Page 259 of Kingdoms of Night

The light shifted in her gaze. It was just a shade brighter than resignation. Could it be moving toward the edge of hope?

“You have to be careful with your words, sir,” Enid whispered. “A statement like that will bind you to me for the rest of your life.”

Geraint grinned at that, the first true and happy smile in days. “That’s exactly what I want to do.”

Instead of brightening with joy, the edges of Enid’s eyes crinkled in concern.

“Unless…” Geraint had to swallow before he could force the words out. “Unless this isn’t what you want. I would never force you to do anything against your will.”

The crinkles lessened in her eyes, but her lips remained in a thin, pursed line.

“If your father tries to force your hand, I will be your champion, then, too.”

Enid shook her head. “No one can best my father. He always wins.”

“Then let us not play his games.”

Geraint knew he’d said the right thing. That statement got him a wide-eyed gaze. Enid’s lips parted in an O of surprise. She opened her mouth to respond, but her father’s colorful visage darkened the scene.

“Who’s ready to get hitched?”

Gyges’ voice boomed like he’d spoken through a megaphone. His intonation reminded Geraint of a seventies game show host, as did his loud outfit of American cheese, orange and brown shoes, and tie. Even with the deafening colors and blazing sounds, Geraint ignored the fae king. He had eyes only for the fairy in front of him. The woman whom he still wasn’t sure would be his.

In response to Gyges’ broadcast, Geraint held out his open palm to Enid. She looked down at his hand then back at his face. She studied him for a long second without moving.

CHAPTERNINE

Enid couldn’t decide. She couldn’t decide if Vidar had hit the knight in the head and he’d lost some of his senses. That was a plausible reason for Sir Geraint’s misguided belief that he could in any way best her father in the games of chance that he always rigged in his own favor.

The only other possibility for the knight’s behavior was that he meant what he said. He truly did not intend to play any of her father’s games.

She looked down at his open hand. Taking it was a gamble. She was the daughter of the most sadistic gamesman on the planet. The truth was, she didn’t have anything else to lose.

Enid lifted her hand. When she placed her fingertips at the center of Geraint’s palm, she felt his warmth once more.

Geraint wrapped his fingers around her wrist. She expected his hold to tighten. It did not. She could escape his grasp if she chose. She had no desire to make that choice.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw her father’s wicked grin spread wide. Regardless of whether she or her husband-to-be might want to play, there was still a game afoot. One whose outcome she would not know until it was over and she was stepping over the carnage of dead bodies.

As though he heard her concerns, Geraint’s fingers tightened on hers. With one hand, he grasped the hilt of the sword at his side. With the other, he pulled her to him as the ground beneath their feet trembled.

Enid would have warned him that there was nothing to fear, no danger afoot. But the salty musk of his flesh, the feel of his heat, left her speechless. She would enjoy the closeness that came with entwining with this male.

Above them, leaves fell down like snowflakes as the giant oak lifted its head of foliage. The air crackled as it blinked the bark of its eyes to peer down at them. It resettled its roots above the ground, causing another shifting and shaking of the earth.

Geraint’s hand relaxed on his sword now that he assessed the threat and found it not worthy of slaying. He did not relax his hold on Enid. Enid did not protest.

“Flourishing verdure,” intoned the oak, “we are gathered and amassed here today in this lush garden to witness the twining of this flora and this…” The oak hesitated, coughing up a few leaves before he spoke again. “This fauna.”

Enid tensed, expecting Geraint to bristle at the offense. His gaze was not on the oak. It remained on her, as though hers was the only opinion he cared for.

“This is a day of great celebration and reverence, on which we come together before the Goddess of creation and commemorate the dedication shared between these two… beings. They have decided to entwine their lives and be forever bound together.”

The oak reached two branches out toward them. Enid held out her hand to the tree. With a quick motion, the branch swiped across her palm, breaking the skin. Her sap seeped out.

She nudged Geraint to do the same. He gave the tree’s branch a wary glare before doing as she bid. The branch sliced into his palm. The crimson of his sap was bright in her father’s garden of luminant flowers.

Enid held her palm up to Geraint, her sap dripping down her wrist. After a moment, he caught on and raised his palm to hers. They entwined their hands, his blood seeping into her. Her sap mixing with his.

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