Page 16 of Lady of the Lake

I sink into the tub in Griflet’s cottage, breathing in the scent of the dried herbs and the burning cedar that fills the air.

It took us two hours to get back here in the snow, shivering all the way. My dress never fully dried that whole time; it just clung to my body, making me freeze. The only way I kept warm was by having Talan carry me.

As soon as we reached Griflet’s cozy home, Griflet gave us a quick breakfast of hot bread, butter, and jam. I’d slept for twenty minutes before he unceremoniously woke me again to get ready.

I have the luxury of a makeshift bathroom: blankets hanging from vines, shielding a copper tub near the hearth. Now, Talanis out there in the rain, finding a suitable place for us to marry—somewhere dry, I hope.

I sink deeper into the warmth, my stiff muscles melting in the water’s heat. Steam rises in tendrils around me.

I pull the curtain aside. Outside the window, frozen rain whips against the window panes, and it makes me never want to leave the heated comfort of this bath.

I run the soap over my skin, my mind drifting back to Avalon Tower. I wish my friends were around to tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing. I’m a spy among enemies and almost completely alone. It doesn’t matter how beautiful Talan is or that he ran outside with a sword to save me from the basilisk. He thinks I’m someone else entirely. He thinks I’m one ofthem, and the moment he learns the truth, I’ll be the one staring at the tip of his sword.

I lift my hand from the water, watching droplets fall from my fingertips, amber in the firelight. Brocéliande is a beautiful snow globe, and I’m trapped here. All it takes is a single motion from Talan to shake my world into chaos.

I rinse the rosemary-scented soap off, reluctant to leave the warmth of the water. Time to march into the storm again to attend my own doomed wedding.

I’ve hardly thought about it, but the throne of this kingdom belongs to my father. Even without marrying Talan, I guess that makes me a princess. But if I’d grown up here like Talan, I’d be different. I wouldn’t have spent my childhood bouncing between luxurious mansions and run-down motels, with everything constantly in flux. I wouldn’t be the same Nia if I’d been born into an ancient Fey palace, where nothing changed for centuries.

If I’d grown up as the princess of Brocéliande, maybe I’d be just like Talan—demanding, capricious, and as guarded as his palace. Who knows, maybe I’d even be worse.

“Nia?” Griflet’s gruff voice pierces my reverie. “It’s time for you to get ready. I’m going to pop out and help Talan. Get dressed, will you?”

He slides a towel over the vines, then drapes my wedding dress over the blankets. In a moment, I hear him leaving through the front door.

With a sigh, I stand in the tub. Water drips down my body, steam coiling off my skin. I snatch the towel and dry myself off. I don’t want to go out into the cold with wet hair, so I leave it as it is, tangled, with brambles and pine needles in the snarls.

Does it matter? This wedding, like everything else I do here, is part of a masquerade, a performance. It doesn’t need to be perfect.

I pull on the beautiful, silky dress, and it slides over my body. An ache opens in my chest, and I don’t know if it’s from loneliness or the fear of being so isolated in the middle of enemy territory. So utterly without allies here.

I step out from behind the curtains and look down at the wedding dress. It shimmers in dusky shades, faintly glowing in the dim light. The neckline plunges to my waist, and there is a slit on one side up to my thigh. This will be absolutely freezing outside. Still, it looks like heaven.

The door opens. I look up, and my heart leaps. Nivene steps into the cottage, her red hair dusted with snow, the cold air whooshing in from behind her.

I feel it now—the faint tug in my chest, the magnetic pull of another Sentinel. “Nivene!”

Her gaze sweeps down at my dress. “Oh, my gods,” she whispers. “You look amazing, Princess Nia.”

I peer over her shoulder, making sure we’re truly alone. “What are you doing here?”

“Prince Talan sent a messenger summoning me here. He told me to come as quickly as possible.” She pulls her cloak more tightly around her. “He said my sister needed me.”

The tense hunch of her shoulders and the grim expression on her features tell me she hadn’t been sure what she was walking into. After all, this could have very well been a trap, a chance to torture and kill her after learning we were spies.

She came anyway.

“Did you get my message?” I whisper. “I’m supposed to marry him.”

“I didn’t, no.” She grimaces. “But I met Talan and that weird cleric outside. They told me.”

“This is all to stop Auberon from forcing him to marry Arwenna tonight.” I frown. “But why would Talan want you here?”

“I think he did that for you, so you’d have family with you. Do you know what I think? He must really fancy you.”

My eyes feel misty from the steam of the place, and I blink. “He needed another witness, that’s all.”

“He could have invited anyone,” Nivene points out. “One of his lackeys. But he chose to invite your supposed sister instead.”

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