Page 88 of Destined for the Fae King

My cheeks heat, and I’d swear a blush rises to Lysandir’s cheeks as well.

Tharin wraps his hand loosely around my upper arm and guides me toward the door.

“Please be safe,” I say to Lysandir, hoping my words carry so much more than that.

“I’ll see you soon,” Lysandir promises.

I watch him over my shoulder the whole way to the door, savoring every moment until Tharin closes it and leads me away.

Chapter 34

The fae don’t burytheir dead—they burn them. At least, that’s the case for the Court of Fire.

But we don’t have Bailey’s body to burn. It was returned to Earth, to her family, along with letters to all of ours, confirming our safety and the king’s commitment to keeping us all safe and healthy. I sent one to be delivered to my mom, as well as another to my cousin. I truly don’t remember much of what I wrote in either. They were short but full of love. What else is there to say? They’ll worry no matter what. I suppose I could tell them the future. That I’m destined to wed the king, so I won’t die, at least not anytime soon. But what comes after that? Promising my safety would feel hollow no matter what.

Without a body to burn, the queen orders a ceremonial fire instead. It’s purely symbolic, but the small bonfire the guards craft in a wide brazier in the courtyard amid all our rooms might as well be a funeral, for the somberness that blankets us all.

No one speaks much as the last of sunset fades away, leaving Bailey’s ceremonial fire as our source of light. But in the silence, in the sorrow, we find solidarity.

The competition doesn’t matter right now. How can it? We’re just a bunch of women, acquaintances, tentative friends, more in some cases, but the differences that kept us apart, the goal that divided us, no longer seem as wide and impossible to cross. I even find myself standing next to Cora and feeling a weird urge to put my arm around her or give her a hug. I don’t, but any anger I’ve felt toward her is gone. Katherine too.

For now, we’re all allies.

Queen Elaine keeps us close to her the next day and the next. Lysandir’s ring stays warm against my chest, a little spark of hope that I find myself reaching for and physically clinging to more than I should. It could be problematic if someone notices and asks about it, though I can always lie. Humanity has some advantages.

Our movements are limited, our comings and goings mostly restricted to our rooms and the central courtyard. For lack of anything better to do, or maybe out of the need for some semblance of stability, Zoe declared that she would lead yoga this morning. We haven’t done it since before Bailey died. She never participated but watched a lot, and I almost feel like she’s watching this morning.

Maybe everyone else feels it too because every single woman shows up. Even Elaine sits on a bench and watches. She occupies one of the rooms. Another belongs to the king, though I don’t think he’s used it. According to Tharin, neither Vasilius nor Lysandir have returned. And what they’ve been up to… The dark look that crossed his face was all I needed to know. In some ways, I’m glad he wouldn’t tell me.

When we finally rise from the final child’s pose, more than one woman has wet streaks on her cheeks, including me.

Elaine waves forward a few fae carrying trays of drinks and little snacks. I almost smile at that. She’s really taken to us like a motherlately, seeing that we’re eating, watching over us, trying to provide little comforts where she can. When no one else takes up the seat on the bench next to her, I do.

“Thank you for being here with us,” I say.

Her features soften a bit as she takes me in. “Of course. I do what I can.”

“If you’d be more comfortable in the capital though, we’d all understand,” I say. She seems a little out of sorts here, and more than once I’ve seen her struggle to navigate the cobbled paths—not that she lets anyone help her, ridiculous as that is.

She pats my leg. “That’s kind, dear, but I must stay.”

There’s something in her words I can’t help but pick at. “Must?”

Adeline takes a seat on a bench nearby with Gabriella—the two have become closer friends of late.

“Mm hmm.” She pulls her cane into her laps and gives it a little tap. “I suppose I should tell you all about my cane.”

“Your cane?” Zoe asks. She takes a seat crisscross-applesauce on the stonework near us, almost like a kid waiting for story time.

“Yes. Come. Sit. All of you.” Elaine beckons the rest near, and they come. Cora even sits on the ground and doesn’t act like such a thing is beneath her.

“I take it none of you have worked out exactly what it is yet,” she says, holding it up and turning it slightly in her weathered hands.

A beautiful work of art, the cane has many delicate engravings down its length and widens out for about the top foot before ending in a smooth circle that shimmers and catches the light almost like polished glass but is probably some sort of massive gem.

“It’s expensive?” Katherine offers.

“Um…” Adeline muses.

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