Destined for the Fae King (Courts of Faery #3)

Chapter 3

A s I’d hoped, the air on the balcony is a touch cooler, and a slight breeze does wonders at calming me down.

“Exactly.” But even as I say it, I find myself turning my head to glance inside at the dais.

My shoulders droop a little when I find it empty. I kind of hoped I had his attention somehow, but maybe I was just imagining things.

Either way, I’ll be introduced to the royal family soon enough. As part of the opening ball, all the candidates will appear before the royal family one by one and declare their intention to compete for the king’s hand. The king will accept each one, inviting them to try to be his queen. It’s all a formality, or so I was told, part of the ritual that begins the competition, but that brief moment and presentation will be more important for me than all the rest. It will be my first impression, my first introduction. God help me if I trip on my dress and fall or something. Knowing my luck, that could totally happen. At least I don’t have some long speech to memorize. I just have to say a few simple words and perform a ridiculously formal curtsy straight out of the history books.

Yeah, good thing I didn’t keep drinking that wine .

We wander back inside a few minutes later, lured by the fae music. Uncle Mathias finds us there, drops some comment about looking for us everywhere, and shoos us toward the dais.

“It’s almost time for the presentation,” he says while expertly weaving us through human and fae alike in search of a closer spot.

My chest grows tight, and suddenly I wish I had kept drinking the wine.

A hush rolls across the assembled. My uncle appears not to notice—either that or he ignores it—but for me, the change in tone and mood is impossible to miss. Even the hypnotic music quickly falls away to nothing. Hostage of the sudden quiet, I follow the direction of the crowd’s attention toward the dais. All thoughts vanish from my head.

Standing front and center is a male whose presence I could never miss or mistake, even without the golden crown reaching toward the ceiling in wavering points with the rubies slotted into it. In person, Vasilius, King of Fire, is even more regal and imposing than the portrait I studied, and that’s saying something. The art alone was mesmerizing. Vasilius’s strong, square jaw is tilted up as he regards the assembled, a half smile playing about his lips. The hair that falls around his shoulders is a shade brighter than Lysandir’s and even more varied with streaks of gold and burnt umber that make it look like living flame. And then there’s his stature, tall even for a fae and broadly built in the action-hero sort of way that screams rippling muscle and bulging biceps, even if I can’t see much of his golden skin with the pristine attire he wears—similar to Lysandir’s and yet somehow more, though I can’t say exactly how their outfits vary. Maybe it’s simply the way the king fills it out.

A flush creeps up my neck.

This is the man I’m supposed to marry .

Share his life, his bed.

I squeeze my thighs together to stifle the sudden warmth there. Being queen certainly would come with perks if I got to wake up next to that every morning.

The king is not alone on the dais. Lysandir is back, standing just off to the king’s side and a few steps back, next to an older woman wearing a crown as well. She must be his mother. And though the little I’ve learned puts her age in the nineties, from this distance, she still seems strong and hale, even leaning a bit as she does on what might be a cane—it’s hard to tell from my vantage.

Two lines of fae guards in their full crimson regalia descend from the wide dais into the crowd before the king. I stretch onto the tips of my toes and lean around the people in front of me to try to catch a glimpse of whatever they’re doing.

“What are they up to?” I whisper.

Uncle Mathias steps up next to me. “Preparing for the acceptance ceremony.”

Now that he says it, I realize the guards have been moving people back to make a wide-open space before the dais.

“Are you ready?” my uncle asks, barely a whisper.

It’s time then.

In minutes, I’ll enter the contest for the king’s hand.

I pull my shoulders back and give a stiff nod. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” he replies. “Let’s move closer to the front.”

Aunt Dalia has joined us, and the four of us continue to weave through the crowd until we’re almost to the edge of the open space before the royals. The press of bodies is thicker here, so much so that I can barely move without touching someone and my head is swimming from the riot of perfumes I’ve drifted through to get here .

No sooner are we there than the king lifts his hand, calling for silence. Not that he needs to. The quiet is so unnaturally oppressive already no one in their right mind would break it with more than the swish of fabric, click of heel on the marble floor, or breathy whisper.

The king’s smile broadens before he lowers his hand and begins. “Thank you all for coming today.”

His voice is rich and warm like the air of his court, the kind that’s pleasing to the ears and feels like it should be heard over a glass of whiskey while seated near the fire.

“My dear mother, your Dowager Queen Elaine, wishes to see me wed to a human bride before she departs this plane.” He shifts his attention to her, and though I’m no expert, the affection shining in his eyes seems genuine, nor did I miss that he called her mother rather than stepmother or something else, though she’s not the woman who birthed him. From what I’ve learned, his own mother passed many years ago, but the king still seems to have found affection for his late father’s third bride, the mother of his brother, Lysandir.

“To honor her wish, we have invited the noblest families of our human friends to send a daughter of their house to enter The Choosing, continuing the tradition that our court has followed for generations. These women will reside here in the palace until my mother, my advisors, and I have determined which one will make the best queen.” He leans in, almost like he’s telling a joke. “And who will hopefully provide a few heirs for our great court.”

This elicits a roll of quiet laughter from the crowd and an awkward chuckle from me . Kids. Of course that would be part of the deal. I shake my head, trying to clear the sudden surge of unease making my bite my lip. But that’s what this contest is. Not just a crown. It’s marriage, kids, a new home, and entirely new life in a new world.

I wanted that, didn’t I? Didn’t I dream of it once?

I wrap my arms around myself. But I’m no one, really, not like some of these women, who have probably been preparing for it their whole life. There’s no way I’ll win. In fact, I’ll be lucky if I’m not the first one sent home. Once the shiny newness of me wears off, I’ll be done for if I don’t find some other way to stand out and claim the king’s attention.

“However, there is one change we must make to The Choosing.” The king’s expression grows serious, earning an answering chorus of whispers. “The Unseelie have grown in power recently, endangering the Seelie courts and going so far as to kidnap the human mate of the King of Air.”

It’s news we’ve heard. Even me, on the fringes of coven society. Such a thing is a headline for the ages. A mate, a partner, especially a human one, would be one of the most beloved and protected people within the court, yet the Unseelie kidnapped her. Faery is supposed to be safe. A place where humans are treasured and given gifts and an easy life in exchange for the fact that our humanity gives power to fae magic. No human expects to be threatened or taken by boogiemen in the night. It’s simply unheard of. Or it was.

“We cannot be too careful with the safety of our human friends,” the king is saying when I focus back on his words. “Especially one who may be a future queen. As a result, any woman who enters into The Choosing shall be bonded to me until my chosen is crowned.”

This is new information to the crowd, eliciting a rush of replies, even a few barks of outrage .

“I know.” The king raises his hands, calling for quiet, which settles much more slowly and uneasily than before. “Such bonds on humans are an old and ill practice. Forbidden in this court.”

“Surely the wards will keep them safe,” some brave individual calls out.

Vasilius focuses his gaze on the direction of the sound. “So the Court of Air believed too, but the Unseelie have a null, a powerful one. Wards are nothing to a null. However, our guards know of this threat and will be on alert. We all will. But the bond is a further precaution to make sure none of these beautiful ladies are taken if this Unseelie threat should slip past our notice.”

He pauses, giving time for the rationale behind his words to sink in, and the weighty silence seems to have its effect as people look to one another, a few nodding in resigned acknowledgement.

A bond is…inconvenient for most. But for me, it might be a good thing. Even if I’m the king’s last pick, I get to stay here until the competition is done and the queen is selected. I can enjoy Faery, experience it like I’ve always wanted to, and no Unseelie null is going to steal me away.

“But that’s not all,” the king begins again, drawing all attention back to him. “We cannot bind all humans to me. It would be improper and require too much power. It pains me to say it, but I cannot guarantee the safety of any humans who reside here. You will be a target to the Unseelie. They need humans more than ever to revive their magic, and their new so-called king will no doubt have his subjects trying to acquire them by any means necessary. Our human friends are always welcome here, but for your own safety, I recommend you return to your world until this threat is dealt with. And deal with it swiftly we shall.”

He raises a fist in the air, fire swirling around it a brilliant display of reds and golds. Guards around the room echo the gesture, igniting the air with a flurry of sparks and color. The fire vanishes as he lowers his arm back to his side.

“The timing is far from ideal, but we do what we must for the future of the court.” He looks to Dowager Queen Elaine and gives a nod.

My chest grows tight. She must not have much time left, despite the look of health clinging to her aged form. Why would they bother to hold this competition now unless they didn’t believe they had time to delay in fulfilling her last wish?

“With that, we shall call forth the human houses and allow each great house the chance to have one daughter enter the competition to become my queen. If any wish to decline their invitation given the circumstances, we understand.” The king shares another look with Elaine before nodding to a dark-skinned fae with pale silver hair who has stepped to his side.

This fae—a top advisor, Uncle Mathias reminds me—shares more of the details about what will transpire. When a daughter of the house is formally accepted by the king, she will be bound to him on the spot, the king using his magic with that of his advisors to create a temporary bond that should release upon the choosing of his queen. I don’t miss the careful wording. Should release. Because I have a feeling they’re unsure, a sympathy that Selena shares in whispered confidence.

“I told you not to back out on me, but you totally can if you need to,” she says as the first of the houses is called upon, leaning in close enough and whispering so her father can’t hear. “We can run away together. They can’t make us enter if we both refuse.”

But I can’t. I won’t. I’ve come this far, and I won’t be seen as a coward. Not now.

“I’m doing it.” The answer is as much for myself as her. It’d be a lie to say there’s not a part of me screaming to turn and run right now before I make a terrible mistake, but I’m nothing if not stubborn. Besides, it’s not just me I have to think about. My mom and brothers need my uncle’s support. Mom mostly. My brothers have been excelling in sports, and college scholarships look promising. But Mom? I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her in my Uncle Matias’s good graces.

No, I committed to this, and I’m going to see it through.

Houses are called forward. Young women representing the named house kneel before the king. They’re bound to him with a display of magic that resembles golden strands of light being wrapped around their wrist before winding around the king’s as well. Only one house declines the invitation, an older woman stepping up before the king and layering on an apology so thick that the king looks more exhausted than disappointed when she finally retreats.

“House Rivera.”

The pronouncement rings through the room, sounding more a condemnation than an invitation.

I swallow the sudden knot in my throat.

“That’s you.” Uncle Mathias has stepped to my other side and takes my hand firmly in his, like he planned to drag me up there if I changed my mind. Actually, he probably would.

But the last thing I need right now is to make a scene, so I paste a pleasant smile on my face and walk with him to edge of the circle of onlookers, fae and humans alike parting to let us through. There I leave him and continue alone. It’s easier now as I stare at the king, focusing on his strong jaw, his upturned lips, and the ruby dangling from one pointed ear.

His presence beckons like the symbol of his court, warm and inviting, and it’s entirely too easy to curtsy, bow my head, and recite the words I practiced over and over in my head in preparation for this moment. “I am Mira, daughter of House Rivera, here to pledge myself as a candidate of The Choosing. May I—”

“No.”

The sudden exclamation steals the rest of my speech and pulls a loud gasp from the crowd at my back. I snap my head up just as Lysandir jumps off the last step of the dais to stand beside the king.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the king snaps at his brother.

But Lysandir isn’t look at him, only at me. Blazing shock and fury scald me where I stand. I can’t help but wobble as I right myself from my curtsy and stare in horror between the brothers.

“This woman has never been in Faery before today.” Lysandir regards me like a bug to be squashed. “Yet now she wants to try to become your bride, the Queen of Fire?”

“This is true?” the king cocks his head to the side as he appraised me.

“It is,” the prince replies. “There are other candidates here. The competition will not suffer for the lack of one more.”

My hands ball into fists. I’m not some rotten apple in the bowl to be tossed into the yard.

“Let me explain.” Uncle Mathias’s footfalls are heavy behind me, but I throw out my arm to wave him off.

“I will explain,” I say.

I’m done letting men talk about and over me. I take a step closer to the king, who stares at me with his arms crossed over his chest.

My uncle halts in my periphery. Lysandir finally yields his attention, and I stare him down in defiance before turning my focus back to the king. It’s him I have to convince. It’s his hand I’m trying to win after all. The pause gives me a moment to leash the fury wanting to spill off my tongue toward the prince. I’ll deal with that later .

“It’s true,” I start. “This is my first day in Faery. However, I have long wished to come here and be among your court. It’s been a dream of mine since I was a child and first learned that I held the gift and could see fae. But before I was of age, my father passed away unexpectedly.” Just thinking about it causes my throat to try to close up. I suck in a deep breath before continuing. “My mother did not handle it well. My younger brothers either.” Or me, if we’re being totally honest. I was lost for a long time. “They needed me. It was my duty to help my family, to care for them, and to be the best daughter I could. I put aside my desires to support them for as long as I could, but when we learned you were seeking a queen, I could not miss the opportunity to follow my dreams and prove my worth.”

In the pause where I gather the rest of the thoughts trying to force their way out, the king nods, urging me to continue, so I do.

“I am Mira, daughter of House Rivera, here to pledge myself as a candidate of The Choosing. May I bring honor to my house and the best of myself to your court and your people,” I add, finishing out the portion of the entry pledge I was unable to complete before the prince’s interruption. “I believe I have qualities that would make a strong queen. I think my time caring for my family has uniquely prepared me toward that end, as I have much experience putting others before myself as a good queen should. I ask for your permission to attempt to prove myself to you in The Choosing.”

The king’s crossed arms fall loose. He gestures to me as his expression smooths out into a smile. “Why would I reject such a pledge?”

Lysandir takes up the mirror of his brother’s former stance. “It’s still most unusual. There is nothing in our records—”

“And why should there be?” the king replies. “Only the names of those who compete are recorded, not the circumstances around their entry. Much about this Choosing is unlike those of the past.”

The dowager queen rises from her chair and steps forward with the aid of her cane, waving off the fae who steps up to assist her. Both brothers turn as if they sense her movement. She folds both hands over the top of her cane and leans onto it, her heavy crimson dress swirling around the bottom of it almost like it has a life of its own.

She pins me with a gentle look at odds with her regal appearance. “Let her enter if she is so determined.”

Lysandir whirls toward me. “Mira.”

The way he says my name is a plea, but for what, I can’t say. To quit? To leave? But that makes no sense, and there’s no way I’m quitting now, especially not since the dowager gave her approval. She spoke in favor of no one else—not that anyone else had this kind of issue—but I still have to believe that’s a good thing.

“Do you find some fault in her, my brother?” The king’s boot taps on the ground as he waits for an answer. “Other than being new to court?”

The prince stares at me, and I hold my breath, waiting. The king may have asked the question, but I’m desperate for the answer.

Lysandir’s gaze locks with mine. “No.”

Breath slips from my lips in a rush . No. And he can’t lie. No fae can outright. My brows pinch together. Then why? I mouth before I can stop myself. At least I didn’t speak it aloud.

Lysandir pinches his eyes closed as if in pain and turns away, returning to the dais with heavy steps.

“Lady Mira Rivera.” The king holds out his hand to me. “I accept you into The Choosing. ”

The grin on my face now is genuine as I place my hand in his. His touch is warm and softer than I imagined, yet there’s no doubting his strength as he clasps my hand in his and his advisors hurry down the stairs of the dais to surround us.

I don’t know if my uncle remains nearby or if he retreats to the crowd. My attention is not for him, only for the king whose presence and acceptance has me glowing from the inside.

The advisors begin the binding spell, and I can’t help but gasp at the tickle of golden magic that winds around my wrist like spider silk. The glowing threads circle me a few times before they wind the same strand around the king’s wrist, right over a golden tattoo of leaping flames encircling his arm. The working glows brighter before tightening. Just when I expect to feel it cinch around my wrist, the magical threads vanish into my skin, leaving a warm tingle in their wake. Where once was just tanned skin, a tattoo like the king’s but smaller now encircles my wrist.

I am bound.

There’s no turning back now. No rejecting me. I will prove myself worthy. I will and show everyone who doubted how wrong they were. It’s those feelings that bolster me as I beam with pride at the king and bask in his glowing appraisal.

The thing is done, and I curtsy once more before turning away to return to the crowd. But as I raise my head, there’s one other I can’t help but search out and find—Lysandir. He doesn’t look at me. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s trying very hard not to as he stares at the wall, his face half turned from mine.

He’s a quandary. An enemy? He surely doesn’t want me to win his brother’s heart and become queen, but why? How did I make myself so repugnant to him so fast?

Like a dark cloud, he shadows my moment of glory, and finally I turn my back on him.