Page 27 of Upon the Riven Throne

Alder glanced down at her. “It is.”

Mireille recalled that she had a purpose. No matter how seductive the idea of sinking into the peace the garden brought, she had to find her course. “Why do you wish to be free of it?” His brow lowered in confusion, and she asked, “Are these lands not enough for you?”

His lips tightened and it appeared he would not respond, then he turned abruptly to face her. “The land chooses its ruler. There is noenough. The land does not wish to be divided, and so I, as its prince, must find a way to unrend it, to destroy the curse that holds us within its walls.”

She stepped closer, his figure in the moonlight somehow more imposing, yet he was not as icy and closed off as before. Mireille wasn’t certain what had changed, but she had no interest in pretense. “What happens when the boundary falls? You will rise to king and the land will be satisfied? Or will it want more?” It was hard to imagine the Rive coming down as anything good, not when she had seen what an unbound queen was capable of. Part of her, a part she understood may not be entirely virtuous, wanted to keep them caged.

Alder’s expression darkened. “You think me so power hungry?”

His tone sent a chill down her spine. Her shoulders drew back. It was only a dream. She would speak as she pleased. “You accepted my bargain with no apparent desire to have me as a wife. I was given to believe we would be wed, but it seems as if you only wish for me to break the bargain, so that you might add me to your collection of prisoners.”

He stepped nearer. “What makes you think I have no intention of marrying you? Do you truly believe I would not honor my word?”

She craned her neck to look up at him. “You’re evading the point. You have done nothing but attempt to keep distance between us. You want my choice to be a prisoner. Why else bring me to Lord Cadby and make clear that I would be choosing relative comfort? Why else not show me a single consideration above what is required by law of hospitality?”

He leaned in so that he looked her directly in the eye. “If being a prisoner of Rivenwilde sounds so preferable to being my wife, then perhaps your decision has already been made.”

She released a growl of frustration. “Would you please cease answering my concerns with accusations.”

The corner of his lips twisted in a manner that made Mireille uncomfortably aware of how churlish she was being. After a moment, he released a resigned breath. “I felt the fae queen’s magic on you. That was why I agreed to the bargain. That is why I… held myself in reserve.”

Mireille’s own breath caught.

“I was not wrong,” he added. “I will admit I never expected you to allow her into my home. But even before you entered my chambers, it was evident you had ties to her. As an ally, or a pawn, or a victim. I believed you the former.”

The subtle swaying of the flora seemed to shift, as if agitated. Mireille asked, “And what is it that you believe now?”

He did not answer. It was answer enough. Alder believed she could be conspiring with the creature who had entirely destroyed her life. The one who had threatened her kingdom so thoroughly that she’d been left with no choice but to abandon her family and secure a bargain with a fae prince.

Her fists clenched tighter. “I am no ally or pawn, and though some have given it their best attempt, I amno one’svictim. I have told you before, and I will say it again. Norcliffe is under threat. I stand before you now, in this—whatever this is—because of her.”

He studied her face, then lifted a hand to pluck a leaf from her hair. She jolted when he reached toward her, and they both knew it. The bravado of her speech didn’t change what a fae was capable of. But he was not the queen. He held the leaf for a moment between his fingertips, then let it fall to the ground.

He was using her as a tool to unbind his kingdom. She was using him to save her own. She could not have one without the other.

“Is any of this even real?” she asked.

“That depends how you define what is real. The garden is true, but we linger now in your dream. Your mind conjured the way your hair is styled, the gown you wear. Will it not persist in your memory? Does it not become part of your existence?”

Heat flushed her cheeks. The wedding gown certainly felt more significant knowing she was responsible for it. She would have somehow preferred it had been his conjuring. She said, “I suppose if it does not exist in the morning, then it is not truly real.”

His fingers trailed across the lace covering her arm, and her traitorous body reacted to the touch, leaning nearer.

He said softly, “It feels real enough to me.” But his gaze never met hers, instead shifting toward the moon in what was most certainly not a sky Mireille had imagined. “The midnight hour is far beyond us. Good night, Mireille.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but darkness took her instead.

* * *

Mireille jolted;someone was standing over her where she lay in her bed. Her eyes flew open, her heart racing, but it was not the unnatural glow of a dream that lit her room, only lamplight.

Noal stared down at her, his dark eyes narrowed consideringly. He held a silver tray, its contents smelling of tea and freshly buttered toast. He said, “Forgive the intrusion but it’s onto midday. If we were to wait any longer, you would not have time to prepare.”

From his spot on the settee, Thomas lifted a toast point. “I told him to let you sleep.”

She swiped a palm across her face. She could not remember ever lying in so long when she wasn’t ill. She looked back to Noal. “And what am I to prepare for?”

“There’s to be a ball,” he explained. “Kin is here to assist you.”

---