever will. As for fae magic, well, that’s a far more complicated question. “I use no fae magic.”
Marus releases a heavy sigh that seems to carry much relief. He leans forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs as he clasps his hands. “I will be good to you, Miss Montgomery. I will love you dearly if you’ll have me.”
My stepmother doesn’t plan on giving me the choice of whether I’ll have him or not, but I don’t say so out loud. What I do say is, “Why me? We barely spoke and I made my discomfort obvious. Why seek out my hand when you could have wooed my stepsisters with far more ease?”
He says nothing for a few moments, then slowly rises to his feet. I brace myself, but he doesn’t approach. Instead, he stands tall. “It is my personal duty to bring salvation to your kind. Not through violence. Not through rebellion. Through example, kindness, and instruction.”
“Salvation,” I echo, my blood going cold. “You think I need…salvation.”
“All fae need salvation,” he says, not looking at me. “Saint Lazaro stands against violence. We are men of peace. My mission is to purge the isle of sin in what little ways I can. That’s why I’ve decided to take a fae as my wife.You. I will love you and give you a good and honest life, free from sin and magic. Since you already have no connection to magic, you are nearly free from sin. When we are married, we will be an example for others. Together, we will bring goodness to Faerwyvae.”
I rise to my feet, a storm of rage blowing through my blood. “I neither need nor want your salvation. My fae heritage doesn’t make me sinful.”
He turns to face me, eyes alight. “There’s that untamed nature. That’s where I can help you. How I can save you.”
“No, you won’t.” Head held high, I march toward the door.
In a few long strides, he stands before me, blocking my exit. Like a crack in his carefully curated façade, a flash of hate flickers over his face before he steels it behind a neutral mask. “You will stay with me. We are to wed tomorrow, and you will not leave these rooms until then.”
My mouth falls open. “Tomorrow? You can’t be serious. I will not wed you!”
“It has already been decided. Your stepmother and I have come to an arrangement that will benefit us both. Benefit everyone in your family. If you love them as much as you should, you will agree to this without a fight. If not for your salvation, then for their wellbeing.”
I blink a few times, at a loss for words. There’s so much wrong with everything he just said, I don’t know where to begin, what to address first. Finally, a cold laugh bursts from my lips. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. My stepfamily doesn’t deserve an inch of my consideration.”
