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“There is no officiant because this ceremony is between you and Meya,” she continued. “You will paint your vows on each other with runic ink, then we shall bathe you in the pure sealing magic of Meya. If your promises are true, the rune will bind to your skin. If you lie, the ink will scald you until you burn alive and die.”
“What!?”
Aeris was already off and rushing to get everyone into position. For the life of me, I didn’t understand her excitement. She was like a proud mother on her son’s wedding day. Was it a birdlike innocence that prevented her from seeing this was not a happy occasion?
“Why do this?” I asked softly. “Why offer me any deal?”
“I have answered this question.”
I tensed. “Tormenting me cannot be the reason you’re enduring this ceremony. We could’ve made the same bargain without all of th-this.” My voice cracked as one of the servants removed my robe, leaving me naked before his feasting eyes. “Infact, you could’ve countered with your true terms in the carriage, instead of making me believe you were taking me home.
“Why are you doing all of this to bind yourself to a woman you never wanted to marry?”
“Very well. If plain words do not suffice, I will tell you a story.” His gaze drifted off me to someone over my shoulder. He nodded and Aeris took her place beside me. Bradach took his place beside him. Both held those bowls of strange, white liquid.
“You may begin painting your promises on your mate,” Aeris said.
“How?” I asked. “I don’t know runic mag—”
Alisdair laced his fingers through mine. “Once upon a time, a century ago...” Dipping our hands in the cauldron, he laid my palm over his heart—stopping my breath.
Runic ink dripped down my skin onto his and spread, and kept spreading, skating down his chest in odd, twisting lines that grew and spawned more.
“How is it doing this?” I whispered. The runes were forming before my eyes, borne from words I didn’t need to speak to be true. Although my knowledge of runes was limited, I read one clear as day:betray.
I jumped when a light touch brushed my shoulder.
“There was a brash, young faeman from Sarabai,” Alisdair began, tracing his promise with surprising gentleness. “He staggered off the battlefield and found himself lost in the wilds of Lumenfell, cornered by the Taken.
“Desperately, he screamed for help, summoning his enemy to save him from a worse fate, and as his luck would have it, his cry was answered.” Alisdair traced a path along my shoulder blade, popping goose bumps in his trail. “A young woman—a faeriken—came to his rescue. She saved him from the Taken, then saved him again by hiding him from me.”
My lips parted to ask why he was telling me this, but the words didn’t come out. There was a seriousness belying his tone. One I was hearing for the first time. I wanted to know where it would take him.
“She stashed him away in an abandoned shack far from the village. She nursed him, fed him... and fell in love with him.” His fingers skated around my hip. The rune for possession drew just above my middle. I knew that one. Kirwan drew the same one night above Mama’s door. “When he was healed, she came to me. Begging me to let them go and build a life far from the war, the fighting, the prejudices. Far from the faelands of Elva.
“I said no.”
Alisdair pulled me close, erasing the scant distance between our bodies. I held my breath as he touched his cheek to my chest, peering over my shoulder to draw a rune on my spine.
“A fae and a faeriken? There was no life for them outside of Lumenfell. All that awaited them was pain and struggle. The gratitude of the faeman that turned into love, would morph again, becoming resentment and hate.” His grip tightened on my thigh. “She did not believe me. Convinced their love was true, she ran off with him in the night.
“It’s possible she did get to live her blissful, fairy-tale life for a short time. I’ll never know for certain,” he said, “because Gorban Salman murdered her a year after they fled.”
I froze. “What? Did you just say Salman?”
“That’s right.” His voice was a low, dangerous hiss. “That man was your father. He loved Raelina. He was desperate to be with her. That was until your grandparents announced they refused to give the throne to their daughter, and would instead bestow it on the man who wed her. They decided it should be theherowho survived the cursed lands, and faced me and lived to tell about it.
“They didn’t know he was already married. More so, that he was married in a ceremony like this one—bound by runic magic and blessed by the goddess Meya.”
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. If I could’ve done either, I would’ve run screaming. Something was happening, and it was not good.
“Divorce cannot end a marriage such as that”—he smiled—“or a marriage such as this. He was ineligible to marry the princess, become king of one of the wealthiest nations in Elva, or hold more power in his pinky than the strongest fae in the land. All because of Raelina.”
“No,” I whispered. “Please.”
“So he made a terrible, brutal choice to slaughter the wife no one knew about. No one but me.”
“Who... Who was she to you?”
