Alder stood, drawing Mireille near him as he stared at the queen. “I no longer care what you have to say. I will break our bargain, and the law will protect me. You intend to take Rivenwilde either way, but you cannot prevent our union.”
A loud, harsh breath came out of the queen. Her arms had shifted wide, but Alder was right, she could not attack him or Mireille. They were all under bargain. And as for the people they cared about, well, the queen was a guest on Rivenwilde land. She was as bound as Alder.
He turned to the officiant, a tall man in ceremonial robes who did not appear in the least ruffled by the goings on. “Wed us.”
The officiant nodded, placing one hand on his chest and raising the other where Alder and Mireille’s were joined. The dais cracked in half.
“You cannot marry her!” Maeve screeched.
It was an actual, literal screech, and the entire crowd lurched backward.
Something changed in Alder’s expression; he looked from Maeve to Mireille. She squeezed his hands tighter; there did not seem to be time to explain before the curse clock ran out, and Maeve had no intention of allowing Mireille to say it. Alder might not understand why the queen was so angry, but he was certainly clever enough to see that if that if she wanted to prevent the ceremony so badly, he should complete it, even if it only meant it might force her to act against him and break fae law.
He pulled Mireille against his chest, eyes on the queen, and ordered, “Do it.”
The officiant began to speak but Maeve shrieked, “Cease, you fools!”
They did not cease. The ceremony carried on.
Maeve’s chest heaved in a great wave.
Alder shoved Mireille behind him, commanding the officiant not to stop for anything.
With every word, Maeve breathed harder, until her body began to thrash. A screech tore through the air, and in the crowd several candles dropped to the ground, guttering out as fae scattered, some to safety, others to stand by their prince. Nisha herded Thomas and the other humans behind her, swords drawn, as Kin frantically signed toward the courtiers near the dais.
Noal calmly released the buttons of his coat.
Maeve’s form warped and grew, twisting itself into a shadow creature like the one that had attacked at the sacred pond, but far, far worse. The remaining fae spread out into fighting stances while others watched from the shelter of the trees.
Mireille wasn’t certain even the trees were safe. They swayed with the rumblings of magic, their tall trunks creaking and groaning in an unearthly way.
The creature that was Maeve stood twice as high as any in the crowd and knocked two of the largest fae near the dais aside with such force they landed in the distant shadows. The thing charged, and Alder moved for it.
Mireille had to stop him; they needed to finish the ceremony.
Too fast, the creature rose on its unfathomable haunches, long, knife-sharp talons bursting from its shadow hands. Alder’s own hands drew back, but he was too close. The beast would tear him to shreds.
Mireille moved without thought, throwing herself between Maeve and the prince. A roar tore through the air, echoing off the trees bordering the lane. Shadowy claws rested a hair’s breadth from Mireille’s throat.
She stared up at the monster. “The laws of your land may allow you to act first, be punished later, but you and I have an agreement sealed by bargain. I have done exactly what you asked of me. You cannot harm me, nor can you harm my father, my kingdom, or the people of Norcliffe.”
Mireille took hold of Alder’s arm where he stood at her back, his chest rising and falling in angry, violent breaths. Her jaw tightened. “You may bring no harm to those I love. And I love the prince.” She felt Alder melt against her, the way his body and his magic seemed purr in welcome and regard. He might believe his reign was about to come to an end, but it was clear he treasured the moment nonetheless. He was barely touching her, but she had never felt more embraced.
Mireille vowed, “Soon, the Rive will come down, and Rivenwilde will ally itself with Norcliffe, and Westrende, and even the kingdom of Nordhelle.”
The statement was not truly hers to make, but no one called her bluff, so she went on. “When the officiant finishes the binding and we are wed, what price must you pay to Alder?”
“Her lands will be forfeit,” Nisha said from the steps of the dais. “They will belong to Alder, but Rivenwilde will remain severed due to the curse, so those lands cannot be joined with ours.”
“She will be queen of nothing,” Alder said with disgust. He slid a hand over Mireille’s waist. “And it would be worth my crown to see that alone come to fruition.”
Mireille felt sick. She’d seen how close the sands were to running out. She did not know how much longer the prince and Rivenwilde had left. It had truly been his last chance. The fae had not known the details of the curse, that the Rive would not fall unless he married someone of noble Westrende blood, only that if the Rive did not fall, Alder would never be king. Rivenwilde could never be free.
Nisha and several others stepped slowly closer, and the beast that was Maeve breathed its rattling breath.
Alder’s grip drew Mireille against his chest. “So the question remains,” he asked Maeve. “Why is it so important to that you prevent us from becoming wed, when to break fae law would cost you even more?”
A voice rose from the crowd. “I think I can answer that.”
