Chapter 21

Twenty-One

Rhoswyn

T here are some benefits to being fae, I decide, as the maids help me dress the next morning. None of the soreness I felt when I tumbled into bed remains, and the bruises are long gone. Despite years of training to dodge with Maeve, and the few, more serious, lessons I’ve had since the fiasco at the Summer Court, nothing could’ve prepared me for Cressida’s training yesterday.

I was awful. More than once, I wanted to throw down my wooden sword and tell her where she could shove her orders. I almost did, but Drystan’s eyes were on my back the whole time, waiting for me to give in.

Is it terrible that I continued mostly to spite him? I just couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me quit.

Today we’re moving on to flying. I can only imagine how that’ll go. At least Drystan and Bree left early to help deal with the Fomorians in the north at Cressida’s consort’s request. Now I only have to worry about Caed, Jaro, and Lore judging my awful efforts to hover.

My wings flutter nervously on my back, and I take a steadying breath.

“You can go,” I say to the maids, as they start looking at jewellery. “I’ll finish up myself.”

Accessorising is pointless right now. The only piece I consistently wear is Drystan’s necklace, and that’s only because I promised not to take it off.

“You okay?” Jaro asks, coming up behind me.

“Fine,” I reply, a little too quickly.

“Good.” He presses a soft kiss to my temple. “Caed and I have some things we’d like to ask you.”

That gets my attention. I look over to where the Fomorian is lounging on his pallet—he’s been granted a single cushion and blanket at the foot of the real bed—staring up at me. He’s actually wearing a shirt today, covering the marks of his curse, and I am not disappointed in the slightest that he’s chosen to cover up those blue abs. Nope.

I search for Lore, but he’s still snoozing, tucked into bed until only the red of his cap is visible beneath the heavy quilts.

“We’d like to spend the day sparring,” Caed begins. “Wolf-boy has promised he won’t try to kill me, and despite the fact that his pelt would make a lovely throw rug”—Jaro snarls, but Caed ignores him—“I’m bored out of my mind. I could do with the practice.”

My brows rise at that, but I don’t answer him immediately.

I told Drystan I wouldn’t lift the charm, and I meant it. He’s too furious at Caed. It would only lead to carnage. Before now, I would’ve said the same of Jaro.

His animal watched Caed kill me a hundred ways on the sand of that arena. That same creature is still feral from trauma.

“This feels like a bad idea.” I pin my steadfast Guard with a look. “What about your wolf?”

“He’s calmed somewhat, thanks to you.” Jaro shrugs. “Besides, this will help him work off his aggression.”

Work off his aggression? That does not sound healthy.

I look at Caed. “You genuinely want me to?—”

“I promise not to thrash the seelie too badly.” His trademark cocky grin is fully in place. “And if he gets a few little scrapes here and there, I’m sure you’ll kiss him better.”

Chewing my lip, I look away from them both.

“He has enough to deal with from the other fae,” I say to Jaro. “I want… you know what I want.”

That moment in the forest where I confessed hangs heavy between us. “I’m just saying, if you’re using this as an excuse to vent your anger at him…”

“I’m not.”

Both Caed and I stare at him, and he snorts softly. “I’m no use to you here. I can’t see spirits, I don’t have wings, and I’m too big to train with you. Drystan has already said I should keep an eye on the Fomorian while he and Bree are gone. I’d rather not have to put up with him talking my ear off, so…”

That’s such an unexpectedly male answer that a startled snort bursts out of me. “Fine. But if anyone comes back missing a limb…”

“Wraith can fetch it for them.” Lore bounces up like he was never asleep to begin with. “And if we’re sparring, I think I should be around. For clean up.”

Jaro frowns. “I thought you had a meeting with some fae named Widders.”

“Wimpikins? Oh, he can wait.” Lore’s hat morphs into a jester’s crown as he leans down to press a kiss to my cheek.

“Wait, is his name not Werthers?” I swear Lore said it was…

The redcap shrugs. “Oh, I accidentally ended up with his true name a while back. Can’t remember it to save my life, though. Shame that.”

Wait… Lore knows this fae’s true name and just… forgot it? There’s got to be more to that story, surely, but he changes the subject before I can ask.

“Besides, the Court of Blades is more than happy to go to war without me. They were salivating for it when they tried to mutiny a few weeks ago.”

All three of us are openly staring at him in confusion now. Mutiny?

Jaro is the one who finally asks in a resigned tone: “What mutiny?”

Lore grins, fangs glinting in the dawn light. “A bloody one. Want to see their heads, pet? I arranged them perfectly on my doorstep. It’s really quite artful, though they might be a little rotten by now.”

He frowns, as if the decomposition of dead bodies is some irksome problem he can’t shake, then shrugs. “Anyway, I’m fed up with people management. Cressidick wants my toy soldiers? She can order them herself.” He blows a raspberry at the ceiling, and my fists tighten as I realise that’s the direction of the autumn queen’s room. A room he probably knows too much about.

Cutting off that jealous thought before it can develop, I force myself to focus on Jaro and Caed and summon a little of Danu’s power.

“Please feel free to fight one another whenever you wish,” I say carefully, tugging at the magic inside me.

Undoing my charm is more difficult than using it in the first place. Not least of which because I don’t want to accidentally undo the one stopping Drystan from dismembering Caed, or the one holding Jaro’s wolf back from trying to complete my mating bond. It feels like surgically slicing away sticky cobwebs of power with my mind.

“Did it work?” Lore asks.

Jaro turns and decks Caed. “Yup.”

At my exasperated look, he winces. “I was just testing it! Anyway, Caed has something else to ask.”

The Fomorian rotates his jaw, nostrils flaring as he works on containing the understandable urge to retaliate. The tips of his double-pointed ears turn a deep navy, and I frown.

“Apparently, there’s a lantern festival next week.” Turquoise eyes are fixed on my face, studying me intently for my reaction. “Jaromir suggested you might want to go.”

“With you?” I check.

“That was the idea…”

Is this… a date? I pin the wolf shifter with an exasperated look. “I told you I didn’t want what I said to influence?—”

“I will always do whatever I can to make you happy, Rosie.” He cuts my words off. “Always. You’re my mate.”

Those last three words hold an intimate gravitas that trembles between us like a live thing, and my throat thickens in response.

He’s always so good, loyal, even when I don’t deserve it. I can’t even begin to comprehend how he can just look beyond his hatred of Caed, especially given that it was Fomorians who killed his father. But he’s trying. For me.

I love him. I don’t know when or how it happened, but the realisation steals my breath. All four of my fae Guards now hold irrevocable pieces of my heart and aside from Lore, I’ve done a shit job of telling them how I feel.

I find myself longing for the mating bonds, wishing I had a way to just… show them. I’d take that final, permanent step in a heartbeat. The only thing holding me back is the uncertainty surrounding the blue male in front of me.

The white hart’s advice rings in my ears as I turn back to Caed. “Promise not to take me to a drinking hall this time?”

My light teasing tone draws a tiny glint to his eye, and his stiff posture relaxes incrementally. “I can’t help it if you’re a dumb fairy who’s unable to appreciate Fomorian culture.”

There’s no sting in the words, for all that they make Jaro bristle, and I find myself smiling.

“Then I accept. But now I really do need to leave, before Cressida decides I’m not giving this my all.”

My wings flick on my back, eager—or nervous, I can’t tell which—at the thought of trying to fly again. I flick my eyes between the three of them, wondering which one has been assigned to me today.

“Take Prae with you,” Caed suggests. “She’s bored, and it looks like I’ve won myself two sparring partners for the day.”

“Hooray for male bonding!” Lore cries.

Smirking, because the alternative is dwelling on how many injuries the three of them will earn over the next few hours, I nod and head for the door, only to find his cousin already there, fist poised to knock.

Today, her eyes are masked by a thick band of that dark blue war paint that stretches from her brows to halfway down her nose. She’s given up her fae clothes in favour of an asymmetrical cut out dress in the deep purple of the Nicnevin, with a pin in the shape of my symbol holding together the single strap over her left shoulder. It’s still fae-made, but there are undeniable similarities to the clothes she wore in Fellgotha, and I’m glad for the return to her old style.

Pretending to be fae didn’t suit her at all.

“You’re coming with me,” I tell her. “Apparently, they need male bonding time.”

She snorts, looking over my shoulder. “How long until one of them loses an arm?”

Goddess, what have I done? She waves me out in front of her, walking beside me as I try to recall the way to the war room.

“If they do, I’m not healing it on principle,” I murmur. “They promised it’s just sparring.”

Prae rolls her one good eye. “If you believe that, you’re even stupider than you look.”

“I know, but still… Caed’s taking me on a date next week. That has to mean something, right?”

Prae actually misses a step before she catches up to me again.

“A date? And he came up with this idea on his own?”

My turn to snort this time. “I get the impression Jaro was instrumental in setting it up.”

“That makes more sense.” She pauses. “Are you…”

“What?”

“Are you seriously giving him a chance? Are the rest of them? Because if this is just a way to raise his hopes?—”

“I can’t speak for the others,” I cut her off. “But I appreciate what you both did in Siabetha. Even before that, I didn’t want him to die. I’m just…”

“Caught in a shit situation. I get it. But for the record, if you hurt my cousin…”

There’s a hint of threat there, and I nod.

“I think Caed and I have hurt each other enough.”

We reach the war room doors, and our conversation dies, killed by the harsh words leaking through the open door.

“I don’t know where I went wrong with you, Gryffin. I really don’t?—”

“Oh horror. Something the great Queen Cressida doesn’t know.” A lazy male voice drawls.

“I sent you to negotiate with the Court of Winds. Not eradicate them. Even fucking Harlen could’ve done better.”

“They were dissenters.”

“We needed those troops.”

“No. We needed fewer upstart pixies taking advantage of?—”

I shove open the door, uncomfortable with eavesdropping further.

Cressida is at the far end of the table, toe-to-toe with a scarred fae male with a bright shock of flame-red hair. Fury is written in her face and bored indifference in his as they stare one another down. Around the map table, her knight consorts are focused on the little flags representing our troop movements, barely paying attention to the argument, as if it’s a regular occurrence.

“I’m ready for training,” I say loudly, drawing all of their attention at once.

“Nicnevin.” Cressida turns stiffly from the armoured male. “You’re early.” A pause, then a groan. “This is my nephew, knight, and ward, Prince Gryffin of—” She cuts off, elbowing her nephew, and hissing, “Bow!”

But the ginger male, with the wicked-looking scar bisecting his face, isn’t looking at me. His hazel eyes are fixed on a spot to my right.

Beside him, a potted fern withers to a crisp, the leaves crunching and shrivelling until they’re a skeletal husk of what they once were.

I turn to the queen in confusion, but she’s staring at the plant in dismay.

“No.” Cressida moves to stand directly in front of Gryffin, cutting off his view of… Prae. “Get it under control . Now.”

The fae shakes his head, like he’s clearing it, a flash of horror creasing the lines of his mouth before he nods briskly, bowing at the waist.

“Nicnevin, would you care to introduce your companion?” he chokes out.

“Absolutely not.” Prae cuts in before I can say anything. “Tell your Goddess that one fairy prince was enough . No way am I dealing with another one.”

She’s backing away, and my gaze seesaws between the two of them. This… can’t be what I think it is. Surely not.

“Naeven, the door.” Cressida’s order is like a whip in the room. “Now.”

Her knight jumps up before she’s even finished speaking, shutting the double doors and locking them.

The moment all seven of us are locked in together, Cressida rounds on her nephew. “Are you certain?”

His grim nod. “I’ll leave.”

“Oh, and spread the danger elsewhere? I don’t think so.”

“She’s not willing.”

“She doesn’t even know what?—”

Prae grabs my shoulder. “You’re Danu. Undo this. Now.”

“What?” I demand, frowning at her grip on me. “What am I undoing? I don’t understand.”

“She’s my mate.” Gryffin’s words are soft, wary. He’s looking at Prae like he can’t figure her out. “I didn’t think Fomorians could be our mates, but it’s there.”

Neither did I. “I thought Caed was the exception because he was half fae.”

“It happens,” Prae whispers. “But it doesn’t matter. Fomorians don’t feel the bond, ergo, we have no mates.” She spits the last at Gryffin. “I’ll tell you exactly what I told Florian: I’m not playing fairy princess.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows.

“You’re my brother’s mate?” I echo, the pieces falling together with obvious slowness.

Their reactions to one another. How Florian looked at her. Her anger with him. The way they’re like oil and water.

“So he says.” She looks away sharply. “But for obvious reasons, it could never work. Fomorians tend to kill the fae who feel the bond to them.”

“How long…”

She still won’t meet my eyes. “Years. We saw one another on the battlefield, and he said it clicked for him then. So I did what any sane female would and tried to take his head.”

“This is all very romantic,” Cressida interrupts. “But there’s a difference between mates for the seelie and the unseelie. You refuse to complete the bond with a prince whose sole magical ability is finding lost things, that’s fine. Everyone loves when the female leads her male on a merry mating chase, and at worst, a few more knickknacks get found. If you play that game with Gryffin, then someone is going to die horribly. At best, we can expect some minor disfigurement, or perhaps a handful of deaths. There’s no healer in the queendom powerful enough to undo what our magic does.”

She shuffles on the spot as my eyes drift to the plant in the corner. It wasn’t her doing, it was her nephew’s.

Gryffin has withering magic, just like his aunt. My gut sinks as I realise she’s right. If his power gets out of control, it could be deadly.

“My lady,” Gryffin steps forward. “I don’t pretend to be a good candidate for a mate. As far as fairy princes go”—his lips quirk—“I’m probably the worst.”

Prae’s brow quirks. “Really selling it to me.”

He spreads his hands. “At least I’m honest. I’m not going to measure up to the knight commander of the realm.”

“I don’t see why you’d want to. He’s a pompous seelie prick.” Prae scoffs, and it’s my turn to give her an exasperated look. “I’m sorry, but he is . All this talk of ‘Danu chose us for one another’ makes me want to slap him. Danu isn’t my Goddess?—”

“But you are in the court of her Nicnevin,” I press. “What harm would there be in trusting her a little more?”

Prae mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “My knife through his heart would sort this out.”

Making a snap decision, I turn to face the scarred prince. “This is Princess Praedra.” She shoots me a look full of betrayal, but I keep going. “She’s my friend and has saved my life more than once. If you hurt her, I’ll help her gut you.”

“Ten days.” Gryffin takes a step forward, hazel eyes alight with the reflection of flames from the fireplace beside him. “Give me that long to court you. My aunt holds my knight’s oath. She can prevent me from using my powers for that long while you decide whether you want to try to kill me.”

“I’ve already decided,” the Fomorian retorts. “And why can’t she just keep you from using them forever? Problem solved.”

“Because, like it or not, we need powerful fae to win this war,” Cressida snaps her fingers. “Despite his inability to follow orders, my nephew is one of the most powerful warriors in this court. His magic is equal to my own.”

Prae eyes him up and down with perspicacious eyes. “Can you fuck?”

Scarlet stains my cheeks. “Prae!”

“ What ? It has been the longest dry spell in the history of forever.” She shrugs. “Just because you have five males waiting to deliver orgasms?—”

“I fuck,” Gryffin interrupts, grinning. “It’s one of my many talents.”

Prae looks him up and down, one brow lifting when her good eye lands below his waistline. “Seven days. If you turn out not to be entirely useless by the Lantern Festival, I might consider keeping your pasty ass.”

“The bargain is struck,” Gryffin’s lips quirk.

“Now that’s settled, remember I called you here for a reason.” Cressida’s voice is resigned, her hand almost imperceptibly massaging her ankle where it’s propped against her opposite knee. At his blank look, she sighs. “The Nicnevin’s flying lessons. Once you’re done with them, return here. We still have much to discuss.”

He grins. “Oh, that.” Pinning me with a bright look, he shrugs. “Ready to crash into some trees, Your Majesty?”

Behind him, six golden dragonfly wings spread out.

He has wings like mine.

Cressida managed to find another fae, beside Florian, who can actually teach me to use the wings on my back.

That’s almost worth having to watch him and Prae bicker for an entire morning.

“After that”—the autumn queen turns back to the map table—“come find me in the ballroom. We’re going to work on summoning spirits from the Otherworld this afternoon.”