“I saidnot yet,” Ronan grits out. “Not until he’s here.”
The first genuine smile I’ve had since all this chaos began finds its way to my lips. “He’s not coming.”
The king glances between us. “Who isn’t coming?”
The only man Iwantto marry. “Why don’t you ask your son?”
Ronan’s nostrils flare, but he offers no explanation. The priest clears his throat while the crowd’s murmuring turns to mutters of discontent.
I might not have found a way out, but at least in this, Ronan will not win?—
The Unseelie part, and Ever steps through.
No. NO!
What is he doing here? He’s in exile. He shouldn’t even be allowed to cross the bridge.
I expect him to storm the dais, but he just stands there, dark eyes drinking me in, hands loose at his sides. Why isn’t he drawing his dagger, threatening everyone standing between us? Why isn’t he coming for me?
“Everett Gathin,” Ronan says in a whisper, his lips twisting, his expression one of sheer delight.
The king’s face drains of color as he slowly rises from his throne. “Gathin?” he whispers.
Ronan sneers at the king, a malicious gleam in his eye. “What’s wrong, father? Is there something familiar about that name? Perhaps you’ve heard it somewhere before?”
The king grips the top of his throne, his other hand flying to his trembling lips.
Suddenly, everything clicks into place.
If Ever’s motherwashaving an affair with the king, could that mean the king is…
No. Ever’s father was an exiled Unseelie, not the king of Willowhaven.
Although now that I see them in the same space, there are some distinct characteristics they both share. The sharp lines of their eyebrows. The shape of their mouths. The proud lift of their shoulders.
If what I’m thinking is true, then this wedding was never about me, nor was it about Ronan’s pride.
It was about drawing Ever across The Divide. Ronan never would’ve been able to do that if I hadn’t agreed to this farce.
I was right in thinking that the prince had no desire to marry me.
I was never the prize.
I was the bloody bait.
52
“Treachery comes in many forms.”
Author Unknown
With a wave of Ronan’s hand, armed guards pour from the alleys, swarming like locusts toward the man I love. Ever does not fight when they take hold of him, nor when they drag him toward the dais.
The rest of the Unseelie remain frozen, their hands clasping their daggers and empty jugs at their backs.
The wedding guests leap to their feet; women and men dressed in finery twist and turn as if trying to find a way out. With the exits all closed off by guards, there is no escape for anyone.
The king looks as if he’s seen a ghost, his blanched face devoid of all color.
