Page 152 of A Courage of the Chosen

Every time we shared the news, Elsie asked me if I was sure, reminding me that I wasn’t just marrying her. This union would make me a king.

“Your title means nothing to me, I only want you,” I replied, and she began sobbing so deeply I worried for her ability to breathe, until I forced her to match the rise and fall of my chest.

I’ve barely slept, thanks to the adrenaline coursing through my system. Instead, I watched Elsie slumber restlessly next to me, and thanked Dhia that I get to spend whatever is left of my life with the Seelie who has captured my entire being.

Separate rooms have been found for me at the request of both my mother, and the council. While we might be refusing a proper celebration, some traditions cannot be broken. And that means spending the night before our wedding apart.

I’m finishing up the last of the buttons on my shirt to head to the Caibeal, the palace’s chapel, where we’ll complete the Anamara bond, when the soft knock makes my heart leap into my throat.

It’s time.

Elsie is waiting in the hall, dressed in black pants similar to mine, and a pastel blouse, with thin straps that expose her delicate collar bone. The blond of Elsie’s hair is braided back, and there’s an air of hesitation that hangs over her.

Her eyes roam over the light-gray shirt I’ve chosen for the occasion, and her pupils dilate as she takes me in. I picked it knowing that she would likely appreciate the thin material, and the way it hangs off my shoulders. There’s something addictive about the way she looks at me.

“Ready?” I ask, and offer her my hand feeling a little smug that my choice has such an effect. She threads our fingers together, and her palm is warm when it connects with mine.

“Y-yeah,” she stammers.

We’re silent as we briskly walk through the halls toward the Caibeal, and with each step, I’ve never been more in love with Elsie, and never more assured that this is my path.

This is where I’m meant to be.

The door squeaks as I swing it open to unveil the room that Reyne has made sure is ready for us. There are a thousand candles gathered around the faceless statue of our goddess, and a single golden dagger resting on a pedestal in the middle of it all at Dhia’s feet. It’s night beyond the stained-glass windows, and the flickering golden glow steeps the woman at my side in a celestial beauty.

I tug Elsie inside, and she lets go of my hand as I lock the door behind us. She approaches the knife slowly, and as she rounds on me, that bitter scent that’s clung to her secret thickens, and her uncertainty volleys into the space between us. It’s tart where it sits at the back of my throat.

I stride forward until we’re a mere foot apart. “Elsie, you don’t have to do this.”

“I know. It’s not that.” She stutters out a breath.

“Then what is it?” I ask, tipping her chin up. The abject panic in her pale-green irises stops me short.

“I’m out of time,” Elsie mumbles to herself, stepping out of my hold. “Before we do this, there’s something I need to show you. I want no secrets between us if our souls are to be bound together and you’re to take me as your wife.”

My stomach plummets. She’s finally going to tell me what’s been plaguing her. But why now?

Elsie steps back again and I move to follow her. She stops me with a hand to my chest, and I place mine over it to hold her there. She maintains as much distance as she can while holding out her left hand.

Magic is summoned, her mist first, then the light. A tiny ball of it that crackles as she shapes it with her will.

I try to get her attention, but she stares at the orb floating above her palm, her arm trembling where it’s pushing into me.

“Elsie . . .”

“Look,” she interrupts.

I do as she says, seeing the same thing I always have—her brilliance—but after a second, something begins to change. The light magic grows edgier, more precise, and hairline fractures made of shadows begin seeping through it.

My head is quicker than my heart.

Tavish isn’t the only one who can wield both.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Elsie whispers as the first tear streaks down her face. My gaze darts between her magic, that bleeds with more Dorche power, and the lowered lashes that hide her away from me. “I was too afraid of what it meant.”

Elsie calls her magic home, and both her hands drop as her head dips, her shame coating us both. “I’m still fucking terrified, but I couldn’t allow you to give me a piece of your soul without knowing who I really am, Cal.”

Her use of my nickname lands somewhere low and soft, gutting me for more than one reason.