He runs a finger down the side of his wineglass and murmurs as if he doesn’t want to hear what he’s about to say, “The reason why the joining’s broken the day a couple marries is because that’s usually when a relationship is consummated.”
Oh.
His gaze flicks from the wineglass to study me, and instead of looking at him, I decide to fold my napkin into tiny squares. “You mean, we have to…?”
After an excruciatingly long pause he swallows so loudly I can hear it. “Yes.”
The silence in the room’s so pregnant I’m surprised a baby isn’t born right there. Finally I lift my gaze and meet his. Feylin’s cheeks are bright red, which I imagine matches my entire body.
We must have sex in order for the joining to be broken. We have to sleep together.
As much as my body wants him whenever we touch—and I do, don’t get me wrong—the idea of mixing bodily fluids with him terrifies me. This goes beyond being worried that I’ll fall for him so soon after jumping off the Edward ship.
If I sleep with him, I’ll be lost.
Completely.
A weak, “Oh,” is all I manage to say. “Well, then I guess we’ll just have to…”
Have to what? Find another way? Thereisno other way because joinings were meant to end in marriage. Rings exchanged. Vows taken.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he tells me, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of lettuce.
His gaze is back on his plate, but the entire mood in the room’s shifted. Breaking the joining means super personal contact. Contact with Feylin that would light me on fire. Can I handle that without getting burned?
Hell no.
29
For the rest of dinner we talk about everything besides the joining—how Feylin hopes Ryals will grow up to be a great councilor to the next king, how pushing trade between humans and fae is key to their longevity as a people. When I ask him why, he says that it’ll build trust, because right now the fae don’t trust that human weapons won’t be used against them, and the humans distrust fae magic.
After that, he asks me about myself—what will I do once this is over? Go back to Nashville, I suppose. Or return to the balls when my heart isn’t crushed anymore.
As we discuss it, I realize that my heart isn’t as raw as it was a week ago, though I keep that to myself.
For as much as we talk that night, the one thing we don’t discuss anymore is breaking the joining. Though when he walks me back to my room, a similar topic arises.
“There’s to be another ceremony.”
All the happiness I’ve been feeling deflates. “Oh, and here I was hoping we were done with those.”
He smiles tightly. “There are four.”
And once again, more words are left unsaid. After the fourth one there should be a wedding. But there won’t be.
“Right. Four. But what about my magic?”
He sighs, smooths his hair. “I’m putting it off as long as I can, but at some point I won’t be able to. I’m hoping to push it back to after the winter solstice.”
“But that’s a month away.”
“Would you rather we do it tomorrow?”
And have it fail and his people demand he break the joining and send me back into witch-ball hell? No thanks. “After the winter solstice is fine.”
“That gives us time to draw out your magic.”
I sigh in frustration and drop my head onto my back. “Again with the magic.”
