With Donnacha, however, the idea of it wasn’t so bad. She didn’t think he would rush her or focus on himself so much that he lost sight of her fear. She thought, maybe, he’d listen to her.
Donnacha’s lips shifted into a sad smile, and he pulled back. “I don’t think you’re ready yet, anyway.”
“I think I might be.”
“Might be isn’t going to cut it for me, darling. I want you to know down to your bones that you want me. And that’s okay if you’re not ready yet. I will wait for you until I know for certain you aren’t pushing yourself to do something that will only make things worse. You mean a lot to me, Elva. I can’t even explain why or how much, but I don’t want to ruin things just because I desperately want to touch you.”
She sighed in happiness. This man wasn’t trying to make her forget the things that had happened. Instead, he wanted to dull the blade of the memories until they didn’t slice at her soul anymore.
Elva leaned forward and pressed her cheek against his. “What are we going to do?”
“The princess didn’t tell you the wedding is tomorrow, did she?”
Elva shook her head.
“Then here’s the plan. You gave her a legendary sword, or at least one she believes to be legendary. I’m going to tell her that the Seelie Court only allows a man to marry the strongest fighter in the room. She has to battle you for me.”
That wouldn’t be so hard. She could fight a troll. “All right.”
“That easy? You want to fight a troll for me?”
She pulled back so he could see the fierce expression on her face. “If you want to me to fight an entire kingdom of trolls to get you out of here, I would do it. I’m not afraid, Donnacha. Let her fight me and see what it is really like to battle with a warrior.”
He gave her an equally feral grin. “So be it. Let the battle begin.”
20
Elva held the cloak against her face and hoped none of the trolls surrounding her would recognize the hunchbacked figure as the faerie princess who had made such waves at the ball. The crowd was enough to hide her, and many were wearing cloaks to stop the rain from pouring down onto them. She’d stood in line with the others for hours, waiting to get into the castle.
The wedding was today. Finally, after all this time, she was going to get him out of this place or die trying. Considering the size of the trolls around her, Elva feared that she was chasing death. But it was worth it. If she succeeded.
The crowd moved forward the last step and into the castle she went. Elva weaved through the waiting figures. She was much smaller than the other trolls. Perhaps they thought she was a child because most of them moved aside for her the moment she slipped by.
Or perhaps none of them wanted to stand in the front where the wedding had begun.
The troll princess stood next to Donnacha on a dais in a garish white dress that flounced around her. It floated around her waist, held up by obvious threads connected to her head where her meager hair had been wrapped in a small bun.
The Troll Queen stood in front of them, holding up a rather worn and dusty book that might have once been used for a wedding. Elva recognized the golden letters on the front. Faerie language, and ones only the Tuatha de Danann could read. Which clearly meant whatever the queen was saying were not actual wedding vows that would bind a faerie to another.
Donnacha was wearing the same suit he’d worn at the ball. They must not have had anything else to give him.
His eyes darted through the room every now and then. She watched them shift until he finally caught sight of her. The tension in his shoulders eased a little, then he nodded at her.
Clearing his throat, Donnacha interrupted the proceedings. “There is one last thing, your majesties.”
The Troll Queen stopped mid-sentence and narrowed her eyes on him. “We don’t have time for that, I’m afraid.”
“We must. There’s a tradition amongst the dwarves that the bride must fight for her husband.”
“Fight?” The troll princess placed a hand on her hip and shook the bun on top of her head. “I’m not fighting anyone for you. I already won you, fair and square.”
“It’s not fighting for me, your majesty. It’s merely tradition. Of course, the more powerful an opponent you fight, the more renowned you are throughout the dwarven kingdom.”
The Troll Queen threw her head back and laughed. “You haven’t given up yet? Do you really think I’m going to let my daughter fight someone of your choosing? Absolutely not. Let’s get on with this. We’ve already catered to your desires far more than we should have.”
Donnacha shrugged. “Fine. We can be married in the eyes of the Seelie Court, but the dwarves will never consider us married. They will come for me.”
Again, the Troll Queen looked unimpressed. “Let them come. I’ve never been afraid of a dwarf.”
“You should be,” Donnacha said, his shoulders squaring as he drew himself up to his peak height. “They will come for me. They will fight, and your kingdom will never have peace unless you do this.”
“I don’t care. Trolls enjoy fighting, or have you forgotten that?”
“The dwarves do as well. And we have forges that can make blades unheard of before, blades that could cleave the head off any troll.”
The Troll Queen chuckled. “You aren’t scaring me, Donnacha. I’m not interested in your little games. We’ll proceed.”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t care if you’re married to my daughter or not. If you refuse to proceed with this, that’s fine. You’re still her gift, and she can still do with you as she pleases.”
For a moment, Elva thought they’d lost all control
