His throat contracts with annoyance. I suppose making him wait on my answer wasn’t great optics. A bead of perspirationcollapses down my neck as he pinches the octagonal blue diamond and slides it onto my finger.
The band’s fit is impossibly perfect, as though Konstantin memorized the circumference of my finger during our handholding yesterday and commissioned a jeweler to resize the ring accordingly.
Unless I have the same size finger as Konstantina? Unlikely.
There is also a third probability, one that was emitted by Izolda mere hours ago…that the Cauldron is behind its fit.
Why am I expending any energy on this matter? Because it’s helping me process the condition of becoming its keeper?
After lifting my hand for all to see, Konstantin folds his fingers around mine. The room erupts with applause. Even the Crows clap. Granted, the meeting of their palms lacks enthusiasm, but at least they’re trying.
“And now, let the party truly begin. The dining room is open!” Izolda swings her arm toward a twinkling curtain that’s being drawn apart.
As guests begin filing into the next stone chamber, she twirls toward us.
“That was perfect!” she says, while I stare past her shoulder at her mate.
His eyebrows are slightly bent, and he doesn’t smile, not even when he notices me watching. Of course, he doesn’t buy the fact that Konstantin and I suddenly became true mates. After all, he was privy to the ring prophecy. How long will he be able to keep it a secret from Izolda, though?
“Only because of the backdrop you created, Iz.” Konstantin’s hand firms around my clammy fingers, probably to choke their tremble before anyone takes note of it.
“Yes, the décor is stunning,” I concur. “You outdid yourself.”
She beams.
Many guests attempt to congratulate their king, but they’re cordoned off by a loose fence of servers pointing them toward the supping area.
“What a surprise,” Milana says, bustling up to us, her sister in tow. “Here I thought I was attending a celebration for your reign, not a marital proposal.” The former queen’s features are so level that I cannot get a read on her thoughts.
“It’s truly wonderful.” Sofiya’s desolation is so palpable it wobbles each one of her words. “Wonderful,” she repeats, as though trying to convince herself that it is.
Empathy bubbles behind my breastbone. How relieved she’ll be once I part with the ring. As my fake fiancé thanks her, I glance up into his face, hunting it for a sign of possible interest. After all, not only is the redheaded Faerie stunning, but she’s also a highbred Glacin—perfect queen material.
A smiling Ilya kisses me on both cheeks, then turns toward his aunt. “You will find the one, Sofiya. Maybe even in this room. Maybe he’ll be a shifter.”
The alarm that widens her eyes might have been comical if it hadn’t been accompanied by a grimace. Glacinsreallydon’t like us.
“Vizosh, a moment of your time, please?” Borat has returned.
Konstantin’s fingers ghost out of mine, leaving behind a streak of warmth that fades too rapidly.
“Can I see the ring? I’ve never had a chance to behold it in person.” Milana sidesteps Ilya, who’s itching to trail after his brother.
So am I.
Does it have to do with Ksenia? Will Konstantin confide in me later, or will he keep matters not pertaining to Mestyla from me?
“Isla?” Milana’s voice snaps my attention off the Glacin ruler.
I hold out my left hand, tossing tinsel into her wide blue eyes. Though her oval diamond is twice as large as mine, she seems covetous, as though she wished that it could’ve graced her finger…thatshecould’ve been the king’s true mother. Unless her covetousness has everything to do with her wishing it shone on Sofiya’s hand instead.
“Matsi, could you and Sofiya find your seats, so it motivates the stragglers to head inside?” Izolda gestures toward the cavernous sprawl blazing with white blooms and pale candlelight before threading her arm through mine.
Most follow Milana and Sofiya, but some tenaciously wait for their king. As I sweep past them on Izolda’s arm, they decree their well-wishes for such an auspicious union with rumpled brows and flat tones.
“They’ll come around to loving you,” Izolda murmurs as we traverse under the heavy curtain.
They won’t have to, since I won’t be around long enough for it to matter.
