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Iorworth.
The Treaty of Wessex-Iorworth.
The treaty struck with the most terrifying family in Avylon—Rainer’s ancestors. His family.
My eyes practically bulge out of my head, yet it makes perfect sense, considering what I’ve seen of him. Not to mention his court is the closest to the Gleam.
“You think you are so much better than me because you can heal,” Rainer spits.
“It’s better than scaring people to death.” Eoin’s lips tighten. His words aren’t said with cruelty as much as they are matter-of-factly. “At least one of us has useful magic.”
Rainer steeples his hands, trying to appear unaffected, but I see the way his jaw tics. There’s a fury in his eyes, directed at Eoin.
Ken reaches for a glass of wine and chugs it to the dregs, before planting it back on the table. “You know I don’t like all the quarreling when I’m sober!” He beckons for a servant who’s been lingering along the side wall, and requests more wine.
“Enough.” Rainer slams his fist on the table, rattling the glasses. I jump, gripping the edge of my chair nervously.
“Welcome to your first Ostara preparation, Alessia,” Sennah says cheerfully, as if these arguments are totally normal. “Hoorah!” Raising her glass, she clinks it with Ken’s freshly poured one.
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, fearcaller,” Eoin says, his tone light again. “Come to Terra Court, and we’ll teach you how to grow those pretty little roses you love so much.”
“What roses?” I whisper.
“Haven’t you seen the gardens?” Eoin asks me. I nod, my brows drawn tight in confusion as I think of the endless bushes of roses—hues of red, violet, pink. “Rainer has a thing for flowers—”
“Eoin,” Sennah hisses.
“What? He does a fabulous job, but he just can’t get his mother’s favorite roses right, and he’s too stubborn to let any elemental faeries help him. It’s the kind of male he is. He’d rather suffer alone in his pain than let anyone lend him a hand. He hates me for no reason other than the fact I can grow the one flower he can’t.”
Everyone’s quiet for a second, and when I meet the prince of fear’s eyes, I see an unexpected expression there—something akin to an apology. He bites his bottom lip, fiddling with his fork.
“What flower can’t you grow?” I ask.
“Sunset Roses,” Eoin says. “They’re a crossbreed. Actually quite easy to grow, especially if you know what you're doing, but alas—” He gives Rainer a pointed look.
He keeps speaking, but my ears ring and my head spins.
The words sink inside of me like a boulder in a lake.
Sunset roses.
I dream of Rainer and his sunset roses. Often. How could I possibly have known about his desire to grow them? That they were his mother’s favorite?
“I dreamt it,” I whisper. Rainer rubs the back of his neck and a blush stains his cheek. “I dreamt of you.”
Magic.
Again.
It has to be.
I don’t believe in coincidences—not like this.
Rainer tenses, his jaw tightening. Ken must have heard me, too, because he goes stock still, leaning forward in his chair.
“What does mo róisín mean, Rainer?” I demand.
I’ve never heard that phrase anywhere other than my dream. How could I hear it in my subconscious without hearing it in my waking life? Unless my dreams were somehow real all along. Perhaps he somehow used magic to enter my dreams or bring my dreams to life. I’m not sure exactly what my theory is, but I hold my breath as I wait for his response.
