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Forty-Seven

THE WITCH

Alaric and I allowed Chief Korvus to test the enchantment on the amulet before we worked on the others. The dark-haired Mage seemed nervous about passing through the portal for the first time. Alaric offered to go with him, but Chief Korvus shook his head, claiming that this important step for the Rabe tribe should be performed by him and him alone.

Alaric and I stood a few paces from the portal, hands clasped as we watched Chief Korvus step toward the shimmering space between the trees. He hesitated, then took several strides before his form vanished completely.

I let out a squeal of delight, but Alaric squeezed my hand, his eyes fixed on the portal. “Wait a moment. We need to make sure he’s able to come back.”

I held my breath, my hands shaking as I stared expectantly. Come on, I urged him. Come on.

A flash of light burst, and then Chief Korvus appeared, his complexion slightly green and his arms outstretched as if he felt imbalanced. He adjusted the collar of his tunic and pressed a hand to his stomach. “Gods’ breath,” he said in a strained voice. “That was unpleasant.”

Alaric let out a whoop and scooped me into his arms, twirling me in a circle so enthusiastically that my feet swung in the air. I yelped in surprise and delight, clinging to him until he settled me safely back on my feet. Then he approached Chief Korvus, shaking his hand warmly.

“Don’t worry, friend,” he said, patting him on the shoulder. “The first time is the worst. The magic of the portal knows you now, and it will be far less unpleasant next time.”

Chief Korvus nodded and offered a pained smile. I had a feeling he was in no hurry to go through the portal again.

By the next Rising, Alaric and I had enchanted the remaining amulets. He issued a decree throughout the Isle announcing that Mages of all tribes were able to cross over to the fae lands. He did add a caveat that Draconus Mages were to consult with their chief before crossing over. Foxes and ravens could easily blend in with other woodland creatures. But dragons? The fae would lose their minds if they caught sight of the majestic, winged beasts. It was best to proceed carefully—one problem at a time.

Two Risings later, I stood before the mirror, nervously adjusting the crimson toga that barely covered my breasts. The skirt was too short, and the gold fastener at my collarbone felt far too heavy. Not to mention, I feared the gold circlet atop my head was going to fall off at any moment. Fiona had miraculously sculpted my hair into an elegant knot at the base of my neck, managing to tuck in all the wayward curls that often tried to escape when I tied back my hair. Golden hoop earrings dangled from my ears, and rouge had been painted on my cheeks.

When I looked at my reflection, I was taken aback by how fierce I looked. With the exception of my wide, frightened eyes, I appeared positively regal.

Alaric appeared behind me, uttering a low growl as he bent down to kiss my exposed neck. I arched backward against him, eyes closing as his mouth explored my throat and bare shoulder. His hands were on my waist, clenching tightly as if trying to restrain himself.

I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted him to. In fact, if he tore this toga in half and took me against the wall, I wouldn’t regret it in the slightest.

He chuckled against my shoulder, his breath tickling my skin. “Careful, witchling. I can scent your desire.”

“Good,” I rasped. “Then you know exactly what I want.”

He hummed, dragging his mouth up to my ear and nibbling it. I let out a soft whimper.

“After the ceremony, we can spend the next three Risings finding unique ways to worship one another,” he whispered. “How does that sound?”

A thrill shot through me at the seductive promise of those words. “That sounds like perfection.” I turned to face him, draping my arms over his shoulders. He, too, wore his ceremonial toga over one shoulder, and the gold fastener displayed the same wolf emblem as mine. On top of his circlet, he wore a gleaming gold crown. A lump formed in my throat as I realized I would soon be wearing one to match.

I bit down on my lip, resisting the urge to fidget. If I tugged too much on my outfit, it would fall to my waist, and Fiona would have to redo the entire ensemble.

Alaric rested his forehead against mine, and I focused on his slow, soothing breaths. Inhale, exhale.

“You will be fine, Cerise,” he murmured. “You’ve already saved this kingdom. The least you can do is accept a crown for it.”

I snorted. “The crown is for my bloodline, not for saving the kingdom.”

He smirked. “Either way, it’s easier than facing Gorem’s wolf, isn’t it?”

I shuddered. When he put it like that, attending my own coronation didn’t sound so bad.

A knock sounded at the door, and Stover entered, bowing before us both. “It’s time, Your Majesties.”

“I’ll be waiting at the altar.” Alaric kissed me on the cheek before following Stover from the room.

I took a shaky breath and inspected my appearance once more. My cheeks were more flushed than before, but my eyes were vibrant and full of energy. I looked… eager. Passionate. Lively.

I was not the same timid witch who had been afraid to displease her grandmother. Now, I was powerful and confident, if a little nervous. But I knew in my heart I wanted to rule by Alaric’s side.