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Prologue
Cormac POV
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Cormac had three females on whom he placed the most importance: his mother, grandmother, and bride-to-be, and although Maeve had only been in his life for a short period, he had a plan.
He needed the Undine princess and her Cruinn bloodline. He wasn’t about to let her slip through his fingers, even if that meant he had to accept that the other males in his company might also be interested in her.
Cormac had given her space. He had deliberately stayed away from his chambers that evening, drinking into the early hours with the courtiers in the main hall. They drank to Cormac finally choosing a bride and returning to the land of the living. They laughed about the frosted sands and knocking Cruinn down a peg or two. Even if Cormac didn’t want to admit that every time he thought of Maeve’s expression that day, looking up from the bloody sand with her wide dark eyes full of betrayal, his stomach turned sour.
But it was war, and war was never without casualties.
Cormac accepted congratulations. The desecration of the frosted sands and the upcoming wedding were cause enough for celebration. The war was ending; he could feel it in his bones.
When the sun filtered through the surface and the glass dome on the ceiling reflected dancing light on the floor, Cormac knew he needed to strike while the iron was hot. He needed to gather Tormalugh, Rainn, and Shay and determine their intentions with Maeve. After all, he wasn’t blind. He had seen the care Rainn took with her and the longing in Tormalugh’s dark eyes.
Shay had made an off-hand comment, leading Cormac to believe that he had taken Maeve. Perhaps the others had as well. Cormac knew Shay planned to take Maeve for his own as well.
Shíorghrá had many purposes. Aside from love, companionship, and affection, having a true mate helped to balance magic and anchor it. Maeve might have more than one Shíorghrá; her blood was Cruinn, after all, said to be descended from the gods. No one would know until she reached her magical majority—as she had warned Cormac more times than he could count. Maeve Cruinn was twenty-five years old and determined to play the child because of some ritual. Merfolk didn’t have to migrate to find their magic; it came with years of practice. Just another reason why the Mer were superior to the Undine.
Cormac was still drunk as he made his way towards his chambers, determined to have it out with the others and finally speak candidly about the pearlescent female.
He didn’t need to knock; Tormalugh and Rainn appeared deep in conversation outside his bedroom door, their voices hushed but heated.
Cormac felt a sloppy smile pull at his lips. “Gentlemen,” he said, his tail flicking as if it had a mind of its own. “Discussions are to be had.”
“Are you drunk?” Rainn wrinkled his nose.
Cormac’s winked, but the movement was slow and clumsy. “Can’t I celebrate my bride and upcoming wedding with a few beverages?”
“Most weddings require consent from both parties,” the Kelpie muttered darkly.
Cormac’s brows disappeared into his hairline. “What did you say?”
The Kelpie’s eyes were so dark that there was no white around them, an unnerving and unending night. Cormac had once found it unsettling, but he and Tormalugh had become allies as the war had drawn them closer. That was why he was shocked by the typically impassive male’s reaction.
“Is she in there?” Cormac gestured to the closed door.
Tor and Rainn exchanged a glance.
“She’s sleeping,” Tor’s reply was clipped.
Frowning, Cormac shook his head. His thoughts slipped away like an eel. “And the nymph?”
“He isn’t with you?” Tormalugh raised a brow. “We assumed he was in the harem at your side.”
“I don’t have a harem,” Cormac slurred. “My father did. Does. There are women down there. It would be cruel to ask them to leave the keep when they’ve lived their entire lives here.”
“Your father’s harem?” Tor was skeptical.
Cormac waved away his concern. “How is Maeve? Did she sleep well?”
Rainn bit back a smirk. “She sure did.”
Unable to make heads or tails of whatever cryptic mood the Selkie had donned, Cormac gestured to the hall. “We have much to discuss.”
“Like your impromptu engagement,” Tor sniped.
