Edon shifted next to me, taking in a deep breath.
“Nervous?” I asked.
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Just ready to get this over with.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Don’t pretend I hurt your feelings.”
“No, but maybe my pride.”
He chuckled. “That makes two of us.”
“How is your pride being hurt?”
“I’m marrying the avatar of an evil queen I’ve been trying to depose for years. You could call this a humbling experience.”
I went to elbow him, but he gracefully sidestepped, carrying it off like he was guiding me forward.
“Kneel,” Maeve said.
We both kneeled in front of her, our knuckles brushing.
“Kella, heir to the throne, daughter of House MacGreine, and Edon, chosen consort, son of House MacCuill, stretch forth your hands.”
Maeve grasped our outstretched wrists.
“Edon, son of House MacCuill, swear your oath to serve, protect, and honor the House MacGreine.”
“No. I will swear the traditional oath.”
Maeve’s grip tightened on my wrist.
“The queen said—”
“The traditional oath cannot be removed.”
“You cannot choose the laws you wish to follow.”
“But as the ruling council, the queen allows you a certain amount of leeway in her absence, does she not?”
Maeve glared at him. Edon glared right back.
“This is a simple choice, Maeve,” he said. “The traditional oath, or I revoke your permission to be within five feet of us and will kill her in front of you. How would your queen come back then?”
Maeve’s mouth worked. She looked over our heads to the onlooking council and back to us again, her mouth a grim line.
“Edon, son of House MacCuill, swear your oath to serve, protect, and honor Kella, daughter of House MacGreine, for the remainder of your life.”
“I swear.”
Maeve’s piercing blue gaze cut through mine like glass. “Kella, daughter of House MacGreine, swear your oath to protect and honor Edon, son of House of MacCuill so long as he fulfills his.”
“I swear,” I said, the words strangled.
“Then by your oaths” —Maeve lifted our hands higher into the air, joining them over our heads— “I now bind you.” Glowing strands of silver curled around our wrists and hands, a comforting and pleasant warmth emanating from them.
“And thus it shall be,” murmured Maeve.
“And thus it shall be,” repeated the council members in the room, each bearing a grave expression.
At that, the silver threads dissolved into mist, the light reflecting off of it at odd angles as it dissipated throughout the room.
A weight settled over me as I tried not to look at Edon. This is temporary, I reminded myself. Just temporary.
Edon turned toward me, a hint of a smile on his face. I frowned back at him. Becoming my consort was nothing to smile about.
“Cheer up,” he murmured, nudging me in the arm. “We’ve officially avoided a bloodbath. If that’s your last sane act, it’s still a good one to go out on.” The smile made more sense now. It wasn’t one of satisfaction, but of relief.
My stomach churned. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
He squeezed my hand once before letting it go. “You’re doing great. Just one more life-changing ritual, and then I’ll take you to a corner where you can puke away.”
“You’re an ass,” I said, my palm itching to smack him.
He smiled. “I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m sure you have.”
He grinned.
I scowled.
My stomach growled while Edon held my hand in the crook of his arm. Edon had shrugged on a silver and dark blue ensemble that complemented mine.
“You know that human males look ridiculous in robes, don’t you?” I said.
He arched a brow. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not human.”
As if I could forget.
“And anyway,” he added with a grin, “I don’t plan on looking like this for much longer.”
“Or,” I muttered, “you could end up looking like that forever.”
“Still holding onto that hope, huh?” he said.
I swallowed, forcing myself to be positive. It would work. It had to. My mom would hang onto the queen, the investiture would fail, and my mom would heal Caleb. Then I could live my life again—with Caleb—and leave this whole mess of investitures, fae queens, pixies, and elves far, far behind me.
A niggling thought worried my brain. What if something went wrong?
I shoved that thought away and focused instead on the red curtains framing the great hall’s entryway.
On either side, a large crowd had gathered. The only space left in the room was a narrow walkway that led to a dais. There, an ivory altar stood waiting, a silver scepter placed on top. Even from across the hall, I could see the staff was intricately wrought, though I couldn’t make out any details.
A sound similar to that of trumpets startled me, making me jump.
I looked up, sure I would find Edon laughing at me, but he merely clamped a hand over mine and stared at the altar, alert. His hand was clammy on my skin. I peered up at his stoic expression, surprised at the nervousness his face refused to betray. He didn’t look down.
Edon closed his eyes and said so softly that I almost didn’t hear him, “Did anyone ever tell you that the heir should be unconscious for this part?”
It rang a bell. “The principal said something about that happening when they drained an heir’s magic. But since I have none, Maeve said it was a moot point.”
“Yes, but even before the queen corrupted the investiture—before they drained the heirs—it was still common practice. It was to facilitate the transfer of magic—to make it less strenuous and allow the heir to wrap her magic around the new influx in order to control it.”
I fidgeted with the skirt of my dress, clenching and unclenching my hands in its folds. “Okay, but again, no magic, so—”
“Don’t worry,” Edon continued, as if he hadn’t heard me speaking. “I have no intention of draining you. But we’d have a better
