I’m finding out the Stone Fae have a ritual for everything. Though I did dip out of the part of the post-wedding ceremony where they smeared themselves in Seraphyne’s blood and moved the festivities outside for what sounded like a seriously feral dance party.
Veyrion continues, stroking a hand over the shell. “And then, we will place our babe in the castle egg room for twenty solars until it is ready to be born.”
I blink, snapping back to the conversation at hand. “Say what now?”
Both Veyrion and Yerivian give me baffled looks. Yerivian asks, “Hold on—is this not how it goes for humankind?”
“No!” I flare my eyes at him. “What did you think I meant bylive birth???”
Yerivian shakes his head. “To be truthful, I was not quite sure, which is why I kept suggesting we make Oak part of the proceedings. He really is quite knowledgeable.”
“About plants!Plants! Not live births!” I answer, rubbing my temple as if that might make this conversation make more sense.
“Are you honestly saying humans take care of their progeny frombirth?” Yerivian asks.
Veyrion shakes his head. “Even when they are in such a weak state that they can neither physically nor mentally care for themselves?”
“Yes!” I all but shout. “Human equals weak as flower petals. We’re born weak, and our parents take care of us until we develop into slightly less fragile adults.”
There’s a long silence.
Then Yerivian says, “Well, that is unbelievably inefficient. But that explains why Oak was so surprised when I told him before we signed our partnering papers that I was forty-two solars. He assumed me to be in my sixties, like him, and I could not believe he was the same age as my father.”
I goggle at him—then do the math on my husband.
“Wait, are you saying you’re nearly fifty solars old???”
“No, I am twenty-eight,” Veyrion answers, as if I’m the crazy one. “I cracked my gestational egg twenty-eight solars ago.”
I stare at my apparently forty-eight-solars-old husband and have to ask. “Then how old is Kinnarick.”
“Seven,” he answers. “He will soon be the youngest Ironwing Commander in our kingdom’s history.”
Oh. My. Moons.
I thought we were done with all the drama and misunderstandings, but?—
“Are you telling me we won’t meet this baby for anothertwenty years? Like, we’ll miss every single moment of them growing up?”
I can’t help it. I break down crying.
And Veyrion’s baffled look softens into one of understanding.
“I am sorry, my flower. I did not understand our species were so different, or that we held such opposite values around this subject.”
He pulls me as close as he can with the egg still in my arms. “I will understand if you regret accepting my proposal for something so permanent as marriage now.”
One of the many things I’ve learned over the last solar as the Stone Fae Queen: Most people in Lunaterra partner, mate, or—on a slightly more binding note—consort.
Marriage is rare. It means you are bonded for life and can never officially take another to partner unless your spouse dies within a week of your marriage ceremony.
I was so touched when I realized how thoroughly Veyrion had committed to me after only three days. Heknew. He knew, like I now know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we were fated from the start.
And now I rush to tell my beloved king, “No. I regret nothing. You could have told me before the ceremony that this baby wouldn’t hatch for fifty solars, and I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”
I cup his beautiful, cracked stone face with my soft human hand above our egg.
“I love you. And I love our baby, no matter how long it takes to meet him or h?—”
