Page 46 of Upon the Riven Throne

Alone again, eyes heavy, Mireille found her attention lingering on Alder. The sun dipped below the horizon, but he’d made clear she was not to leave his room. “Where will you sleep?”

His eyes did not leave the page. “I shall not.”

“You should rest,” he said.

Mireille wanted to argue, but the remedies continuously forced upon her had made her drowsy. Against her will, her eyes drifted closed, and sleep came swiftly.

Alder did not come to her dreams.

When she woke, morning light shone through the tall carved marble windows and he remained in his chair, though the book was no longer in his lap. He said, “Kin will draw you a bath, if you are ready.”

She rubbed her puffy eyes but felt worlds better. “You trust me alone again?”

He stood. “No.”

She gave him a look. He only approached the bed to offer his hand.

“I am steady,” she promised, but took it nonetheless. Neither were wearing gloves, and the feeling of his bare skin on hers sent a jolt of awareness through her. He pulled her to her feet and she peered up at him, her thumb sliding across the back of his hand. “Thank you for watching over me.”

“Perhaps you would have fared better as my prisoner after all. It seems I’ve done a poor job of it as your betrothed.”

She asked, “Is it not bad luck for the groom to see the bride on their wedding day?”

“Only if the groom finds her displeasing.” Then, seeming to realize what he’d said, his voice went gruff. “That is a human tradition.”

Mireille suppressed a smile. “And what is fae tradition?”

Lifting her hand, he turned it, placing a light kiss on the center of her palm. “You will soon find out.”

A jolt went through her, and she let out a shaky breath. Certainly, that had not been a show for the queen. Alder’s eyes rose to hers. Her cheeks were hot, her pulse fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird.

There was a moment of stillness before his lips parted, as if to speak, and she wanted him to, desperately so. But a knock interrupted whatever he might have said. He released her hand, the door came open, and Kin stepped inside carrying a stack of towels. She glanced between them, then ducked her head, beginning to back away.

Alder cleared this throat, and Kin froze. “Please,” he said. “Go ahead.”

Kin crossed the room, head still dipped, then disappeared into an adjoining chamber. Alder gestured for Mireille to follow. She did, rather gratefully.

Mireille closed the door, bracing herself against it. The thrum of her heart was frantic, a rabbit’s before prey.Do you love him, Kin had once asked. Fate help her, she did.

She was not certain what had happened, but she felt a bit betrayed. Her heart had always been strong. Sensible. Not a fool to chase a dream off a cliff.

There was only one thing she could do.

Straightening away from the wall, she signed to Kin,I need your help.

Kin’s smile was warm and open; clearly the woman had no idea what a mess she might be taking on. She signed,Anything.

* * *

Plan in place,Mireille had nearly steadied herself by the time she dressed and returned to Alder’s company. He had not resumed his usual state, however, testing her lunch himself before she’d been allowed a single bite. As the minutes ticked by and the ceremony drew nearer, he grew even more cautious, and she was only permitted to return to her chambers to prepare with Kin, Nisha, and Thomas watching her every move.

Draped in the delicate wedding gown, Mireille did a slow turn before the mirror. Kin’s anxious smile had Mireille wiping her palms. It would work. It had to.

She gave one final glance at her reflection, then nearly shrieked when Maeve’s reflection peered back. It had been the queen’s first opportunity to contact Mireille, and she had taken it. Behind her, Mireille could see Kin had noticed and, as she’d been warned, rushed to distract Nisha and the other fae ladies.

“Have you made your choice?”

Maeve’s voice rang in Mireille’s head, a knowing not unlike she had experienced in the dreams. Alder had been right, the connection felt stronger, and Mireille hoped she had not miscalculated her chances. The queen wore crimson once more, a celebration of her triumph.

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