“Magic like yours—like mine—is nearly as strong as the Well. Once it wakes, it does not rest. You just have to learn how to wield it. I can help. Together, we can save the kingdom.”
“Together.” I let out a long breath.
King Malachi nods. “There is a Rite for binding magics—the Rite of Blood. In this ritual, we form a soul bind between us.Together, we would be strong enough to heal the realm. We could do anything we wish.”
Anything.
“This Rite… Is it a marriage?”
A dark smile lights his cheeks. “Marriage is such a simple, human term. But no. The Rite is far deeper than your human rituals. It is a binding of magic. What else comes of it beyond that is between us.”
King Malachi is handsome. Charming. His aura glows, and his touch is warm. I should want his attention. But the idea of being anything more to him sets me strangely on edge.
The king releases my hands. “Fae binding is uncommon now, as we’ve become protective over what we have. But yours and mine could be truly endless, Elorie Vale. If you survive?—”
“If I survive?” I cut him off again, and his eyes narrow ever so briefly.
“To attempt the Rite with someone whose magic is not fully blossomed has dangerous consequences, especially with Royal magic. A king’s magic is not isolated to what is in his blood. He taps into the magic of the realm he rules, and as such, you are not simply binding with a single Fae, but an entire kingdom. It can be… overwhelming.”
“The Rite could kill me?” It’s nearly a whisper. “I could die?”
“I will not lie to you.Dieis too kind a word. To die is to find peace in the After. But to fail the Rite is to Cleave your soul. There is nothing peaceful about it. If you are not ready by the time we reach the next full moon, then you will meet your fate. But if you don’t…”
“The realm dies anyway,” I finish his thought.
“Exactly. You have a unique magic. I heard what you did at that prison. The magic you woke in a land thought to have none. I heard of the Fae you brought back. You can survive this, and together, Lyrichia will thrive again.”
While Vaelier dies.
He doesn’t say that, but it’s what will happen. And I don’t know why I care after what their rebels have done to my home, but I do.
“And if I choose not to help?” I swallow hard. “You said this was a choice?”
“I did.” King Malachi’s smile tilts, and that strange shimmer that surrounds him presses closer. “Do younotwant to save your people?”
It’s more of a challenge than an answer, erasing any other option. But also, it doesn’t matter. He’s right, I do want to save them. So long as there is anyone left to save.
“I do.”
“Very good.” He steps forward, smiling widely. “Then we shall begin the first stage of the Rite tonight at dinner. There are three phases: the promise to set our intention, the blessing we’ll receive in Tempest, and the Rite itself, where we accept our bind beneath a full moon.”
At least we just passed a full moon. Which means I’ll have some time to prepare.
A door opens at the side of the room, and a stunning female walks toward us. Her thick honey-brown hair hangs in waves at her shoulders. She has it tucked behind one pointed ear, showing off silver studs and hoops that decorate it. She’s dressed in what might as well be liquid silver. The fabric melts to her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her bronze skin is coated in a soft, sparkling shimmer. And yet, something dark casts a gray cloud around her. A storm brews in her golden-brown eyes.
“Are you done, Malachi?” She smiles at the king, but when her gaze flits to me, there’s nothing sweet about it. “I’m getting lonely.”
Malachi pulls her close when she stops beside him. His handslides down her backside, gripping hard as his teeth sharpen, and he nips at her neck.
I sometimes forgot the Fae can do that with their teeth. On Alyssium, they do what they can to avoid us seeing them as predators. But here, in their territory, I’m sure that’s not the case.
A gentle laugh escapes her lips as the king kisses her, but her gaze hardens when she catches me staring.
“Hello.” Her tone is sharp; there’s nothing sweet or welcoming about it. “I’m Selia.”
“Elorie.”
She offers nothing more than an indifferent sweep of her gaze before tightening her hold on the king.
