I shrug and inspect the table further. I’ve never been a picky eater, but I must admit, the food looks rather plain. The fish looks good, but—wait! “Please tell me those are Lumies!” I reach across the table toward what looks like my most favorite confection…only to find it’s just a bread roll. “Oh, that’s disappointing.”
“What’s disappointing? And what’s a Lumies?” The voice is deep and—while not entirely familiar—I know who it belongs to before I see him.
My thoughts go still as Dorian strolls through the doorway, his eyes locked on me bent over the dinner table, my hand in the bowl of bread rolls. Silence falls over the room, and the girls stand in respectful greeting. I, on the other hand, have to find a graceful way to straighten. Father Viktor and Billius follow just behind as well as a couple brothers I’m unfamiliar with. All are dressed in the black clothing of the brotherhood. Apparently, the men didn’t deem it necessary to dress up. Lucky bastards. Bringing up the rear is the reporter, Glint McCreedy. I’m grateful the photographer doesn’t seem to be present, at least. I’ve had more than enough embarrassing photographs taken for the day.
“You’ve never had Lumies, Brother Dorian?” Father Viktor chuckles as he comes up beside him and claps him on the shoulder. Relief melts over me as the priest steals Dorian’s attention away from me. “This must be rectified. But not tonight. Tonight, we dine on humble offerings.” The priest glances around the room, then pulls his head back. “I must say, ladies, that you look wonderful, but I should have clarified that this will be an informal meal, not a dinner party.”
Brother Billius scans the contestants with a much more appreciative eye. “Young ladies do like to dazzle,” he says with a toothy grin.
“At least sit down,” Viktor says and—much to Vanessa’s horror and Greta’s pouty disappointment—heads straight for the head of the table.
Vanessa masks her glare behind a grin as Viktor lowers into the seat. “Pardon me for saying, Father Viktor, but shouldn’t Brother Dorian sit here? He is the man of honor tonight, is he not?”
Viktor blushes as his eyes flash from Vanessa to Dorian. “Too true, my dear. How silly of me. I’m so used to sitting here—”
“No,” Dorian says before the priest can rise. His expression is a cold mask, much like it was when he stood upon the dais, his tone formal. “As priest, you are the voice of the Almighty and head of this church. You’ll remain at the head of this table where you belong. I will sit amongst my potential future brides.” With that, he walks over to the table…and claims a seat right next to me. Franny sits to his left while another brother sits at my right between me and Greta. Billius plants himself between Vanessa and Briony, while Glint McCreedy sits across from Dorian, with Agnes and Josie to his right.
It takes me far too long to realize I’m the last one standing. Heat rises to my cheeks as I lower onto my chair and gather my composure. Why am I so flustered?
“While this may be an informal dinner,” Viktor says, “we will say grace. Let us—”
“Oh, may I have the honor to say it?” Vanessa asks with far too much enthusiasm.
Viktor frowns but his expression quickly turns to amusement. “Certainly, Miss Courter. I could never dream of standing in the way of one’s love for the Almighty. Let us take one another’s hands.” Viktor extends his hands to each side, and Vanessa clasps his with a demure smile and closes her eyes.
“Oh,” says Greta with surprise and takes the priest's hand as well. That’s all that prepares me for the two palms that extend my way, one from the brother to my right, the other from Dorian at my left. I glance around the table and see that we’ve created a chain of clasped hands. Well, everyone aside from me, apparently.
I look from one open hand to the other and finally place my gloved palms over theirs. The hand to my right is as limp as a dead fish while the left is merely warm. Firm. Vanessa starts a prayer with, “Dearest Almighty,” but I can hardly focus on a word of it. My attention has narrowed to every point of contact Dorian’s gloves make against mine. The touch of the man I saved. The one I’ll soon kill. It’s so all-consuming that it makes my lungs feel tight. I glance at our clasped hands but force my eyes away, force my attention onto anything but the man at my side.
With a deep breath, I look across the table and find everyone else has their eyes closed. Well, then there’s Greta, who keeps sneaking a peek with one eye now and then. She seems to be the only other person at this table who’s as out of place as I feel. Even Briony holds the hands of her companions with ease, keeping her eyelids pressed shut as Vanessa drones on and on about the bounty of the table.
I continue my assessment of my dinner companions, but as my gaze falls on the other end of the table, I catch sight of Dorian from my periphery. I’m torn between looking away or taking my chance to study him while his eyes are closed. The latter urge wins, and I slowly angle my face toward his, just enough to see those dark lashes up close, the curl of his hair, the fullness of his mouth—
His eyelids flutter open and his face swivels slightly toward me.
My heart hammers against my ribs as his eyes meet mine. I close them at once and avert my face, trying to ignore how warm my palm has become in his. For once, I’m thankful I’m wearing gloves, for surely my hands are sweating now. My pulse continues to pound as Vanessa drags out the end of her prayer. I don’t dare open my eyes, don’t dare let myself wonder if he’s still looking at me…
“Blessed be His Holy Fire,” Father Viktor says.
“Blessed be His Holy Fire,” comes the echo from the brothers.
When Dorian releases my hand, I feel I can breathe again, but I’m strangely frozen in place. The absence of touch feels heavy in one empty palm and inconsequential in the other.
It’s guilt, I tell myself.That’s what that heavy feeling is.
It’s enough to sink my heart and make me question everything I’m doing. Did I truly agree tokilla man?
Dorian glances over at me as if my thoughts had been uttered out loud. My throat constricts as he leans a little closer. “Are you well, Miss…I mean…Your Highness?” The question is polite, but it holds no warmth.
“I am well,” I rush to say, but he doesn’t look away. His expression is hard, wary, his eyes not full of concern but something else entirely…
Is it disdain? Disgust? Suspicion?
A fae-killer seeking a fae bride.
I take a deep breath and remind myself why I’m really here. Whyhe’sreally here. He doesn’t care about me or the fae or this pageant. He only wants to claim a fae bride to guarantee citizenship that the Alpha Council doesn’t want to grant. Because he killed a fae. Because his father was an evil man who did vile things to my people. Because he’s already following in his father’s footsteps, joining a church that once sparked a rebellion that got thousands killed.
Even if Dorian were the kindest creature on earth, the truth remains. This is a matter of life or death. If he doesn’t die, I will. Nimue’s curse will claim me in seven days.
