Page 142 of Flirting with Darkness

He wanted to marry me? What did he stand to gain from that? Why wouldn’t he tell me? But if I asked again now, I risked losing the bargain before it was made. And if he agreed to this, I’d have help finding Ari.

He shrugged. “I’ll call in the bargain when you have something I need.”

Vague. The stories agreed that vague was bad, and yet… No price too steep. “Deal.” I held out my hand for him to shake.

“No, we’ll include it in the marriage vows. Come.” He led the way to the granite altar.

It was huge—big enough that he could lie on it spread eagled and not touch the edges. A lantern and a few little dishes clustered on its surface. Someone had left a shiny black stone in one of the offering bowls.

He wandered off towards the trees while I brushed down my muddy trousers and tugged out a burr. Not exactly a wedding dress and definitely not one made by Ari, but if it meant I could save her, it didn’t matter. Throat burning, I squared my shoulders again.

“Not how you pictured your wedding, hmm?” He’d appeared at my side, but I couldn’t look away from the offering bowls.

I would pour myself into them, a willing sacrifice, if it meant Ari was all right. “It doesn’t matter. After—what?—a year and a day, I can have another one.” Not sure what the men of Briarbridge would think of that. Maybe I’d have to tell them I was a widow.

He cleared his throat and held out a small bunch of bluebells, the stems wrapped in a broad leaf. “I got these for your hair.”

I blinked from the flowers to him, back again. They were tiny in his grip—comical against his large hands. Although his fingers were thick and blunt and tipped with those claws, he held the bunch lightly, rather than clenched in his fist. The blue heads nodded in the breeze.

Caught between laughter and confusion, I canted my head at him.

“It’s your wedding day, and this was the best I could do to give you something…” He shrugged, making the flowers bob in his hand. “Something nice.”

I scoffed, more surprised than amused. After marching me across Elfhame and probably tricking me into engagement, now he wanted to benice. Still, good manners and all, so I thanked him and fiddled with my hair, trying to make a space to slide the stems into.

“Here.” He stepped into my space, blotting out the sky. I barely reached his shoulders, even though I towered over every woman in Briarbridge and most of the men.

My heart rate kicked up as his clawed fingers came closer to my face. Although they weren’t as sharp as the werewolves’ claws, I was sure he could use them to scratch out my eyes.

Good gods, why did I let that idea come to mind? Especially as they came closer, closer, closer and his knuckle grazed my cheek. I fought the flinch that jerked through me, though I couldn’t stop my gasp.

He didn’t seem to notice, brow fixed in a frown of concentration. Through his beard, I caught a glimpse of pursed lips.

Despite his huge size, his touch was gentle, adjusting my hair and sliding the flowers in behind my ear. With a light stroke of his fingertips, he smoothed a lock from my face, then nodded. “There. Now…” He turned to the altar and offered his arm.

If he was about to become my husband, I didn’t want to complicate things by letting anything physical happen—a couple of my tavern conquests had grown attached after a few too many nights together. It was messy and took up time I didn’t have. But this small gesture seemed safe enough, so I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow.

I flashed him a bright smile, like this really was the wedding I’d always wanted. “Let’s get married.”

7

WEDDING NIGHT

The ceremony was simple and short, no witness or druid required. I take thee, Faolán, as my husband, etcetera, etcetera, for a year and a day.

It didn’t mean anything—it was just a bargain, after all. A matter of convenience. Of survival.

But there was one moment when he looked at me—scruffy, gruff Faolán, who never smiled, who looked more beast than man—and the sun came out from behind a cloud and finally—finallyI saw his eyes properly.

Soft green flecked with gold, edged with a ring of dark brown, they held me as he nodded once, sure. “For a year and a day, Rose, I am yours. I will help you find your friend, Ariadne, and ensure she’s safe. And as long as you are in Elfhame, I will defend your life with mine; I will protect you to my last breath.”

It all sounded so pretty, and yet…

Fae couldn’t be trusted.

I’d heard the stories. I knew that fae plus human equalled tragedy. Inevitably more tragic for the mortal involved. And hadn’t he himself admitted that being unable to lie didn’t stop his kind from twisting truth into deceit?

Specifically,hecouldn’t be trusted. He’d torn a werewolf’s arm off, killed another with a casual flick of his wrist, and he wouldn’t tell me why he helped me.

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