“As the night falls,” Adaia says as she steps forward, fire spinning to life in her hands, her skin brightening as if she’s shaken off my shadows, “we three queens offer our protection against all of those who hold wicked and sinister thoughts in their hearts. We three queens offer protection, light and strength. Blessed be.”
“Blessed be,” echo Lucidia and Maren.
The other two set their torches to their bonfires, but Adaia waves her hand and flames shoot up in the dry kindling, consuming it like a blazing inferno.
Power. Light. Protection.
It makes for a flamboyant show and she’s reveling in this moment.
I exchange a glance with Prince Kyrian of Stormlight from across the clearing. He offers me a faint smile and an arched brow. Adaia couldn’t have been blunter if she’d tried—in her mind, both Kyrian and I are an abomination, an unnatural blight on the Seelie world.
Queens rule.
The line of power is passed through the matrilineal line.
And if she had her way, she would crush us back into the swamps she suggests we both come from.
We three queens.
Indeed.
Cheers erupt through the gathered fae as the bonfires roar. Music strikes up; a merry jig. And then a host of the fae are being swept onto the grassy plain before the fires.
It’s like a discordant note against my soul. I’m still cold. Still distant.
I need to get moving to force the blood through my starved veins.
“Where are you going?” Thalia asks as she darts in my path. “Don’t you dare simply vanish. We’re supposed to be waiting for the princess of Ravenal.”
“I need a moment.”
“Just dance with Princess Lucere, Thiago. Once.” Thalia’s eyes promise murder if I ruin her plans. “Talk to her. That’s all we’ve promised. You may like her.”
This was the price I promised to pay all those years ago when I took the throne. Anything for my people. Anything for my mother’s kingdom.
Anything for those who serve me.
“Thalia.” Just give me a fucking moment.
Her face brightens into a wide smile. “Here they come. Paste a smile on your face. Picture Adaia sipping on shepherd’s rot, if that helps. Be smooth. Be charming.” She gives me a look. “I know you have it in you.”
Too late to make an escape. I square my shoulders. So be it. Let’s get this over with.
But my steps are slow, my heart like lead in my chest, as I start toward the Ravenal delegation with Thalia on my arm.
They see me coming.
A young woman straightens abruptly as if she sucks in a sharp breath. She wears white from head-to-toe, and her long, raven hair is bound into a glossy mound atop her head. Not a single strand of it dares hang loose.
Regal. Beautiful. Daring.
Princess Lucere.
I swallow the hard lump in my throat and force a smile to my lips. “She looks like an ice princess.”
“She’s… reserved,” Thalia admits.
“And how are you all going to get along with her?” There’s a camaraderie within my court that feels like home. To throw this walking icicle into their midst will dash away those careless smiles, and teasing tones.
It’s my one respite.
The one place I can simply be.
“If you can manage, we can manage. Now, is that your best smile?”
I shake my head. She’s incorrigible—
And just at that moment, the dancers part and a woman appears as if she’s stepped directly from my dreams.
Her.
My breath catches in my chest and somehow I can’t move.
A woman gowned in starlight. Her skirts are of the darkest blue, with diamond chips woven through the gauze so it almost seems as if she glimmers like the night sky. A silver mask gleams with gemstones, catching the light as she tilts her face to the bonfires.
It’s not the dress that captures my attention.
It’s not the mask.
It’s not even her beauty.
It’s the shape of her mouth and chin—
The same mouth that’s been haunting my dreams for centuries.
I can’t move. I can barely breathe.
Is it a mirage?
Is it her?
Is she the promise of light that Maia sent to me so long ago?
I have to know.
“Thiago?” Thalia’s voice is distant behind me as I plunge through the dancers, searching for the woman of my dreams.
Nothing else matters.
4
Iskvien
The music takes my breath away as fae leap and dance. My mother’s celebrations are hedonistic in every way, but there’s something raw and powerful about the sound of that music. It sings a song of wild magic.
Light the bonfires against the ancient darkness.
Sing and dance until morning, when dawn lights the skies and we are finally safe.
Breathe, laugh, kiss. Joy will shield us from the Wild Hunt. Laughter will make the Erlking’s toes tap. Music will confound his hounds, and tempt the Erlking from his hunt...
There is no Wild Hunt anymore. There hasn’t been for years, with the Erlking and his cohort locked away. He used to hunt the world on nights like these, when the Veil thins, stealing away fair maidens and youths.
But the tradition remains.
I once asked Nanny what he did with those he stole and she told me the story was not for my ears.
Though a heated blush stole through her cheeks and she leaned close and whispered, “They say what he did to them ruined them. He would steal them away for a year and a day, until the Veil next thinned. They would return from his magic court, but they were never the same. They begged to return. They found no comfort in our fae foods, no pleasure in our touch. They became hollow and empty, and could only find solace in music and dancing. But what the stories don’t say is that foolish young maidens ventured out on those nights when the winds howled, desperate to be claimed as his tribute. Because the Erlking is everything powerful and wild, dangerous and tempting. Dance to distract him, Vi. He loves the dance. He loves our music. It’s the one thing that
