Page 19 of Bound By Deception

How did Bryce suffer living here for so long?

Thinking about her predecessor reminded Bree that she’d need to find out what had happened to him. As soon as this handfasting was over, she would begin her search.

Bristling now, as impatience thrummed through her, she concentrated on keeping her back straight while she awaited mac Brochan. Where was the brute? She’d had enough of being gawked at.

Bree’s attention shifted then, over the crowd of retainers and druids, to where the High King stood next to his wife, son, and daughter upon a rise overlooking the river.

Talorc mac Brude was scowling as if he too was tired of waiting for his chief-enforcer. The High King was a big muscular man, although older than she’d expected, his face craggy and harsh. Next to him, the queen—a pretty woman with delicate features and auburn hair that she wore in elaborate braids—was considerably younger.

Bree’s gaze lingered on the High King and queen consort a moment longer before shifting to their offspring. The prince was handsome and flamboyant. Like his father, he had swarthy looks, although his long dark hair, oiled and swept back from his face, wasn’t yet threaded with grey. A bronze torque gleamed at his throat. His sister stood silently beside him. No older than twenty winters, she had a heart-shaped face and a mane of dark-auburn curls.

The princess glanced Bree’s way then. Her full lips quirked into a half-smile.

Heart kicking, Bree lowered her gaze.Don’t stare so, you fool.

Murmuring reached her then, and she lifted her chin. An instant later, she spied a large figure cutting a swathe through the crowd.

There he was—her husband-to-be.

Bree’s chest tightened, her breathing suddenly fast and shallow. She wasn’t ready for this. She’d never be ready.

Clad in tight-fitting leather breeches and an embroidered vest, with a golden torque about his neck, the chief-enforcer also walked barefoot. The Marav always handfasted unshod; it grounded them and brought them closer to The Mother and The Maiden.

One of the queen’s women had reminded Bree of that earlier.

To Bree’s relief, the fae hound didn’t follow him. She’d have to be careful around the beast. In her Shee form, she’d be able to touch minds with it—but even as one of the Marav, she felt a connection, like a thread pulling taut whenever the hound glanced her way.

Having the fae hound near was dangerous.

A black cloak rippled from mac Brochan’s broad shoulders. Black was the color worn by the enforcers. Bree’s skin prickledin revulsion. Of all the druids, enforcers were the worst of them, the ones who hunted her people.

The chief-enforcer closed the gap between them and stepped before her. Like the day before, his expression was severe, his gaze cold. He favored Bree with a brusque nod, and she nodded back. No words passed between them.

A tall, spare figure clad in golden robes approached then. A woman of around fifty, her angular face heavily tattooed, her grey-threaded black hair twisted into tiny braids.

Bree’s stomach dropped sharply.Fuck.

She hadn’t realized the arch-druid—the most powerful of them all—would conduct the ceremony; in truth, she’d thought one of the counselor-druids might. This was bad news, indeed, for if any of the druids could sniff an imposter out, this woman could.

But there was nothing to be done, for the arch-druid had halted before them, her dark eyes sweeping from Mac Brochan to Bree.

Slow your breathing and clear your mind … or she’ll sense your agitation.

Despite the cold wind, Bree started to sweat. An instant later, she emptied her head of any thought, any feeling—a skill she’d acquired as an apprentice warrior—and focused on steadying her breath. She’d learned a long time ago that an assassin had to be the master of their fear.

The arch-druid’s gaze rested upon Bree’s face, and the woman stilled a moment.

She had a stare that could cut through stone. Bree’s skin prickled. The arch-druid was probing into her thoughts. The tattoos on her neck glowed slightly now, a sign she was wielding her power.

Sweat trickled down Bree’s back, but she stared back—her mind as empty as the sky.

Thank the Ancestors that her training had stuck with her, even through her transformation from Shee to Marav.

However, this was worse than she’d thought, for this woman was a seer.

The arch-druid’s stare only lasted a few heartbeats, yet it felt like an eternity.

Mac Brochan cleared his throat then, and the woman’s gaze snapped to him. Her strong jaw tightened, and then she unlooped a green ribbon from her belt. “Shall we begin?”

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