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“It’s kind of a dumb tradition, really.” To my surprise, though, it did mean something to me. My mother would have gone crazy over this and she would never know, which only made more tears fall.
“Is the weeping part of it?”
I laughed, watery, and pressed the heels of my hands into the corners of my eyes. “Apparently. Okay, let me get a grip here.” At least magical makeup didn’t run when you cried. “All right, I’m ready.”
“What do I do?” Rogue’s eyebrow winged up. At least he wasn’t nervous anymore, which helped immensely.
Feeling a bit silly, I held out my left hand and pointed to my ring finger. “You just slide it on this finger.”
“I did not magic this up, since you said it shouldn’t be made that way, so it might not fit. Is it against the rules to adjust the size that way?”
“That is well within the rules,” I replied, working hard not to laugh.
His magic whispered out, a tiny touch of black and blue, eddying around the ring as he slipped it on my finger. “Now what?” he asked, still holding my hand.
“That’s it.”
“No promises to go with it?”
“You already asked and I agreed, so that part’s done.” He looked unconvinced so I added, “The ring symbolizes the vow. It comes from an older tradition, where you make a vow and then never remove the ring until it’s complete.”
“So be it then,” Rogue affirmed and a bit of magic shimmered around us, cementing it into place. With a slight smile, he bent over my hand to kiss the ring, holding my gaze all the while.
“Rogue,” I breathed his name, groping for more words to express what this gesture meant to me and settled for something he’d once said to me. “You undo me.”
His eyes went to my cleavage, then roamed over the rest of me. “I would love to undo you from that dress, but we would be late to greet our guests.”
“Traditionally, my people would celebrate this moment with sex and champagne. Maybe chocolate-dipped strawberries too.” I raised my eyebrows at him, going for a convincing expression, but he only laughed.
“You are a terrible liar, my gorgeous Gwynn. When you mean to hide how you feel and what you want most, it’s clear as day in your mind. The feast will not last all night.”
“Why should this one be any different?” I groused.
“Because this is our home and we decide.”
I did like the sound of that.
*
Unlike the firstreception and banquet I’d attended at the Castle of the Dark Gods—again on Rogue’s arm, but this time with considerably more awareness of what was going on, not to mention feeling like I looked pretty fabulous—we did not circulate and mingle before sitting down. Probably why they’d all referred to it as a “reception” plus banquet before and “feast” this time.
Rogue seated me on his right at a carved wooden table on a raised platform that overlooked the football-field of a banquet room. Tall swathes of filmy color draped from the ceiling, banners without emblems, softening the stone walls. A group of assorted fae played instruments, adding a merry tune to the proceedings, though fortunately without the hypnotic crooning song they sometimes added.
I perched on the edge of the massive wood chair, which was heavier than I could move on my own, with arms that met the edge of the table if I wanted to reach my plate. Furniture built for noble fae with their long limbs and unearthly strength, not for on-the-short-side human women.
I glanced at Rogue and mentally tested the composition of the chair. Handmade and by some human man whose face I could nearly make out in my mind. Not magic. Rogue returned my look with an inquiring lift of his brows. Smiling sweetly, I changed the chair into something lighter, a bit higher, with a ledge for my feet to rest on, instead of dangling like a child’s.
He inclined his head in wordless agreement, altered his chair to match in general appearance and picked up my left hand, kissing the skin just above the ring.
Who said we weren’t getting better at communicating?
The guests began to file in, entering through the great doors—easily two stories in a human building—directly opposite and mincing down a long black runner, to bow and curtsy before us. To begin, most seemed to be the statuesque and willowy noble fae—all the best people—but the other castle denizens soon mingled in. Various sprites and pixies skipped through and paid homage in their ways. The petite fairies I thought of as dragonfly girls danced down the black carpet in their wispy gowns and adorable curls, filling the air with musical giggles. Some types of fae I didn’t recall having seen before and I tried to keep track, so as to add them to theFlora and Faunasection of my grimoire.
A page of Larch’s Brownie ilk stood by the doors, announcing them, but the names, most of which I heard as designations or descriptions anyway, washed into a blur after a while. If I’d been thinking, I would have had Athena nearby to record them all with her eidetic memory, so I could transcribe them into my list later. Letting my eyes travel over the room and the tables that filled as more guests paid their respects, I spotted Athena standing beside, of all things, a potted palm, Darling Hercules at her side. She saw me looking and gave me a jaunty thumbs-up.
Perfect. Then I frowned at her dress—a rainbow-hued gossamer dream that I knew she wouldn’t have willingly worn in a million years, but typical for a dragonfly girl outfit. She fingered the material, made a gagging gesture and shrugged.
It was a bit of a reach for me, across the great hall and with milling, chattering people between, but I concentrated and changed the dress to a deep amethyst velvet sheath that would complement her eyes. With a broad grin, Athena put her hands together in aNamasteposition and bowed.
