She’d barely gotten herself situated before Philostrate, a thin fae male who served as King Theseus’s steward, stepped forward and proclaimed in a surprisingly loud voice, “Let the first Midsummer Library Revel commence!”
The swordmaidens on either side opened the double doors.
The knot of people surged forward. Beatrice had just enough time to share a grin with Rosaline before the two of them dashed forward into the Great Library’s atrium.
At this time of night, the Library was shadowed, the stars twinkling through the skylight and little faerie lights dancing among the shelves.
Shrieks and laughter filled the space as the young fae darted down different aisles, letting the Library swallow them.
Beatrice dashed to her right. If she continued down this path, she’d end up at one of her and Brigid’s favorite reading nooks, one that had a small pond and a waterfall. Somehow she lost Rosaline. She wasn’t even sure when it happened.
As she raced down the shadowed aisle, it seemed to twist and turn in a way she’d never seen before.
She skidded to a halt and pressed a hand to the wooden shelf, catching her breath. “I trust you, Library.”
One of the bookwyrms, a little green one with an extra frilly leathery ruff around its neck, poked its head out from the shelf. It stuck its forked tongue out at her.
“Hello, Benito.” Beatrice held out her arms for the bookwyrm.
Instead of slithering into her arms as it normally would have, the bookwyrm flicked its tongue once more before it ducked out of sight.
“I guess there’s no cuddling bookwyrms during the Revel.” Beatrice shrugged and set out once again, this time at a walk instead of a dash. There was no reason to keep running around insensibly.
Although by the sounds of the shrill laughter and noisy shouts filling the Library, most of those participating in the Revel had given up on sense entirely.
A burst of laughter came from just behind her. When she glanced over her shoulder, she couldn’t see anyone. But as the laughter rang again, seemingly closer this time, she leapt into a run once again. While she’d wanted to participate, she didn’t actually want to be caught by anyone.
The path before her seemed to darken, growing more winding. Yet the laughter kept pace behind her, growing closer any time she slowed.
Beatrice found herself racing blindly around dark corners, twisting through pathways between the shelves that she’d never seen before. The occasional bookwyrm poked its head out from between the books, but other than that the Library was dark and foreign, utterly unlike the warm, vibrant Library she knew during the day.
As she dashed around yet another corner, she smacked right into something. Or, rather, someone who gave anoofin a masculine voice a moment before he grabbed her to steady her.
Beatrice jerked against the grip, nearly falling backward. “Let go.”
Her nemesis—the Horribly Handsome Benedict—let go of her shoulders but grabbed her hand instead as she stumbled. Immediately, a bright golden glow surrounded their hands.
He stared down at their hands. “It seems we’ve formed the beginning of a binding.”
Beatrice gaped as, within the golden glow, a golden swirl appeared on the back of her hand as if a part of her skin. She’d seen the golden glow of a half-formed binding many times before but never a mark on the skin like this that wasn’t a completed marriage binding.
She gaped from the golden glow up to the blue eyes and blond hair of the man facing her. “No. No, I’m supposed to be able to say no.”
Benedict held up their glowing hands, his grip warm and firm, a golden swirl appearing on the back of his hand as well. “It seems the Library and the magic of the Fae Realm had other ideas.”
“No.” Beatrice shook her head again. This was wrong. All wrong. The Revel wasn’t supposed to end this way.
She absolutely, positively couldn’t be bound to Benedict.
“Fated mates?”Beatrice couldn’t help the screech as her voice went up an octave. If anyone deserved to engage in a little screeching, it was her at that moment.
Perhaps she should have tempered her outrage somewhat. She stood before King Theseus’s desk in his study with Basil at her side. Benedict and his parents also stood before the desk, but the two groups had left several feet between them, a clear demarcation.
Then again, Benedict’s mother screeched even louder than Beatrice had, with his father adding in an even more horrified tenor, “To a human!”
“She certainly wasn’t my choice.” Benedict’s derisive drawl sliced into her. He had his arms crossed as he leaned languidly against the back wall.
“Well, you weren’tmychoice either.” Beatrice glared right back. Bad enough that she was stuck withhim. But did he have to look so handsomely nonchalant while being so awful about everything?
