A Strange Hymn by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 20

The next day, the palace is in a flurry of activity. Fairies throughout the royal grounds seem to be cleaning, primping, and packing—all, I assume, in honor of Solstice.

“What the hell is going on?” Temper says when she pokes her head out of her suite, taking in the fairies rushing down the halls. Her hair is a rumpled mess, and she looks like she got very little sleep.

I scrutinize her a bit more. “What were you up to last night … ?”

“You mean after you abandoned me to the wolves?” She shakes her head. “Girl, that was low.”

I roll my eyes. If anyone’s a wolf, it’s Temper. “Did you kill anyone?” I ask.

“No, but I gave that nasty fairy measuring me split ends and dandruff.”

Take it from Temper how to be cruel and unusual. Back in high school she had a whole notebook of crafty little hex ideas.

“Temper, she was just doing her job.”

She huffs out a breath. “She was sticking me like I was a voodoo doll! I wanted to tell her, ‘Bitch, my family invented voodoo dolls.’ Anyway …” She eyes me again. “What’s going on?” Her gaze drifts back to the bustling hallway.

“Solstice,” I explain.

“What about it?” She stifles a yawn.

“It begins today.”

“What?” she squawks.

“We’re leaving in uh …” I reach for my cellphone before I remember that we’re in the freaking Otherworld, where electronics are nonexistent. If I want to rattle off the time, I’m going to have to learn to chart the stars.

Ugh.

“We’re leaving soon.”

“How soon is soon?”

I shrug. “I’m heading off to get changed.”

“Changed? Into what?” Temper is glancing around the room like clothes will just materialize out of thin air.

“A flour sack—an outfit, what do you think?” I edge away. “I got to go. Just get yourself ready and meet me down in the courtyard.”

She lets out a frustrated growl, then closes her door.

I head back to Des’s rooms, feeling oddly nervous about the week ahead. From everything I learned about Solstice, there will be balls and meetings and schmoozing, none of which appeals to me. And then there’s the fact that I’m going to have to rub elbows with fairies who believe humans are nothing more than slave labor.

This is going to be super-duper fun.

When I slip back inside Des’s chambers, there’s a package waiting for me on the bed, my name scrawled across it in looping script.

Hesitating just a hairsbreadth, I flip the lid off. Resting inside the box is a gown unlike anything I’ve seen before. I’m not especially girly, but I have a healthy appreciation for nice clothing, and this is so much more than just nice.

The pale material glows—glows—a soft blue color. The lacy neckline plunges in a deep V. I run my fingers over the material, and it’s both incredibly soft and quite delicate. Nestled next to the dress are two coiled, flowering vines, which also give off the same pale glow as the dress.

Des comes out of the bathroom then, fiddling with his own outfit, which, like mine, is made of the same luminous material.

He’s a far cry from the thuggish king I’m used to seeing, clad in fitted pants, knee high boots, and a shirt that lovingly molds itself to his wide shoulders and trim waist. Topping it all off is his hammered bronze circlet.

Before I laid eyes on him, I would’ve assumed that such attire would make Des look less dangerous, but instead it serves to sharpen the slant of his eyes and the painfully beautiful cut of his jaw and cheekbones.

Here is the monster that all those fairytales warned me of. A man too beautiful to be real, one who rides out on dark nights to snatch up wayward maidens.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

I nod at him dumbly, thinking he’s referring to himself, until I realize he’s gesturing to the package.

I drag my attention back to the dress, noticing the corner of his mouth twitches.

“It’s … breathtaking,” I say, staring down at my own outfit. And I mean it. I rub the luminescent cloth between my fingers. “What is it?”

“Spun moonlight,” Des says, looking pleased by my reaction.

“Spun moonlight?” I repeat. I’m trying to wrap my mind around the fact that in the Otherworld, this is perfectly normal. “And I get to wear this?”

His lips twitch again. “That is the idea, cherub.

He steps in close and strokes away the hair from my face. “I’ve waited years to see you dressed as the queens of my world are dressed,” he says.

I touch the lapels of his suit. “Sometimes, I forget that you’re a fairy,” I admit.

It’s ridiculous to think this happens to me; there’s nothing about Des that’s particularly humanlike, but he has a disarming nature about him that makes me forget. It’s only now, when I see him dressed in his fae attire that I remember.

“I know,” he says softly.

There’s so much in those two words that he leaves unspoken. Not for the first time, I wish he’d spill more of his secrets.

I pull away from him. “Will you help me put the dress on?” Now that I have wings, clothes are a struggle.

His hands slide down my back. In response, the clothes I currently wear slide off my body, leaving me in just a skimpy pair of panties. Of all Des’s magic tricks, I’m beginning to think this one is a favorite of his.

My dress lifts from the box, drifting above me. All at once it slips downward, the material cascading over my body like water. I don’t even need to lift my arms; it settles seamlessly onto me.

Des’s hands smooth over the lacey material that covers my arms.

“Tell me a secret,” I say softly.

I can hear the smile in Des’s voice when he says, “Greedy thing. I can see you won’t be pleased until you know all of my secrets.”

I grin a little, mostly because what he says is true. I want to share every secret of his, simply because they are a part of him.

His hands slip down my arms. “Fine, here’s one for my demanding mate: Normally, you’d have a retinue of ladies to dress and bathe you.”

“How is that a secret?” I ask, turning to face him.

“I eliminated that tradition the moment you came to my kingdom so that I could tend to you myself.”

Wicked man. Not that I’m complaining.

But, now that I think about it …

I raise my eyebrows and look over my shoulder. “You would bathe me?”

Des’s silver eyes deepen. The answer is written all over his face. “Would you like a bath?” 

Jesus, I swear this room just got five degrees hotter.

I clear my throat. “Raincheck.”

“It’s a deal.”

A shiver runs down my back. I forget that this man will make binding agreements out of common language.

Not long after Des helps me into my dress, the two of us leave his chambers.

I stare down at my outfit as I follow Des through his palace, Malaki and more guards joining us. The tight, lacey bodice flows into a wispy, floor-length skirt that trails behind me as we walk.

Those flowering, luminescent vines that came with the dress now wrap up my wrists and forearms, some strange cross between gloves and jewelry. The flowers blooming from them are the same ones I’ve seen all across Somnia. I run a finger over the delicate petals. They feel real. More impossible, fae magic at work.

We head out of the castle and across the palace’s extensive gardens, each one lit up by floating fairy lights and those glass encased sparklers.

“Callie, there’s something I need of you,” Des says next to me.

“It’s going to cost you,” I respond without missing a beat.

He walked himself right into that one.

His eyes brighten. “You saucy thing. You’ve clearly learned my tricks.” He doesn’t look at all upset by this. “A bargain it is.”

“What do you want me to do?” I ask.

Des looks ahead of us, and I follow his gaze. Waiting in a neat, orderly line that winds through the palace grounds are rows of foot soldiers and mounted horses. The soldiers all wear black uniforms embroidered with the same luminous thread that my entire dress is made from.

Behind them, sitting astride the horses, are all sorts of fairies, from royal guards, to political aides, to what must be some of the kingdom’s nobility. Some of them hold instruments, while others carry lanterns from tall polls, and still others prop up banners with an image of a crescent moon, which I suspect is the royal crest.

“I want you to let your siren out and keep her out until after you’re introduced to Mara, the Queen of Flora,” Des says, drawing my attention away from the sight in front of us.

His request immediately puts me on edge. “I can’t control her.”

“You don’t need to control her, cherub. You are the Night King’s mate. We represent all deeds better done in the dark.”

The way he says that has my stomach tightening.

Alright, so the dude’s giving me free reign to let my siren out. I stare at all the fae men and women ahead of us, thankful for once that my glamour can’t control other fairies. Because if it could, my siren would consider it open season.

“I’ll agree to it on one condition,” I say.

Des smirks, seeming to thoroughly enjoy the bargain I’m striking. “What do you want? You already have my balls—”

“Lift my sobriety.”

That wipes the amusement clean off his face. “No.”

“Then forget about the siren,” I say with false bravado.

Des stops to pull me in close. “Careful, little mate, how you play your hand.” He strokes my spine. “Tempting as your bargain is, you’re forgetting one simple truth.”

“And what’s that?”

“I could simply coax your siren out,” he says, his voice dipping low.

If the King of the Night decides to seduce me, there’s not a whole lot that can stop my body from giving into him. Being a siren, I’m not hardwired to resist sexual overtures, especially not when they come from my mate.

“You’d regret it,” I say, my voice equally low.

He eyes me, weighing my words. “Fine,” he finally says, a fair bit of amusement returning to his eyes. “I agree to your terms. You can drink alcohol—for now.” He gives me a quick kiss on the lips, and as he does so, I feel a thread of his magic lift from me.

I can drink again.Yasss.

He pulls away from my lips, his eyelids heavy as he gazes at my mouth. “Your turn, cherub,” he says.

It doesn’t take much for me to draw on my own magic. My skin begins to glow as I feel her take over. I roll my shoulders a bit, my gaze moving from Des to the fairies ahead of us.

Those who catch sight of me appear captivated. It’s a different look than the ones humans wear, whose eyes always appear a little glazed, their minds willing to be bended. These fae don’t look as though they’re about to be dragged under by my glamour; they just seem fascinated by my appearance.

I relax further, letting the siren loose in a way I rarely do on earth. I begin walking again, an extra sway to my hips, my entire body now glowing. A sinful smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

Tonight is going to be fun.

So many people wait for us—far more than I assumed were coming. I feel their mounting gazes on me as our group joins theirs. I feel my claws sharpen and my wings perk up a little.

Des’s hand falls to my back, and now my attention goes to him, my eyelids lowering. If there is one person who, even now, has power over me, it’s him.

His white hair is swept away from his face, the color of it nearly matching his outfit. It looks as though someone plucked the moon from the sky, made it into a man, and then gave him to me. All I want to do is fill myself with him. I will fill myself with him.

He takes notice of my interest. “Give me just this evening, Callie. Then everything you want, I will give you,” he promises.

“Everything I want?” My eyes move to his mouth, and I click my tongue. “You know better than to make such a blind deal.”

His eyes alight. “I’m eager to see what you’ll do with it.”

We’re interrupted by the clomping of hooves. A soldier holds the reins of two sleek black steeds.

“Your mounts,” he announces.

“We’re riding horses?” I say.

The horse closest to me bumps its head into my shoulder, snuffling my hair.

“Do you have an objection?” Des asks.

I look at the beast again, feeling the siren beginning to fade away. Apparently no sex and no violence means no service.

It’s an unusual task, trying to keep her out; I’m so used to repressing her whenever I can. I wrestle with my strange power, finally managing to wrangle control of her.

“It’s fine,” I say.

With that, Des grabs my waist and helps me mount my steed. I wait for it to nervously nicker, but it never happens. Either these are exceptionally well-trained horses, or Otherworld steeds are made of sturdier stuff.

Next to me, Des smoothly swings himself onto his own mount, and the rest of Desmond’s closest men do so as well.

Our horses trot back into line, moving into some sort of formation. I glance behind me, catching sight of Temper astride another horse, the dress she wears a deep burgundy color.

Looks like she found something to wear.

Malaki moves over to her on his own steed, and the look he gives her … good God, she’s officially sunk her talons into him.

Someone whistles, and the musicians in our procession begin playing their instruments, the sound soft and ethereal.

I turn back around as we begin moving, the line of soldiers and mounted steeds heading around the castle and towards the palace’s front gates. I find I don’t need to steer my horse; it moves as one with the group.

Ahead of us, the gates open, and then there’s all of Somnia’s residents, cheering for us as we pass them by.

Des leans over his horse to speak to me. “Fairies have begun exposing their wings,” he says, nodding to the crowd.

I follow his gaze. He’s right. Many of them do have their wings out, their thin membranes glittering under lamplight.

“Why are they all out?” I ask. Fairies usually only bare them when their emotions run high.

“Because ours are,” he says.

Indeed, Des, who once studiously hid his wings from me, now proudly bears them. And I have no choice but to show off mine.

“Why would they imitate us?” I ask.

“Because we’re royalty.”

“You’re royalty,” I correct. “I’m not.”

Des gives me an unreadable look, then nods distractedly.

The procession winds through the city streets, and just when I think our pretty line of horses and soldiers intends to walk right off the edge of the island, we double back to the palace.

Already I’d love to dismount, but something tells me that’s just not going to happen any time soon.

My glowing hands tighten on the reins as I glance at the Bargainer, who watches the crowd like a wolf among men. He’s going to have to pay me steeply in sex before I consider this a fair trade—

The arrow comes out of nowhere, whistling as it bears down on me.

Des’s hand shoots out, snatching it just inches away from my breast.

Holy shit.

We both stare at the flimsy bit of wood and stone that might’ve very well killed me.

My breath catches.

Someone tried to kill me.

My mate saved me.

Des’s eyes flick up, tracing the trajectory of the arrow back to its source. His gaze hones on the figure hopping down from a nearby building.

“Guard her,” the Bargainer commands to the soldiers nearest me, and then he disappears.

A split second later I see him on a rooftop, his wings spread wide. He grabs a fae man and pulls him in close, pressing a blade to his throat. It only takes a moment for me to notice the plumage of feathers growing in place of his captive’s hair and the bow and quiver still strapped across his body.

A Fauna fae tried to kill me.

My wings are unfurling as adrenaline belatedly surges through me.

Des spins the man so he faces the crowd. And then, in front of hundreds of his subjects, my mate drags his blade across the fairy’s throat. A waterfall of blood cascades from the wound.

Fucking Methuselah, that is one way to handle your enemies.

With a booted foot, Des kicks the fairy off the building.

The crowd below parts as the dying man pinwheels through the air, landing on the ground with a sickening splat.

For several seconds, the Bargainer remains on the rooftop, his chest heaving. He sheaths his weapon, then jumps into the sky, his wings fanning out around him. The crowd gasps as they watch those talon-tipped wings—dragon’s wings, demon’s wings—soar above them.

He glides over the stopped procession, landing smoothly into his saddle, his wings folding behind him.

The crowd’s earlier cheers have been replaced with an ominous silence. The only one who doesn’t seem affected by it is Des. He reaches for me, pulling me into a savage kiss.

Des tastes like blood and love and death. He kisses me like he’s pillaging my mouth, and I don’t mind one fucking bit. I kiss him back greedily, drinking in my Night King’s essence.

He might be death on wings, but he saved me.

Right in the middle of our kiss, a cheer goes up through the crowd. It’s a little more feral, a little less forgiving, than our audience’s previous roars.

Des pulls away from my lips, his hand on my neck still holding me close. In his eyes I can see a spark of fear, a dash of adoration—but most of all, I see a deep and endless well of fury. Here’s the monster behind the war cuffs and pretty fabric, the monster I don’t want to tame, the one I want to unleash.

I am the darkness, his eyes seem to say, and you are my lovely nightmare. And no one will take this away from us.

He blinks, and the swirling chaos in his eyes dies down. “Are you okay?”

I nod.

“Good.”

He releases me, and already my body aches from the absence of his violent touch and his malevolent eyes.

Soldiers are coming up to us, asking questions, while others are pushing the crowd back. Where the Fauna fairy fell, there’s now a thick cluster of fairies fighting amongst themselves. Things are turning ugly, and the crowd is getting heated.

Waving away the men and women that come to talk to him, Des lets out a whistle, signaling for the procession to resume. Rapidly, men and women fall back into line, some mounting their steeds, others resuming their position as foot soldiers.

This time when the convoy moves, it doesn’t meander. My steed begins to gallop, its shoes sparking against the stone road as it races up the streets, following the line of horses and soldiers back towards the palace.

Next to me, Des’s face is set into uncompromising lines. It’s not until we’re through the gates that his expression relaxes—though his hands still manage to grip his reins like he’s choking the life out of them.

Eventually, our group heads towards a building I’ve never seen before. The circular annex is massive, its large double doors thrown open in invitation. Our procession doesn’t slow as it barrels towards it.

Excitement and a thread of fear move through me. I can’t see anything beyond the marble structure’s shadowy entrance, but I can tell that there are too many horses and too many fairies to possibly fit into the building.

No one else seems to share this concern. Not even Des, who’s still brooding from where he sits next to me.

The first of the foot soldiers that head up our convoy storm through the doorway, their bodies disappearing within. Then the next row disappears, and then the next.

And then the first of the mounted guards head inside. There’s thirty feet remaining between me and the door, then twenty, then ten …

Des and I pass through the double doors, our horses’ hooves echoing as we enter the vaulted room. I only have time to see the air ripple like cloth ahead of us before Des reaches over and grabs my hand.

A portal, I realize. Of course.

Seconds later, we’re dashing through it, my stomach bottoming out as my body is forced through time and space.

My horse hits the ground on the other side of the portal, not missing a single stride.

I blink several times, squinting at the bright light I’m suddenly doused in. Sunlight. I drink it in like it’s sex or carnage, feeling my magic swell.

I close my eyes again, enjoying basking in it. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like. When I open my eyes, my gaze goes to the endless, rolling fields that stretch out in all directions, the small wild flowers that speckle them swaying in the breeze. It’s only ahead of us that the hills give way to forested mountains and purple peaks.

“Welcome to the Kingdom of Flora,” Des says next to me, releasing my hand. His earlier fury is completely gone.

Even though we’ve long since left the danger back in Somnia behind us, my horse doesn’t slow. Our entire procession moves at full speed. Even the foot soldiers are running, and I can’t help but think that all the wishes in the world couldn’t convince me to run with a herd of galloping steeds at my back.

But maybe that’s just me.

The sun begins to set as we ride, the setting sky giving my skin a rosy hue and making my glowing dress dance in all sorts of colors.

After some time, the grasslands give way to woodlands, the hills growing steeper the farther we travel. Eventually, our group slows, my horse falling back from a gallop to a canter, and then finally a leisurely trot.

A few bends in the road later, I realize why.

Up until now, the trees have been big, but ahead of me, they utterly dominate the scenery, their trunks far bigger than even the Giant Sequoias I’ve seen back in California.

And the more I stare, the more I realize that these trees are homes. A staircase twists up one, and another two are connected by intricately wrought bridges made of branches and vines. Built around and inside the trunks of these trees are elaborate fae structures. Currently, hundreds of Flora fae gather along their treetop bridges and balconies or on the edges of the footpath to watch our procession as it passes them by.

The path we follow curves, and the trees part. Ahead of us, a castle made of grey stone and covered largely in flowering vines stands amidst a ring of goliath trees.

The Flora palace.

The closer we get to it, the more fairies gather along the sides of the road. Many of their gazes are pinned to Des, the King of the Night, riding in on his dark steed, but a good number of them are focused on me, their eyes taking in my glowing skin, my face, my wings.

Let them know that this is what it means to be human, the siren whispers. I am no thing to be trifled with.

There are no gates to divide the palace grounds from the rest of the land, but as we cross onto palace grounds, for a split second the air feels viscous, like I’m moving through honey. Whatever this magical barrier is, it’s meant to keep most people out.

On the other side of it, the crowd that waits for us is noticeably wealthier. Their clothes are more ornamented, their hair more elaborately coiffed, their jewelry more intricate. Many of them touch their fingers to their foreheads as we pass, what I’m assuming is a sign of respect.

At the foot of the castle, our procession stops, and the music our group has been playing up until now fades away.

Next to me, Des vanishes from his horse, earning several gasps from the crowd of onlookers. He reappears at my horse’s side.

“Time to disembark, Callie,” he says.

Des reaches for me, helping me off the horse. He’s completely unaware of himself—his beauty, his strength, his magnetism. However, he’s not oblivious of me. He holds me close for a beat longer than necessary, his eyes moving from my eyes to my lips.

“I’m still holding you to your promise,” I say softly, my glamour making music of my words.

A secretive smile lights up his face as he remembers his vow to give me everything I wanted. “I haven’t forgotten.”

He finally releases me, and the two of us move forward with our group once more, this time on foot, while our horses are led away. We head through huge double doors made of heavyset wood.

I try not to stare as we enter the palace, but it’s hard not to.

The forest seems to have made its way into the castle. The floors are covered with wild grass and dotted with spring flowers. Vines crisscross the stone walls, each strand heavy with blooms. Even the chandelier hanging over our heads is an extension of the natural world, the frame made almost entirely of what appears to be living, flowering wood and moss. The only thing not living appears to be the waxy, dripping candles that dot the chandelier.

We cross the entryway and all but a few of Des’s soldiers break away, lining up on either side of the door that leads deeper into the castle.

Des takes my hand. “Time for introductions,” he quietly explains.

Now for the most curious part of the entire evening.

We all wear pretty masks, pretty masks that hide depraved thoughts. Mine’s hidden behind glowing skin and a melodic voice. Des’s lurk deep in the shadows. What will this queen and her consort king show me?

Our now much smaller group heads through the door in front of us. On the other side of it is a throne room, this one packed with fae of all shapes and sizes. Most look like normal fairies, but then there are some that look more like plants than people, a few that I’m pretty sure are hobgoblins, and one that has an uncanny resemblance to a troll. All of them are attired in sumptuous outfits. Clearly, these are the most privileged of the Flora Kingdom’s citizens—most privileged and probably the most fickle, their allegiance as pliant as my body under Des’s touch.

The Bargainer and I walk down the aisle, our bodies still glowing—in my case partly because of the clothing and partly because of my skin. I feel the room’s eyes on me, their gazes like a touch. Their curiosity, their envy, their yearning fills me up.

I’m intrigued by all these alien creatures, creatures I barely understand and cannot control. They, in turn, stare back, their eyes mesmerized by my skin and face. I know I look like a strange angel, my black wings shimmering under more of those odd chandeliers.

When we reach the end of the aisle, the guards in front of us step aside, unveiling the raised dais behind them.

Leaning back on a throne made of vines and flowers is Mara Verdana, the Queen of Flora.

Her wild red hair cascades down her shoulders and chest, her eyes the same sharp green color as the plants we’re surrounded by. Her skin is alabaster pale, and her mouth is just as voluptuous as the rest of her appears to be.

There are flowers in her hair, flowers woven into her dress, and her crown is simply a wreath of them. But she is the loveliest flower of them all. I find I want to touch that skin of hers and see if it’s as petal-soft as I imagine it to be.

She watches us with narrowed eyes, a slight, amused smile on her lips. She might be the Queen of Flora, but just like Des, she looks to me like a panther, something beautiful and dangerous that will strike when you least expect it. For all her magnificence, she must be a deranged thing.

Next to her, in a throne noticeably smaller, is her husband, the Green Man. True to his name, he is green from head to toe. His hair is the dark hue of evergreens, and his skin the pale color of spring grass.

I was expecting a brawny, bearded man, but compared to the Bargainer, the Green Man is more of a dandy, his face pretty without that hard roughened edge that Des’s has. Unlike the portrait I saw of him, he has no beard, his face as smooth as his body is lithe.

The siren in me finds that she has no interest in him. There’s no power to coax from him and no danger to feed from. All I feel towards the man right now is … pity. Such a creature has all the trappings of a wild, violent thing, but next to his vibrant wife he’s docile, compliant, defeated.

Des and I come up right to the edge of the dais. I don’t know what fae etiquette is in this situation, so I touch my fingers to my forehead like I saw other fairies do to us.

“Queen of Flora, Green Man,” Des says, inclining his head to both of them, “as always, it’s a pleasure.

Mara stands up, her sage green gown swaying as she does so. Her face splits into a smile. Her happiness is like an arrow to the heart. I wonder just how many people have given up all that they hold dear to bask in this woman’s smile.

She spreads her arms. “Welcome, my Emperor of Evening Stars.”

My emperor?

My hands begin to curl.

Mara descends down the steps, her eyes not once traveling to me. My hackles are rising.

I am not someone to be ignored, my siren hisses.

She comes in close to Des and kisses him on either cheek. Behind her, the Green Man steps down from his throne, trailing after her, his amber eyes on me. Just from the way he’s staring, I can feel his longing. I can feel all of their longing. It hangs in the air like perfume; I am something enviable, something strange and taboo.

How many hands wish to stroke my flesh, how many faces wish to bury themselves in my hair … ? Mara can have her moment with Des. The King of the Night is mine, and the Flora Queen’s subjects might as well be under my spell.

“Mara,” Des says, “this is my mate, Callypso Lillis, one of the last of the sirens.”

Reluctantly, Mara turns her gaze from Des to me. Genuine interest flickers in her eyes. “What a beauty.”

The compliment is a balm to the bloodlust thrumming beneath my skin. Beauty is one of the few powers I still wield in this foreign place. But somewhere deep inside me, the compliment sours.

There is nothing that defangs a woman quite like being called beautiful, my rational mind whispers.

Resting her hands on my upper arms, Mara pulls me in close and kisses each of my cheeks. Behind me, I hear her subjects suck in air, and I get the sense that Mara just broke etiquette.

Because I am human …

She releases me and straightens. “Desmond is lucky to have found himself such a gem. And you are lucky to have found yourself a mate in a king.”

Slippery, slippery woman. Her words are not quite an insult, but they’re phrased just so that they toe that line.

I give her a slow, curving smile. “You are too kind.” This is the first time I’ve spoken directly to her, and the room goes quiet as they listen to my harmonic voice.

Mara waves over some of her people. “Please show the king and queen to their rooms,” she orders them, not bothering to let the Green Man greet us. To me and Des she says, “The feast begins in an hour in the Sacred Gardens. I look forward to seeing you both there.”