Page 75 of All the Chaos of Constellations
“Never thought I’d see you here.” Lord Reif Marintide stepped up beside him, a drink in one hand, his eyes already glassy from far too much indulgence. “I thought you hated these sorts of things.”
Asher stared at him, his expression blank.
“I live here,” he answered dryly.
“Hm.” Reif glanced around, squinting up at the spires protruding proudly from Asher’s house, as though realizing where he was for the first time. “So you do.”
He took another drink of his wine, then gestured widely, the contents sloshing over the rim of his glass. “Pity about Lady Novalise, don’t you think? Can’t believe Starstorm is marrying her off to that bastard of a prince.”
Asher’s stomach hollowed out. His heart stilled, and the air evaporated from his lungs. “What did you say?”
Reif shook his head, nearly losing his balance in the process. He righted himself quickly enough, pointing with one finger while barely holding onto his glass. “Of course you haven’t heard the news. You love books more than social affairs, but I’m surprised your sister didn’t mention it before.”
“Who?” Asher demanded, glaring down at the lord from House Azurvend. “Who was chosen for Lady Novalise?”
Reif met his gaze, the haze in his eyes suddenly clearing, as though the question had sobered him instantly. “I just told you…the prince.”
“There is no way Lord Starstorm would approve a betrothal between her and Prince Aspen, he’s?—”
“Not our prince.” Reif lifted one hand, nodding to something behind Asher. “Thatprince.”
Asher turned, already knowing who he was going to see, but praying to any god or goddess that it wasn’t true. He must have defied them in another life because when he spun around, there was Novalise.
She was decked in a gown that bled from icy purple to deep blue, the beauty of twilight before the sky gave way to nightfall. Rainbow moonstones dripped from her ears and her hair was woven into a braid with ribbons of silver intertwined throughout. She wore the same gold necklace as always, the eight-pointed star framed by crescent moons, the crest of House Celestine. And pressed in close, with shadows unraveling around him, was Drake Kalstrand.
That fucking prick.
Without thinking, Asher strode forward, pushing his way through the surging crowd. He had to do something. What, exactly, he wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was there was no way he could allow Novalise to marry Drake. People pressed in on all sides of him, desperate for a glimpse of Aeramere’s darling with the notorious shadow prince.
The music trailed off, and the dancing came to a standstill as Queen Elowyn and Prince Aspen appeared in his line of sight.
“Good evening, citizens of Aeramere and distinguished guests.” The queen began her monologue about the joys of the Season, but her words were a dull drone in the back of Asher’s mind. All he could focus on was Novalise, and the unease that rippled around her in waves so dense, he was shocked no one else could feel it. “As many of you know, the end of the Season is upon us, and there’s no finer way to close out the celebration of Midsummer than with a wedding.”
Damn it. He had to get to her. Now.
Asher nudged his way closer to the front of the gathering, but the queen continued her speech.
“Every year, the stars align, choosing a fae of Aeramere to bestow their many blessings. This year was no exception.” She gestured to where Novalise stood, fused onto the arm of Drake. There was no mistaking the way she curled into herself, preparing for the blow. “So, I am pleased to announce the marriage of Lady Novalise Starstorm Celestine to Prince Drake Kalstrand of Brackroth.”
Stilted applause engulfed him. A discerning sense of dread seemed to linger in the swell of partygoers, an undercurrent of mistrust. Tight-lipped smiles were met with troubled glances, a pretense of content behind the guise of coiled tension. This wedding wasn’t going to be a celebration of merriment and perpetual bliss, but rather the culmination of something far more sinister. Like a languid shadow on the prowl, ready to plunge their world into darkness.
Through the thin visible spaces between the bodies cramming into one another, Cyra caught his eye.
She mouthed the words, “Do something.”
Asher was on the move a second later, navigating the dense cluster of people and barreling into anyone who wouldn’t get out of his way. Just when he thought the tide would never break and Novalise would be swept away in a sea of well-wishers, the flood of fae parted, dumping him right in front of her and Drake.
“Lady Novalise.” Asher bowed, never taking his eyes off the shadow prince. “Your Highness.”
He could sense her eyes boring into him and, instinctively, he reached for her. “Might I have this dance?”
He didn’t care if there wasn’t any music playing at the moment.
Drake slid his arm around her waist, enveloping her, and Novalise sucked in a harsh breath. “I think you lost that privilege some time ago.”
Asher was fuming. He would not be dismissed, especially not in his own home. Damning the consequences, he ignored Drake completely. “Novalise, you must know?—”
Drake stepped between them, blocking her from his view. Taunting him. “You also lost the privilege of speaking with her as well.”
