“I didn’t say it had to be love. What I said is that it has to be a strong emotion,” Rhion answers.
We work well into the night on a plan, as the housekeepers bring us more beeswax candles to keep the room alight and trays of cheese, bread, and pickled vegetables to snack on while we work.
By the time I climb the hill back to the Royal Crescent, the first pale blue streaks of dawn are slipping across the sky, and I feel something like hope for the first time since my wedding day.
That night, I appear in the doorway to Bram’s room as he readies himself for the revel. His private quarters are as spotless as his room at Kensington Palace. Not a scrap of parchment is out of place, not a bed linen wrinkled.
His valet buttons him into an elaborately beaded black cloak.
Bram eyes me in the mirror. I’m leaning against the doorjamb in my revel finest, a dress made of layers of sea-green gossamer, embroidered with tiny beads. I think I look a bit like a mermaid.
“If you’d come to me earlier, we could have matched,” he says sarcastically.
I need him to like me, especially tonight, so I just smile and say, “Oh, are we going to be one ofthosecouples?”
He almost grins.
This revel is held in Lord Huron’s house, two over from ours, in the middle of the Royal Crescent. He’s enchanted dragonflies, ormaybe just trapped them, but they’re flying all over the place and keep getting stuck in my hair and tiara. I swat them away, but can’t stop flinching as they buzz by me.
I stay on the dais by Bram’s side, lording over the party silently.
Rhion appears below us and offers a brief bow. “Come to the bonfires, Your Majesty.”
I place a hand on Bram’s shoulder. “No, thank you, I wish to stay here with my husband.”
Rhion regards us. “You make a handsome couple. It’s clear how devoted you are, my queen.”
I clutch my chest like Rhion’s compliment has taken me off guard. Bram smiles too; it pulls at the edges of his mouth, not quite enough to show his dimple, but enough it’s clear he’s pleased I’ve earned Rhion’s approval.
“You have a lovely wife, Your Majesty.” Rhion bows, then disappears into the crowd. The drum of the faerie band thrums through my veins, buzzing at the same pitch as the dragonflies.
Bram’s arms snake around my waist and pull me onto his lap.
His breath is hot on my neck. “You look beautiful tonight.”
A shiver crawls down my spine. “Thank you,” I breathe out.
He picks up a loose blond curl and twirls it between his fingers. “You look so much like her.”
“Like who?”
He trails a finger along my jaw. “Your sister.”
Nausea claws up my throat. It takes all the resolve I have not to stand and run from this room or find the sharpest fork with which to stab him.
I pour Bram another cup of faerie wine from the decanter on the table next to us, and tip the goblet to his lips.
“I’m bored,” I sigh. “Let’s go home?”
He pulls me by the hand from the party. The tunnels connecting the houses are still full of people dancing, singing, passed-out drunk, or kissing passionately up against the stone walls.
The heel of my shoe drags through the thick pink icing of a smashed cake.
I kick off my shoes as we tumble through the doors of Bram’s bedroom. I fling myself onto his bed, giggling like a schoolgirl.
I try to kick under the blankets but the bed is made all wrong. The pillows are facing the wrong end.
I pull one from behind my back and examine it. “Why are these at the foot?” I ask.
