Page 30 of Upon the Riven Throne

Maeve inclined her head, a smile playing across her lips. Beyond them, the fae danced cautiously, their liveliness from earlier gone. The queen said coyly, “And would you wish to offer your guest a dance?”

The queen extended an arm, clad in a long silver glove, and Mireille tensed, every part of her wanting to jerk away. But Alder held her firm.

He said, “As you can see, my arm is already taken.”

Maeve’s bright eyes slid to Mireille. “Why, yes, Princess Mireille.” She drew a fan from thin air, snapping it open in clear insult. Given the power she’d just displayed, it was unforgivably petty. “What a surprise to find you so far from home. Have you left your dear father?” She clicked her tongue. “I do worry about the poor man. Let us hope he fares well without you.”

Heat flared through Mireille. She drew herself up, wanting nothing more than to strike the woman with that cursed fan, and possibly Alder, too. She had come to find protection, he had made a vow, and there stood the queen, invited by Alder himself and delivering barely veiled threats. “The kingdom of Norcliffe’s fate does not rest on my shoulders alone.”

Maeve lifted a brow meaningfully at Mireille’s slender shoulders. “I should hope not.”

In that moment, had she a weapon, Mireille could not have been trusted not to use it.

Alder shifted, the first he’d moved since the queen arrived, and Mireille’s gaze flicked to him. “If you will excuse us,” he told the queen, “I owe my betrothed a dance.”

Maeve’s expression remained unchanged, but her fury was a tangible thing that bit at the air around them. It felt as dangerous as standing in a lightning storm, and Mireille was a good deal certain one of them was about to meet their end, but Alder only swept past, pressing Mireille forward and toward the dance floor, with himself bewteen her and the queen. He took the drink from Mireille’s hand, which she had quite forgotten she was holding but now bubbled thick and black, and deposited it on the tray of a passing server.

Then his hand was in hers, the other positioned at her waist, and he was leading her through the steps of an unfamiliar dance. Her cheeks were hot, her chest was tight, and hundreds of fae swirled around them in a dizzying blur.

“You are angry,” he said.

She found focus, narrowing her gaze on his and stilling her trembling limbs. “Livid.”

He drew her body tighter to his.

“How could you?” she hissed. “I told you what she has done. You understood that I was here for your protection, that my kingdom, my father, everything I hold dear is in danger fromher.”

His movements were steady and sure as he spun them in another turn, as if the entire world was not spinning out of control around them. “I had to be certain.”

“Certain of what?”

He met her gaze.

“Certain that I was not her ally? That I was not here on her behalf?” She felt sick. “If I am a pawn in anyone’s game, it is yours. I was a fool to trust you. And what care you for my allegiances? Why claim me as your betrothed?”

His eyes darkened. “You never trusted me.” The music changed and Alder brought their dance to a stop in the center of the ballroom, his hand firm on her waist. He leaned forward, his breath hot on her cheek. He was very tall, and very imposing, and there was so very much of him right there in her space. “Maeve is gathering power. She has come for your lands. What makes you think she would not come for mine? The stakes are higher than you can understand. I had to be certain.”

“Our enemy is the same. You knew all along.”

“You have not been honest.”

She glared back at him. “Nor have you. And not even solely with me. Your staff has done nothing but push us together, while even they are left in the dark. The curse you speak of is the Rive, but there is a binding on you that is more personal still.”

His expression hardened. He did not like that she’d found out, that much was clear. She said, “You have done everything in your power to drive me away. Why do they encourage you closer?”

Around them, the dancing fae began to take notice of their scene. Alder leaned near, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “They do not know everything.”

She wasn’t certain it was a confession, but across the room, drink in hand and ire simmering for all to see, Maeve watched with a strange tilt to her head. Mireille held the woman’s gaze, lifting onto her toes to whisper into Alder’s ear, her hand pressed to his broad chest. A spark of something hot shot through her at his closeness, and she was unsure whether it was fear, or something worse. “We need to move this discussion somewhere private.”

The look he gave her was pure heat and, again, Mireille was unsure exactly how to process it. But the hand at her waist spun her to his side, and before she could summon even a second thought, she was ushered from the room.

CHAPTER12

They stood alone in the night-darkened music room, and Mireille had to force her gaze away from the piano. There was a part of her that could not believe she had actually played for him. She wasn’t certain what had come over her since she’d agreed to a bargain with a fae prince. Desperation, that was all.

Alder peered down at her, his face half in shadow and half in moonlight. He had let go his hold but had not stepped away. “What do you know of my bindings?”

The words were emotionless, but Mireille flinched nonetheless. “You need a princess to bring down the Rive.”

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