Chapter 23

Twenty-Three

Caed

I ’m genuinely surprised I haven’t worn a groove in the wooden floor of the corridor outside of Rose’s room with all my pacing. Prae is in there with her, which means that I’m stuck with the withering prince, but he’s handling the entire situation better than I am.

“You’re giving me a headache,” he complains, examining his nails with a bored disposition that is starting to get on my nerves.

“Did you even ask my cousin whether she wanted your company?” I retort. “Or are you just here to get your balls handed to you?”

It was enough of a shock learning that Prae was the mate of the damned Knight Commander, but this prick as well? And to make matters worse, the fact that she’s in there, playing dress up with Rose, means that the last week of their insufferable banter has been working.

She’s considering him. Seriously. Honestly and truthfully thinking about becoming his mate. I unknowingly encouraged it yesterday, when I showed her the faint wolf’s head outline in the topmost frame of my curse mark.

The wolf is starting to trust me. It’s pre-emptive to say I’ve won over two of the four, but it’s more hope than I ever dared hope for. Prae thinks the same, and now that she believes we have a chance, she’s starting to think about what her life will look like after this war is over.

It’s ironic; two fairy princes for her, and a fairy queen for me. No doubt Danu is getting her fair share of laughs out of the pair of us. Yet, the more I contorted my arm to stare at that wolf’s head mark, the less I minded.

Gryffin looks up and pins me with a glare. “I’d have thought you, of all people, would understand the urgency that is consummating the bond when your power is deadly. Just how many people have you accidentally hurt since the Nicnevin came of age?”

None. Because I’ve barely been allowed in Rose’s presence, and even when I am, my swords are firmly under the thumb of Danu’s fucking curse.

But I’m not about to admit that to him. “I hate to break it to you, but my cousin hates gingers.”

His eyes narrow into slits of fiery hazel, and I know he’s tasted the lie. Before he can call me on it, a hand cuffs me around the head from behind.

“Keep your nose out of my business.” Prae shoves past me, and I raise my eyebrows at the sight of the Knight Commander’s sword strapped down her spine. “And you . Stop stalking me. I didn’t invite you to come with us.”

She’s wearing the pretty dress she was oohing over days ago, and my stomach sinks as I realise it’s the exact shade of his hair.

Prae has her secret girly moments, and wearing something so pretty just to get blood on it would kill her. Her white hair has been twisted into elaborate braids, and she’s even gone all out on her dark blue war paint.

Ancestors. She intends to mate the bastard.

And if she does that, and then I fail to win the other two’s approval, it will kill her.

Gryffin takes in her skin-tight copper dress with a smirk as he fakes a bow. “It’s only stalking if the stalkee doesn’t like it. Tell me, sweetheart, did you pick that dress for me?”

A look of pure disbelief crosses my cousin’s face before she rolls her good eye. “Go wither your own dick. This is just what I wear.”

I open my mouth to reply that, actually, the dress is more conservative than most of her outfits, but Rose appears in the doorway, and the rest of their banter fades into the background.

“Fuck.” The word slips out before I can catch myself.

Prae snorts before reaching over to shut my mouth for me.

The black and crimson bodice of Rose’s dress leaves her shoulders entirely bare, and the wispy sleeves that float around her arms do little to cover her there either. My eyes, apparently having forgotten the wolf shifter’s warning from earlier, rake over every inch of exposed skin, lingering at the soft upper slopes of her breasts.

If she bends over, I have the distinct impression that they’ll spill out. How long will my head remain attached to my shoulders if I spend the entire evening dropping things for her to pick up.?

On her head is a tiny scarlet top hat surrounded by feathery things I don’t have a name for. The redcap isn’t even trying to be subtle about staking his claim. At least it matches the ruffled skirt that looks like it’s actually glowing with the fire of embers.

“Stunning, Your Majesty.” Gryffin inclines his head, and I want to gut the bastard.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me I look stunning?” Prae quips.

The fae smirks. “Jealous?”

Turning on her heel, she strides away instead of answering him. “Are we going to this festival or just making the corridor look pretty?”

I don’t miss the way the Autumn Court prince’s eyes are glued to my cousin’s ass.

Remembering myself at the last second, I offer Rose my arm, and she eyes it warily before taking it. My mind flashes back to a different time, under a mountain, where she did the same, and I chew on my lip as I debate whether to bring it up.

“At least you’re not leading me on a tour of the Fellgothan trophy halls this time,” Rose mutters, and my brows rise as I realise her mind went to the same place.

A glamour flickers over her a second later, brown hair replacing strawberry blonde, and her telltale eyes becoming a pretty—but wrong —shade of icy blue. I almost tell her to undo it, but I understand the need.

Rose wants to be able to enjoy herself without a hundred people staring at her. Prae and I will draw enough attention as it is.

“But Fomorian culture is so riveting,” I quip, steering us until we’re just behind Prae and her prince, who’s definitely failed to get her to hold his hand. Sucker.

“Was it culture?” Rose chuckles under her breath. “Here I thought you were just spouting dogmatic half-truths about Balor being the saviour of all Fomorians to impress me.”

I shrug. “Balor was pretty impressive.”

Prae snorts. “Let me guess, my idiot cousin regaled you with his war-time accomplishments and couldn’t tell you anything else?”

“Hey, that’s not true!” I protest.

“You barely listened to any of the elders’ lessons.” Prae is loving this, I can tell.

“Yeah, well, some of us were too busy doing… important shit.”

Prae opens her mouth to tell Rose exactly how I spent my time as a child—usually getting into trouble—but the Nicnevin interrupts.

“You weren’t entirely wrong,” she admits. “In the Deep Caves, there were carvings of Balor leading your people away from some kind of monsters in the sky.”

Prae’s eyes light up, the way they always do when new information is there for the taking. “The original Fomorians lived down there—although Ancestors only know how they survived the damned tunnel wyrms—and moved up to the fortress slowly over decades. So much history was abandoned when they sealed them off.”

Rose is absorbing Prae’s little lecture like a bright-eyed sponge, her abundant curiosity shining through. And Prae, the show off, is living for the experience of actually having someone—or two someones, if Gryffin’s rapt attention is any indication—who actually cares about ancient bloody history.

“The elders teach that our race was once enslaved and forced to mine ores for creatures with metal-based magic called the bàsron. Balor started a revolt, seeking our freedom, but he failed.” Her hands skim across her dress, reliving the second-hand embarrassment all Fomorians feel about Balor’s defeats. “The bàsron retaliated by sealing Balor and his kin into the mountain.” She pauses. “But we don’t know how they ended up in Faerie. When our Ancestors broke the surface, prepared to fight for their freedom all over again, they expected to find a realm with red skies and obviously… that didn’t happen.”

“Father said Balor must have found a portal,” I recall.

“Precisely,” Prae agrees.

“If that were the case, then why wouldn’t these bàsron come after him?” Gryffin asks, interjecting. “Seems like a stupid move to have your slaves run away and just leave them to it.”

But if the bàsron had sealed Balor beneath the mountain to die, maybe they didn’t even know their slaves were missing.

Prae shakes her head. “According to the elders, the bàsron bound their magic to pieces of drake gold, which were used to open portals so they could plunder other realms. Most of them agree that Balor’s medallion is one such key. The details surrounding it all are fascinating, though. Once all this is over, I would love to send an expedition down to the Deep Caves. Obviously, we’d be careful not to reopen whatever portal Balor led our Ancestors through, but there’s so much lost… Just think of how much of our former culture is probably waiting down there.”

Gryffin’s wearing a sickeningly worshipful look as he watches Prae glow with excitement—not that she’s noticed—and I want to snort.

He looks like he’d dive into the Deep Caves himself if she asked him to, and I pray that I don’t wear that love-stricken expression when I look at Rose. Suppressing a snort, I follow him and Prae out onto the interconnected branches of the palace tree.

We climb the stairs into chaos. Loud, crowded, and unforgiving madness makes me tense. The crowds are immense, and I move closer to Rose without meaning to. How am I supposed to protect her amidst all this?

Market stalls spread out as far as the eye can see. Some are selling food—the syrupy sweet scent weaving around us like a cloud of temptation until my mouth waters. In my head, my father’s voice scolds me for my very un-Fomorian sweet tooth. I was forced to eat bone broth for weeks after he caught me eating fae food as a teenager. The memory makes me cringe, and I turn my focus away from the colourful powder-coated nuts roasting beside us with a scowl.

The forest around us is decorated with a hundred red hanging lanterns, the light glowing and reflecting off the golden leaves. It matches Rose’s dress, and I glance at her again, only to notice a stray strand of glamoured brown hair. Without thinking, I reach up to push it away from her face, only to still as a blade presses into my kidneys.

The redcap? No. He would’ve said something. Gloated. This must be Bree.

Dropping my hand, I try not to let their lack of trust grate on me. I did promise not to touch her, and her taking my arm was probably already pushing that.

“This way,” Gryffin says. “There’s the market and street performers to enjoy before the lanterns are lit. Oh, and it’s traditional for mates to split up and buy each other gifts to be opened after the festival.”

Can I throat punch him? I can’t think of anything worse than trying to find a gift for Rose amongst all this shit.

Prae rolls her eyes. “I am not falling for that.”

“He can’t lie,” Rose reminds her, before turning to me. “I won’t be long. I’ve already got an idea.”

She has?

She skips away, and Prae sighs, grabbing her purse and dumping half the contents into my hand before following after the Nicnevin.

“You always let your cousin control the funds?” Gryffin asks, and I want to groan.

Not only do I now have to find a gift for the Goddess Incarnate—an impossible task—but I have to do it while putting up with this prick?

“Fomorian females are always in charge of the finances.” I count out the gold coins in my hand, surprised Prae was so generous. “They tend to be less likely to waste it all on drinking and fucking.”

Gryffin’s brows rise, and I want to deck him all over again.

“Sounds like I might fit in better with the Fomorians than I do with the high fae,” he comments mildly. “So, want to throw me a bone here?” He surveys the stalls casually. “What exactly should I get your cousin?”

Like he hasn’t got a clue after a week of following her around like he’s her personal irritating shadow?

“Frilly dresses,” I answer immediately. “And plenty of soft metals. In fact, jewellery is her favourite thing. The bigger and gaudier?—”

“You know I can taste your lies, right? And it’s horrible.” Gryffin swallows with an expression of disgust. “So, no dresses, no soft metals, and no jewellery. That leaves… not a lot.”

I shrug. “Try finding a gift for a fucking fairy queen.”

In that moment, the two of us share a disgruntled bond; that of two males confronted with the worst torment imaginable. Shopping.

I’d rather face down a tunnel wyrm.

“We glamour ourselves,” I mutter, eyeing the branches full of merchants and their brightly coloured stalls. “Walk behind them, and if they pick up something they like, we buy it as soon as they’re gone.”

“Rather seems like cheating,” Gryffin comments. “I like it. I don’t suppose you’re part unseelie, by any chance?”

I freeze, face falling.

Technically, I am. My magic is undoubtedly violent. I’ve just never considered my personality to be anything other than Fomorian, and I don’t actually know what my mother was.

“Whatever,” Gryffin says when I don’t reply. “It’s a good plan. Come on. If we’re fast, we might see what they’ve got us.”

Unfortunately, by the time we find the two of them, they’re both carrying parcels wrapped in bright red paper, meandering around the stalls aimlessly. How the fuck did they find gifts so quickly?

“How long should we give them?” Rose asks Prae as we follow behind.

“At least an hour,” Prae replies easily. “They’re males. They’re probably still comparing dick sizes.”

Ha, like we need to compare to know that mine’s bigger.

“Do you think they’ll be okay?” Rose is worrying her lower lip with her teeth again, and I want to free it so badly.

“They’re fine. Now come on, let’s enjoy the festival before they come back and start bitching.”

“What do you think they’ll get us?” Rose asks, pausing by one of the cursed flame carts and handing over a gold coin in exchange for a cone full of the sickly sweet nuts. She then holds them out to let Prae take a few.

“Knowing Caed? Weapons.” Prae shrugs. “He’s incapable of seeing females as anything other than warriors. Sorry if you were hoping for something else.”

Rose snorts. “Drystan would just confiscate anything dangerous the second he gave it to me. I’m still expecting him to jump out of the crowd and scold me for enjoying myself.”

“Why do you like him again?” Prae asks, rolling her good eye. “I hope he has the oral skills to make up for his lack of charm.”

Rose’s cheeks turn scarlet. “His protectiveness comes from a good place,” she squeaks. “Anyway, back to you and my brother . How didn’t I notice?”

Prae rolls her eyes. “Because it doesn’t matter. If Caed dies at Beltaine, I’ll take Florian’s head and bring it back to Fellgotha as a trophy. Gryffin’s too.”

Rose freezes, and I see the moment she understands that Prae will do it.

“I’m not on team fae,” Prae reminds her, softer this time. “And I can’t be your friend, Rose. I’m on team Caed. I always have been.”

It takes the little queen a second to collect herself, and I watch as she closes herself off, piece by heart breaking piece. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t think I can take losing a second brother, even if he is a ‘pompous seelie prick.’”

She offers Prae a wry-but-guarded smile, and part of me loathes myself a little more.

Prae has never had friends. Her mother’s actions ostracised her from a young age. Now Rose is right there, offering her friendship so openly.

And my stupid, smart cousin is turning it down on behalf of my dumb ass. Because of my stupid actions. If I had to guess, she turned down the knight commander for the same reason.

Guilt drips like acid through my abdomen, leaving me feeling lower than a worm.

She won’t let herself be tied to these people while there’s a possibility they might kill me. I’m indirectly ruining her best chances of happiness, and of all the things I’ve done in my life, that has to be the one that makes me feel like the lowest piece of shit in Faerie.

I thought, with the dress, that she was planning to pick Gryffin, but now I’m not so sure. What if she just plans to ask for more time, choosing to stay in limbo until she’s certain of her path? I’d almost rather she mated the fucker. At least that way, when— if —I die at Beltaine, she’ll have someone.

Mating bonds are for life, connecting the emotional hearts of the couple that share them. Gryffin would help her carry her grief, and perhaps then she wouldn’t throw away Rose’s friendship.

Selfishly, I don’t want her to go back to Elatha. She deserves better than to return to a life where she was the barely tolerated daughter of a traitor. Especially if I’m not there to have her back.

I’ve chosen team fae, whatever my fate. Prae… Prae is still heavily undecided.

The two females walk in silence, sharing the nuts as they walk through the thickest parts of the crowd—as if they’re making it hard to follow them on purpose. Prae makes it easy for fucking Gryffin when she stops to coo over some strange, colourful enchanted spectacles that magnify everything seen through them by varying degrees, depending on the lenses used; but the little queen takes no such pity on me.

Rose looks at everything like it’s the most wondrous thing she’s ever beheld. From silk scarves with flower patterns that bloom at the touch right down to winged dolls for children that take flight when wound up.

When the stupid fae prince drops his glamour and returns to their side, I start to sweat a little. When he starts asking Rose’s opinion on this and that, I turn away in disgust.

I don’t need a stupid fae prince to help me find the perfect gift for her. I just need to think.

What does Rose want?

I pass a stall full of singing flowers and cringe at the sappy lyrics, then another covered in colour changing jewellery and shrug that off, too. The only piece she wears regularly is that necklace from the dullahan.

It doesn’t help that none of the fae merchants look eager to offer me their business. The people of Illidwen know who I am, and they shun me in little ways.

“Danu’s tits,” Bree murmurs, his voice breaking through my frustrated thoughts. “Just find her something meaningful, you idiot, and stop wasting time.”

“You’re being so helpful,” I retort, sarcasm dripping from my words, and making several fae look around in disgust.

Oh right, they hate sarcasm, too, since it’s usually technically a lie.

I turn on my heel, five seconds away from just storming off, when I see it.

A small stall, tucked out of the way of the others. The seller is a goblin female, her green ears so heavy with silver piercings that they droop as she carefully arranges tiny glass spheres containing glittering sand atop their velvet covered plinths.

The sign on the table runner is written in careful fae, but the lettering is faded, and I can’t make it out until I get closer. “Memory balls?”

“Yes, yes,” the goblin titters, apparently uncaring that a Fomorian is approaching her stall. “You pick up the ball while thinking of a memory, and it paints it into the glass forever. See?”

She picks up one of the ones closest to her, and immediately a scene forms in the glitter within. Goblin children dance, caught in an endless loop.

“My best ones can store sound and emotions, too.” She points a finger at a selection of slightly larger balls towards the back, containing two colours of glitter rather than just one. “Extra for those, of course.”

Of course. I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.

What good are my memories to Rose? I doubt she has any use for the joyous scenes of my childhood, learning to become a soldier. And it’s not like we’ve made any romantic memories together…

I turn away, then stop. Turning back, I murmur.

“Two of the good ones.”

“Sixteen gold pieces.”

“ Sixteen ?” I hiss through my teeth.

“What? Nicnevin’s Guard can’t afford it?”

Frowning at her, because I’m sure she’s charging me at least double what they’re actually worth, I hand over the money silently.

There are enough fae watching the transaction to make me wary. If I insult the goblin, no doubt I’ll just give them more ammunition against me later.

The goblin grins gleefully, then does me the insult of chewing on my coin as if to test that it’s real, before waving her hand over the colours in a gesture for me to pick.

I pick one black and silver, and the second in red and blue, and she boxes them up carefully for me before waving me away from her stall like I’m a bad smell she can’t get rid of.

Not that it matters. I have a gift for Rose. Now I just need to find somewhere quiet enough in this stupid festival that I can think, and then I can return victorious.

And if she doesn’t like it… Nope. Not going there. She’ll love it because I don’t do inferior gifts.