The great communal hall was a sea of bodies when the doors finally swung wide for me.
The sound hit me first—a cacophony of overlapping voices, anxious breaths, and venomous whispers that seemed to coat the air. Then came the light, blinding and golden, shattering against the stained glass and flooding the space through the hundreds of windows lining the walls.
An endless row of eyes locked onto me. Some shone with anticipation, the way spectators watch the climax of a spectacle staged purely for their entertainment. Others wore masks of feigned joy, pretending to celebrate a union they couldn’t care less about. I felt like a prize being paraded through a den of wolves. With each step, my grandmother’s dress felt less like silk and more like armor.
I spotted Lady Bryna, her neck draped in heavy jewels, her tongue heavier still with gossip; she was undoubtedly already taking mental bets on how long my marriage would last. A little farther down, Lord Fenric offered a placid smile and a nod, no doubt nursing a bruised ego after my father had rejected his son Kael’s proposal in favor of Jameson.
Beyond them stood the lesser members of the court, the young lords and ladies I had grown up with. Many of them had once been my accomplices, slipping through the darkened castle halls with me in search of mischief.
At last, I found my family.
My father, Lord Alasdair, sat proudly on the throne to the left of the hall. He wore the ceremonial tunic in our family colors—olive green and gold—with a golden diadem resting onhis dark blond hair. He surveyed the room with impeccable posture, his chin raised like a male who knew he was the most important person in the room and saw no reason to hide it. His gray eyes met mine, gleaming with pride.
My heart warmed at the sight of his happiness, even if it came at the expense of my own. To him, this was a great victory—the right move on Ceilte’s political board. Not a daughter being handed over to someone she didn’t love. I knew that, in his own way, my father believed he was securing my future. I didn't blame him for selling me to the highest bidder. I had learned early on that this was my place, and if my destiny was to be a dutiful wife, I would play the role to perfection.
To the right, my mother was the opposite of her husband. Her posture remained flawless, but her eyes scanned me with concern, watching me as though I were walking willingly into a predator’s jaws. When our gazes finally locked, she offered a small, sweet smile meant for me alone. It was a silent vow, a reminder that I wasn’t alone, and that if the cage ever became too small, she would be the one to help me break free.
Leone, my twin brother, stood like a sentinel just behind our father. He fought to maintain a mask of composure, but I could see the hard set of his jaw and the bunched tension in the muscles beneath his ceremonial armor. He didn’t like Jameson—never had. Today, that dislike was etched into every line of his face.
I made a subtle gesture with my hand, something only he would understand. When we were children, we created our own language to talk during Madame Briseida’s lessons without her noticing. Now, I used it to tell him I was fine. His eyes, blue like mine, softened, and he gave me a discreet nod.
The last face I saw was my future husband’s, Jameson. A handsome fae with long brown hair, green eyes, and an athletic build. His pearl-gray tunic shimmered with silver embroidery, while a pale-green cloak, fastened with a manticore-head crest, hung from his shoulders.
He offered a faint smile as I approached, but it died before it reached his eyes. That was my issue with Jameson. He wasn’t a cruel male—just dull. He was as calm and stagnant as a lake, and I was certain he would remain exactly that way forever. It might sound foolish, but I had always imagined my husband would be… different.
Once I crossed the long, red-carpeted aisle and stopped before him, he bowed his head, pressing a cold kiss to the back of my hand before turning to the priest. My heart didn’t race with nerves, and I felt no spark of excitement at his proximity. Instead, a numbness spread through me like a plague, consuming everything in its path. As the priest began the incantations that would bind us for eternity, my mind drifted far from the gilded walls of the hall.
I thought of Ceilte’s golden hills at dusk, when the sun dipped low, and the sky bled into color—soft oranges, lilacs, and pinks that looked like brushstrokes from a distracted god. I remembered the bite of the cool wind against my skin, the fresh scent of wildflowers, and the sound of laughter echoing in the distance.
My throat burned at the thought that, from this moment on, I wouldn’t be able to run through the forest or dance under the full moon with my friends. From now on, I would be a wife.
The priest’s voice rose, solemn and heavy, cutting through the silence of the hall.
“Lady Fionnuala Kerridan, daughter of Lord Alasdair Kerridan, sovereign of Ceilte and Eldaerenth, first of her name, do you accept Jameson Callaghan as your lord husband? Do you swear your loyalty to him under the watchful gaze of the Goddess Danu, guardian of Love, Fertility, and Life, and the Goddess Nemain, Lady of Chaos, Lust, and Death? Do you bind yourself to him from this day forward, until the riders of the Wild Hunt claim your souls?”
The hall held its breath; so did I.
My heart skipped a beat as I stood at the edge of a precipice. I could step forward and tumble into a loveless life—a ghost fulfilling the duties of a Lord’s daughter. Or I could say no, tear off this wretched dress and run, preferably very far away, because my father would surely murder me before I reached the gates.
Jameson watched me with a look of bland expectation. I swallowed hard, forcing my lips apart to give him the answer.
“I, Fionnuala Kerridan—”
A massive crash cut off my words, followed by a blazing flash. It took about twenty seconds for people to start screaming in panic. I looked around, searching for the source of that horrible sound, when my eyes landed on a beautiful High Fae female standing in the middle of the aisle.
She was stunning, with long black hair falling like liquid silk, golden skin, and eyes so dark they looked like bottomless wells. But her sense of fashion—well, that was clearly stuck in the last century. Her green dress, a shade reminiscent of troll vomit, clashed horribly with her worn boots and a pointed hat that had seen better days.
“What is the meaning of this?” my father demanded.
The guests stopped screaming and fell silent, their gazes darting between my father and the intruder. I noticed several people paling, their eyes widening with recognition.
The female grinned from ear to ear, revealing a row of sharp teeth. So not entirely High Fae. Maybe some siren blood mixed in? Interesting.
“Well, well, Lord Alasdair Kerridan.” She offered a mocking bow, never once breaking eye contact with my father—a blatant, dangerous breach of etiquette. “I simply couldn’t miss the most important event of the century.”
She turned her gaze to me, her eyes so dark they seemed to pierce my very soul.
“Look how the princess has grown.” She took a predator’s step in my direction.
