Page 21 of All the Chaos of Constellations
Asher scowled as Cyra placed the crown of laurel on his head.
Music floated through the woods and glowing faerie lights of soft blue and green danced upon the ground, illuminating the paths into the surrounding forest where the Veil glimmered like a thin layer of gossamer. In the shadows of the beyond stood clusters of figures and carriages, the outlines of people from other realms waiting to gain entry to Aeramere. Lanterns of faerie fire hung from archways formed by trees, their trunks wrapped in vines of crawling ivy, while flowers of pale purple and white cascaded around them. Streams of turquoise wound their way through the forest, the riverbeds filled with smooth stones that sparkled in the reflection of moonlight. Woodland creatures darted in and out of the shadows, tempting partygoers with their adorable faces and fluffy tails.
Cyra was no exception. She reached down to pet a passing chipmunk as it scampered away from a group of fae children attempting to lure it with handfuls of acorns.
“This is ridiculous,” Asher muttered, carefully avoiding making eye contact with any eligible female in their general vicinity. “I shouldn’t have to wear this absurd crown if I have no intention of marrying.”
Cyra ignored his complaints.
“Let’s just hope this isn’t a disaster like Lady Starstorm’s reading.” She adjusted her crown of white roses, ensuring not a petal was out of place. Her gaze swept through the forest, then up the small hill where the queen’s palace was set against a backdrop of sage mountains. “Then again, I heard she already has a line of suitors waiting to court her, so?—”
“Sorry?” Asher coughed, smacking his chest with his fist to quell the sudden rise of anger flaring there. “What did you say?”
“Lady Novalise Starstorm,” Cyra repeated, oblivious to his increasing vexation. “Honestly, Ash. It’s like half the time your mind is in another world altogether.”
Asher dismissed her valid accusation with a wave of his hand. “You mentioned something about suitors?”
“Yes, it’s most likely she’ll have a surplus of them.” There was a tinge of jealousy in his sister’s tone. But then she sighed, and it vanished. Cyra pursed her lips, tapping one finger to the corner of her mouth. “Since her star reading was a failure, males from all over Aeramere will try to win her hand. If you ask me, I think they only want her for her magic.”
“Why the sudden interest?” That burn of anger morphed into a ravenous, gnawing pang of resentment. “In her, I mean.”
Not that he should care. Because he didn’t. At all.
“Do you live under a rock?” Cyra’s brows pinched together and she shook her head, her wild red hair tumbling around her. “Novalise is the eldest daughter of House Celestine. Since the stars didn’t reveal her true match, she’s fair game. She can read the stars, and I imagine her magic is exceptionally powerful. Not only that, but her brother is a High Councilor to Queen Elowyn. She’s an ideal mate for anyone with something to gain, which means every male in Aeramere wants their opportunity to wed and bed her.”
“Not a chance,” Asher growled. Blinding wrath stole through him and the source of it was that damned bond. He didn’t want to care about her, he didn’t want to have anything to do with her, yet he wanted to rip the head off any male who dared to look her way.
“Agreed.” Cyra was flippant, completely unsuspecting of the fact that Asher was about to erupt with untempered fury. “None of the males here stand a chance against anyone coming to Aeramere for the Season.”
His gut hollowed out. The fire inside him turned to ice. “You think there will be more competition?”
“Absolutely. Novalise is like a rare jewel.” Cyra strolled closer toward the forest’s edge where the queen and her royal guard were gathering in preparation, motioning for him to follow. “She’s coveted.”
There was a tug as the invisible thread binding him to Novalise pulled taut. Then it yanked. Hard.
He whipped around, only to see Novalise standing back behind them, ensconced by the tightly knit circle of her family.
Their gazes locked and it was rapturous.
His blood sang, and his magic raced toward hers in a reckless collision of black flames and bursting stars. He wanted her, all of her. He wanted to take her away from this extravagant gathering and drag her deep into the forest, where only the most ancient trees would be privy to their darkest secrets. Beneath the cover of moonlit branches and overgrowth, he’d unravel every layer of her, starting with that elaborate dress, until she came undone in his arms. Desire filled him, lording its might over him. The bond sizzled and sparked, alive with energy. A blush bled into her cheeks as she stared back at him, as he imagined laying her down in a shallow stream, cradling her on a bed of smooth river stones, and driving himself into her over and over again until she forgot her name.
Asher’s cock throbbed, urging him to make good on his imaginary promises. He took a step forward to do just that when someone snagged his arm.
He blinked, Novalise looked away, and the spell was broken.
Cyra held onto him, her eyes lit with curiosity. Her gaze darted back and forth between him and Novalise. “How did you know that Lady Novalise was behind us when?—”
A surge of relief spread through him as his sister’s inquisitive nature was silenced by the blaring of horns announcing the start of the ceremony.
Queen Elowyn glided toward the forest’s edge, flanked by six guards on each side. Her golden crown shaped like twigs and embedded with shimmering topaz glinted in the wash of moonlight. Slowly, she turned to her subjects. Despite the rush of excitement spreading through the crowd, her face remained impassive.
“Welcome, everyone, to the annual Midsummer Season.” Her eloquent voice coasted over them as tendrils of woodsy, earthy magic unraveled in the air. A radiant aura glittered around her as she spoke and her magic billowed. “As many of you know, the tradition of lifting the Veil began years ago in an effort to promote peace and prosperity between our land and neighboring realms. What started off as a celebration of the summer season soon became a fortnight of marriage proposals, alliances, and dare I say, love.”
Applause erupted while Asher casually stood with his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants.
Love was a tragic sentiment, promising only heartbreak and misery.
“Tonight marks the beginning of a festival spanning fourteen wondrous days.” The queen’s smile held an edge, like she was privy to a secret. “Without further ado, let the Season begin!”
