4. Miss Congeniality

Chapter 4

Miss Congeniality

LORI

T he half-moon shaped balcony offers an unobstructed view of the pristine white gardens below. The Hawthorn towers in the center of the interior courtyard, the inch of ice and snow left by our afternoon visitors covering up all the imperfections of the shoulder season. A few snowflakes swing in the waning breeze, their slow drift unpredictable and mesmerizing.

Cece, Seth, and I stand by Nell on one side of the crescent-shaped space while the other Shadow hunters stand next to Damian.

The Shadow King's black tuxedo shimmers in the night. Nell's white-blond hair and ivory dress slice the darkness, the bride absolutely luminous under the glow of the last Morheim moon. The obsidian crown atop her head matches Damian's, the intricate piece of jewelry glimmering with iridescent teal, purple, and golden hues.

A thousand candles flicker over the floorboards of the balcony in all shapes and sizes, hot wax dripping down their sides. Three golden lanterns are set between the candles in memory of the people we lost in the last few weeks. I was almost one of them, and I swallow hard at the memory, discreetly wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.

"Mortal love wanes. Fae love cuts to the bone," Baka rasps in her thick accent. A beautiful wooden tiara sits atop the sprite's head, right between her thin, floppy ears. "Will ye cut yourself to honor yer commitment to each other, from this moment forth to eternity?"

I press my lips together not to squirm at the familiar phrase, and the wretched taste of spiderwebs fills my mouth. Even though this is a radically different wedding ceremony than the one during which I almost died, too much of it is similar—starting with the groom.

Damian takes the jeweled dagger from Baka's wrinkled hands, hikes up his sleeve, and rests the sharp tip of the blade on his lower arm until it draws blood. "Nell… When I met you I was broken. A mere shadow of the man I pretended to be. I was clutching to my bad habits with both hands, blinded by self-hatred." He smudges his thumb in his blood and traces her lips with it, his voice growing quieter and quieter. "You saved me in spite of myself, and I will spend the rest of my days fighting for you and our happiness the way I should have done from day one."

She takes the dagger from him and cuts a matching line in her arm. "You saved me too, Damian. You offered me a life I could have never dreamed of. A chance to love and laugh without shame. I vow to remind you of that, everyday, so that you never forget who you are. The most dauntless and stubborn—but also patient, kind and clever—absolutely enchanting king of Faerie."

They draw blood runes over each other's cheeks before Nell links their tainted fingers and tugs him closer. Their blood mixes, and the runes seep inside their skin with a flare of magic.

Fingers entwined, they stare at each other, eyes full of tears and adoration.

"They look quite taken with each other," Seth whispers in my ear.

He's standing way too close to me for his damn Fae-prince-ness not to quicken my pulse, and I roll my shoulders back. "That's because they're in love."

"So…you believe in love?"

My brows pull together. "You're the Spring Queen's son. Are you telling me that you don't?"

With his hands linked at his front, he switches his weight from one foot to the other. "Jury's still out. I've yet to witness a love that wasn't bred out of a thirst for power or fabricated by some flimsy magical arrows."

"You're totally ruining this for me."

He smiles like he's privy to an age-old secret. "No I'm not. I'm distracting you from the sting in your ribs and the dark memories eating away at you."

"How do you know about the bite, anyway?"

A cloud passes over his face. "I might be a Spring weed, but I'm more comfortable in a storm."

Weed is a derogatory term for illegitimate children born outside of the Spring Court, and the crude word makes my teeth grind.

Baka narrows her eyes in our direction. I offer her a sheepish grimace, and she clears her throat, ready to close the ceremony.

"Under the watchful eyes of the Seven…ye may now make sweet luv to yer bride," she says on a chuckle. Faerie folks do not shy away from telling it like it is, and her pink eyes gleam with warmth. "But maybe a dance or two, first?"

Damian curls a hand around Nell's neck and gives her a kiss so perfect, so intimate, that my gaze darts to the ground. I'd never dream to be loved so completely. Their romance is a tale for the ages.

Applause and cat-calls resonate on the balcony before we slip inside the mirror at the back of the room to wait for the newlyweds in the banquet hall. The secretive quality of the ceremony won't help get the party started, but we'll do them proud.

Jo, the leader of the hunter squad, inches toward us and gives Seth the stink eye. "Is he bothering you, little ninja?"

"We're fine, aren't we, Lori?" Seth chimes.

I pat my friend's shoulder to soothe him. "Right as rain. Thank you, Jo."

Beautiful champagne flutes are passed around by flying trays until we're all holding one, and the bride and groom walk to the center of the ballroom.

Damian raises his bubbly drink in the air. "Let's toast to new beginnings, love, and to my queen."

"In her name!" we all shout back in cheer—even Seth.

"Long live the king and queen!" Cece adds with a big smile plastered on her face.

We drink to their health, and Nell blushes a deep shade of red. "Thank you for being here. It means a lot."

"We love you, Nell," I declare loudly enough to start another round of pep-filled shouts and applause.

The staple of every Fae wedding starts to play, a heart-wrenching love song written by the most famous singer of all time, Elizabeth Snow. I take another long swig of champagne at the familiar melody, grateful to erase the lingering taste of spider silk on my tongue.

"What a lovely song." Cece dumps her empty glass on a magic tray and hooks her small arm around Jo's, pulling him forward. "Let's dance!"

Misha and Cary exchange a quick kiss before joining the other couples on the dance floor, and Seth holds out his hand. "It'd be rude not to."

I hold up my index finger. "One dance."

"I don't think this reception is supposed to last longer than a few songs, anyway." Seth pulls me close to him, the classic waltz suddenly very dirty-dancing. "In Spring, the bride and groom go straight to the honeymoon suite—a big, lavish tent set near the buffet. The guests drink to their health all night—along with the obligatory peeks through the tarps, naturally."

I chuckle at the absurdity of Fae traditions. "There won't be any peeking here, I assure you. But public sex sounds downright benign compared to the Yule pageant."

"Winter peeps need big, flashy drama to sweeten their cold hearts," he twirls me around. "It's a tradition that dates back a thousand years, at least—though they didn't use to last that long, nor come along every year."

I chew on that for a moment, wondering exactly how this egregious spectacle started in the first place. "Are you saying that the Winter King chose his first queen through a contest, too?"

Seth nods. "Back then, there were only four prospective brides—a princess from each of the first kingdoms. Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn. Elio was crowned king days before the solstice and scrambled to get married quickly. He and Iris had met before, at the Academy. Elio was already enamored with her, so his first Yule pageant barely took two hours."

"Wow."

Two hours to decide who to spend the rest of your life with. No pressure.

The music stops. Seth looks down at his wrist and taps an imaginary watch. "I'd love to chat with you until dawn, but if you're in, we've got to go. The Yule pageant starts in ten hours. If we are to pass you off as a Spring rose, you need your beauty sleep."

I gape at his confidence. He doesn't know half the story, and only glimpsed at my true hatred for Morrigan.

"Going once…" he trails off.

"Stop it!"

"Going twice."

My shoulders sag. "Alright. Let me talk to Damian and Nell alone."

There's no good option here, but I see no way around Seth's offer. Damian can't afford the necessary manpower to chase Morrigan throughout Faerie, and if I refuse, Ayaan will hang. The Shadow Court doesn't have much sway in Spring.

The happy couple stops swaying to the music at my approach, and Nell's face falls like she knows exactly what I'm going to say. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"If I can help Ayaan…" I throw a quick glance behind me to make sure Seth is out of earshot. "Our mother was born on the fringes of Spring. She never used the word rebel , but her tumultuous childhood landed her in jail. After her so-called friends left her to die in that place, she served her sentence and left Faerie to blend into the new world and change her life. She always made us promise never to disclose her name, so that bad people from her past could never track us down. If Ayaan was naive enough to be roped in by some rebel scheme… I have to do everything in my power to help."

"Then you have my blessing, of course," Damian says.

I'm proud to serve him, really. More than ever. With enough luck, I can help Seth capture Morrigan as a bonus. It'll feel good to take the fight to her instead of merely waiting for her to strike again.

I offer him a gentle bow. "Thank you, my king. I will strive to be worthy of your teachings." I punctuate the stuffy speech with a wink.

"I'm only a summons away. If shit hits the fan, pray for me," he says.

"Will do, boss."

Nell follows me to the outskirts of the dance floor and squeezes my hands. "If he tries anything you're not okay with, come home, and we'll find another way to save Ayaan."

I offer her a sad smile, her optimism endearing but not contagious. Seth is my only chance to save my brother's life. "Go and be with your man, Old World. You have until midnight to consummate this union."

Another silly Fae tradition, but oh-so-important if she wants to seal the deal, so to speak.

A deep shade of red brands her cheeks. "Be careful, okay?"

"I promise."

I grab Seth's elbow and drag him out of the banquet hall and into the tunnels underneath the castle. I'm going to sleep one last night in my own bed and offer Seth the floor. I might lend him a pillow if he's nice.

I risk a glance at him. "Tell me the truth. What kind of sick fuck marries and kills his bride every year?"

With his slick blond hair and his white, ghostly cape, the Winter King possessed a striking villainous quality. I chew on my bottom lip, haunted by the memory of the strange shimmer gliding over his mask when he looked straight through me.

Seth's jaw ticks. "The worst kind, but he has to marry. The laws of Winter are all too clear on that. A queen has to participate in the solstice's sacred rites, or all of Faerie's magic would be in jeopardy. The Winter King's marriage is a matter of national security, so to speak."

"But he does kill his wives, right?"

"No one really knows, but yes. Accidents keep happening every year during the pageant… and after. You can't expect the reaper king not to be in on it."

My eyes narrow. "Let me guess: no one gives a damn when a mortal dies, as long as it's for the greater good of the realm? They used to enlist Fae princesses in the pageant, but after the murders began, they switched to mortals and called it a day?"

"That's about the gist of it," Seth admits.

My fists curl at my sides.

"You realize most of this process won't be about violence, right? It's a pageant, first. There'll be other girls there. Girls you'll have to fool as well as the king."

"I can fit in with them, no problem."

He nudges my side. "Are you sure? You wore a hoodie at your best friend's wedding."

I skim the hem of the vintage Chicago Bulls hoodie at my mid-thigh. "I was cold," I lie.

This hoodie is the last earthly piece of my father I still possess, and I really needed it tonight.

"If we want to pass you off as a Spring seed, your sense of style has to change." Seth scratches a line from his chin to his bottom lip with his index finger, appraising me like he's some fashion expert that finds me lacking. "The Shadow Court feels medieval compared to the first kingdoms. Winter and Spring follow the new mortal trends, and Spring fashion is all about bright colors, lace, and flowers."

Ugh. Lace and flowers? Kill me now.

We reach my bedroom door, and I hold it open for Seth.

The fire casts a soft orange glow over the queen-sized bed and dresser, and I immediately regret my decision to take him along. My little corner of the world looks so small and mundane… A pile of unread books clutters my bedside table. The drawers and panes of my jewelry box hang open, revealing an array of colorful earrings and necklaces.

I feel my resolve grow. A Fae prince doesn't belong in my bed—not even for one night.

Seth raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow, taking in his surroundings. "I didn't expect you to invite me in."

"Simmer down, Casanova. I want to keep an eye on you." I march over to the bed and hold out one pillow and a spare blanket. "You get the floor tonight, and I'll know if you leave this room, so you better not try to snoop around the castle."

He licks his lips, his jaw slightly askew. "You're serious?"

"Try me." I climb into bed fully clothed and cover myself with the duvet, turning away from my visitor. My nails sink deep into the pillow. Am I being unreasonable? I could die on this mission… Maybe I should treat myself with one more night of great sex?

Seth remains rooted in place for a good minute before he walks over to the side of the bed and crouches to meet my gaze. "Alright. Let's be friends."

"Let's keep things…professional," I offer, unsure I could ever become friends with someone who loves himself as much as Seth does.

"How about…professional friends?"

I crack a smile. "That sounds disingenuous and sexual."

An adorably sheepish smile curls his mouth. "Friends that share a large bed?"

I twist away from him, screwing my eyes shut, and enunciate a loud, "Nope."

"Why not?" Seth asks.

Maybe the prospect of joining the Yule pageant tomorrow irks my nerves, or I'm creeped out by the dead cousin, but I'm simply not in the mood—a phrase Seth has probably never heard in his adult life. "Because I need a straight head for tomorrow, and somehow I don't think you're the quickie type."

I leave out the part about me feeling hideous and sore because of the spider bite, because it's none of his business.

A light chuckle fills the room. "Is that a back-handed compliment?"

I adjust my head on the pillow once more. "Goodnight, Seth."

"Goodnight, Lori."