Page 41 of Upon the Riven Throne

But she could not, for Mireille understood both that the queen was listening, and that she, and her father, and everyone she loved had nearly given up on defeating the queen, too. There was no room for notions of romance. Their only hope was the same sort of trickery the queen used against them. Their only hope was to work together to end her reign.

Hand still on his arm, she said, “Just tell me what I need to do.”

His gaze was searching, but she did not reveal more. She would give Alder’s plan a chance, and if it seemed it would fail, she would be forced to betray him, to choose the offer presented by the enemy queen.

Princesses did not have the luxury of following their hearts. And neither did fae princes. They had both proven as much already.

* * *

Nisha’s moodwas radiant as she guided Mireille through a dark and eerie wood. They both wore flowing white gowns, as did the flock of fae courtiers trailing after them.

Thomas had thought Mireille mad for agreeing to any of it, and she could not argue that. But it had been Noal who convinced Thomas of Mireille’s safety. A fae vow meant more than either had understood. It was not merely the binds of a reputation or the value of a person’s word, it had to do with the very magic they possessed. Evidently, fae magic was not one-sided. It could punish those who broke the rules.

A low growl sounded from the spiky bushes ahead, but none of the fae women paid it mind. Mireille suspected, as Nisha tugged her hand, urging her to keep up in the thick growth, that nothing in the forest was as feral as the fae princess she’d agreed to follow.

Nisha’s sigh sounded of anticipation. “My mother would have loved this. She never had a chance to perform the rite, and she was particularly fond of Alder.”

“Is she residing at the Storm Court?” Mireille asked weakly, barely navigating the roots jutting up through the path.

Nisha lifted her free hand to her chest. “I’m touched you remembered. But no, she passed on long ago. Alder and I only share a father. We are glad at least that he’s long gone.” She glanced sidelong at Mireille, not having to say aloud that she was surprised he’d not mentioned their family history.

The path widened, leading to a large mere, its surface glimmering in the moonlight. Nisha came to a stop, as if taking in the scene, a wide smile changing her face. She looked younger somehow, full of magic and mischief. It was not an entirely comforting idea.

The rest of the group hurried around them, lighting torches and candles, and arranging a stunning array of food on cloth spread over the ground. In all her wildest imaginings, Mireille would never have guessed that her bargain would lead there, a moonlit picnic in a deadly forest.

And then there was the pool, magical waters in which she would be submerged, a symbol of her acceptance of the land and its power as her life merged with its prince. She resisted the urge to look for Alder, who had promised he would be near, watching on should any of it go sideways.

Nisha squeezed the hand she’d been holding, then released it. “I’ll fetch us something to drink.”

When she returned with two long-stemmed glasses, the rest of the preparations seemed nearly done. Mireille took a sip of the sharp, citrusy punch then drew a breath of crisp night air. A fire had been built near the edge of the mere, a relief, given that she was meant to step into water, but she was beginning to doubt her bravery.

She had vowed to do anything for her kingdom. Surely walking into an ominous midnight pool would be the least of it. And as vexing as Nisha could be, the prince clearly cared about her and about the ritual. It must have been important, and in the end, they plainly expected her to remain safe.

Nisha led Mireille to one of the cloths bedecked with silver tureens of roast venison, bright steamed vegetables, and sourdough bread. It smelled as wonderful as any feast she’d ever attended, though that may have been owing to the arduous trek. Settling onto the ground, wine in one hand and plate in the other, Mireille finally felt the return of warmth.

“Now,” Nisha said. “Tell us exactly how you and my brother came to fall in love.”

Mireille nearly choked. The others watched with interest.

“Go on,” Nisha pressed. “Declare your intentions to us and to the moon. Your words will not leave this circle.”

To be sure, the circle was not Mireille’s chief concern, it was Alder, possibly listening nearby from the shadows. Clearing her throat, she set aside her plate.

Nisha frowned. “You do love him, do you not? At the announcement, he implied it was a love match.”

Mireille had watched fae slide a lie cleverly around the truth, certainly by now she could do it too. She forced a shaky laugh. “Well, I am marrying him and giving up my kingdom, after all. It would be absurd not to love him, all things considered.”

Nisha’s posture eased, but her clear expectation did not.

“I suppose my feelings for him changed from the first night we danced. We were alone in a moonlit ballroom, soft music coming in through the windows...” She sighed at the memory, because it seemed so long ago, and was not unaware that her audience had taken it as wistful longing. “It was just the two of us, no thought of responsibility, only the melody and the steps. It’s such a rare thing as the head of a kingdom. As a girl, I cherished such moments when my father gave them to me.” Lips pursed, she tried to recall what else she might share. “And then later, again when we found ourselves alone, walking through such beautiful gardens, speaking low of the things that matter most to us. You can tell a lot about a person when there are no crowds, no courtiers to impress.”

The fae women leaned in, hanging on her every word, and Mireille struggled to find more that was safe to share. At the very least, she could toy with the man at bit, should he be listening. She said, “At the outset, he seemed so gruff, but it turns out he was never surly at all. He’s quite gentle under all that starch and frippery. Like a sugarplum.” That drew a chuckle from the group, but they did not seem sated. “Of course, he has a great many duties, and would never succumb to idle pleasures, but he’s, well he can be generous and giving. So entirely thoughtful that he?—”

Mireille’s words cut off, her face gone hot. She’d nearly detailed the dream gown for an audience. Perhaps she’d had too much punch. The women seemed too close, but so did the moon. Or, perhaps it was the influence of fae magic, because she had surely not just been going on about the prince in front of both him and a crowd. She glanced at the prince’s sister.

Nisha’s grin was wicked, and more than a little satisfied. She stood, offering Mireille her hand. “Come. It’s time.”

* * *

---