Page 82 of Atop the Faerie Throne
Mistress Poesy makes a face. “I wasn’t sure any of you wore dresses. Thought it was all armour.”
Prae smirks. “I’m an exception. Now, more importantly, do you happen to have any fairy magic that can turn this”—she holds up a large bolt of lime green velvet—“silver?”
There’s a moment where Poesy sizes Prae up with a critical eye, lingering on the mating marks on both of her arms, before nodding.
“I can do that.”
“How much?” Prae asks.
“Florian is paying,” Jaro calls through the closed door that he’s been guarding. “No arguments. The male has spent too many centuries hoarding his salary. You’re what, thirty?”
Prae mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Twenty-eight,” before she fires back. “I told those pompous princes to stop interfering an hour ago. That doesn’t mean you can do it on their behalf.”
“Lorcan, I was not ready!”Cressida objects, as she appears across from the small army of knights in the Temple courtyard.
I can barely see her past the glare of sunlight on all the polished armour, but I can definitely hear her.
“You mean you’d not finished smuggling the rest of your armoury into your corset?” Lore corrects with a cheeky grin, and I gravitate closer to the two of them. “Unfortunately, Kitarni said I couldn’t stab anyone here, so neither can you. We’ll go through withdrawals together.”
Cressida raises one dark, grumpy eyebrow, but she’s prevented from saying anything more when my redcap blinks away.
A small armoury? Really? Then again… everyone else here is armed, despite the towering columns and gentle chimes of the Temple around them promising peace and safety.
Is that because they’ve lost faith in the walls protecting them after the invasion? Or because one third of the trio being mated is a Fomorian princess who happened to invent the very weapon that brought the city to its knees?
If that news gets out, I don’t know if Florian’s and my combined influence will be enough to protect Prae. Right now, people are grateful to be alive, but grieving. Florian has somehow managed to forgive her, despite the number of friends he lost. Over the last week, their ‘arguments’—which all seem to devolve into raucous sex—have been heard all over the palace.
That’s part of why I arrived early. I want to catch my brother and make sure everything is okay. They’ve already mated, so it’s a little late to do anything, but this is a very public step…
Only, I still can’t find him. Gryffin is here, laughing with a troll in the far corner of the room, and Prae is still going through the purification ritual with Kitarni. So where is Florian?
I head towards the entrance, wondering if he’s running late, only for a cracked door and a flash of silver-blond hair to catch my attention.
Florian?
“Stay here,” I murmur to Bree, who’s been my constant shadow this morning. He doesn’t argue, but I feel his amusement as those ears twitch towards the door where I just saw my brother.
“He’s alone in there,” my púca tells me. “Do you think he’s having mating day jitters?”
“I’m not sure…” That doesn’t seem like Florian.
The room is some kind of meditation grotto, dark and peaceful and covered in shell mosaics. It’s also entirely empty save for my brother, who’s pacing it while running his hands through his hair.
“You’re nervous?” I guess.
“How can I be nervous if I’m already mated to her?” he asks in turn, and I raise a brow.
“That sounded awfully close to lying to your Nicnevin.”
“I would never?—”
“I know, I know. Relax.” I cross the room, adjusting the strap of his pauldron so it doesn’t stick out as noticeably. “But itisokay to be nervous. I was.”
“It’s a vastly different situation,” Florian protests, grabbing my fingers where I’m adjusting the buckle and stilling them. “I’ve known Praedra, in a way, for years.”
“As enemies,” I agree. “But not as mates. Not really.”
He lets out a small, self-deprecating laugh and releases my hand. “It’s stupid. I keep expecting her to just not show up or to try to stab me during the vows. It would probably be simpler if she did.”
