Page 22 of This Midsummer Heart
She shoots me a glare. “What now?”
“It’s just that, well…” My throat bobs as I struggle to swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “As far as the elves are concerned, we are, legally—”
“Auberon!”
“—still married.”
Titaine’s mouth falls open, her brown eyes rounding. For a moment, she doesn’t seem to breathe or blink. But I can tell from the shimmering of her wings that they are vibrating with fury.
“I dissolved our bond,” she snaps, her voice terrifyingly low, “per the terms of our marriage contract.”
The one you tricked me into signing an altered version of.The day I discovered it—the day I learned Titaine had never trusted me—I realized that our entire romance and marriage was a sham.
I had never wanted a political marriage like my parents had. It was the very reason I had never committed to Lusida, or any other elven maiden. They all wanted something from me other than my heart.
Not Titaine. The treaty between the House of Fetes and the House of Elves had even been my idea. Or so I had thought.
When I discovered she had altered our marriage contract, binding me through the power of fae word magic, suddenly, the ease with which Titaine and I had fallen for each other made so much more sense. She was never going to let me through that hard outer shell of her heart. She was using me, just like the others. I believed—still believe—that she had genuinely fallen for me, to a point. But it’s not in Titaine’s guarded nature to let anyone in completely.
I see that now, and I rue every mistake I made with her. Even five years ago, I hadn’t uncovered every fae trick in that new wording of our marriage contract. I hadn’t even known anyone could dissolve the magical bond between us.
Titaine had worded it just so, so that she would be able to. She’d made a fool out of me in every regard.
“That was fae law,” I point out. “Elven law is more…bureaucratic. You can’t dissolve it that easily.”
Her wings flutter violently. “You are a king of elves. Do you mean to tell me you can’t dissolve our marriage without a bunch of clerks?”
“Gods no. Especially not when you’re king. I’d need to petition all three levels of the courts for both the wood elves and the dark elves.”
“But everyone knows,” she says, her face twisting in a fury that somehow doesn’t make her any less beautiful. “They know I severed the treaty between Fetes and Elves, and that you and I are no longer together.”
I offer her a shrug. “Elven marriages are often political. It’s not unusual for couples to take a break for a hundred years or so—”
“—don’t lecture me on elven culture. I was married to one, remember? Still am, according to you.”
“According to everyone we’re about to see in there.”
Titaine almost recoils, a look of utter horror dawning on her face. “Please don’t tell me you want me to act like I’m still your bonded mate.”
“Wife. Just wife.”
“I am not your wife!”
“Elven law says otherwise.”
“And you are just telling me this now because…?” she prompts.
“Because I absolutely have to. Congratulations, Titaine. You’re still the dark elves’ queen.” My shoulder hitches. “Well. Queen consort.”
Her eyes narrow, almost completely shrouded by her long lashes. For a moment, I think she’ll speak again, berate me, maybe even use some of her remaining magic on me. Instead, she purses her lips, wheels and begins tromping her way toward the forest. Well, as best as a graceful fae can tromp.
I hurry after her, wincing with every step that jars my many injuries.
The moment we enter Nerania Wood, a hush descends over us. Instead of a wood lively with bird song as they tuck into their roosts for the night, it’s as if time has jumped ahead an hour. Frog song tells of rain about to begin, crickets chirp, and the wild cry of a nightjar cuts through the quiet. Even the forest floor is all but silent.
The air is much colder here, too, and nowhere near as humid and stagnant as it should be with so many trees and plants hemming the path. I can feel the darkness of this place—not the literal darkness of night, but a shift in the magic. Nerania has always had a darker half, held back by the jagged line of the River Talone. Beyond its banks, the wood belongs not to elves but to dark fae and other creatures, some cursed, some simply twisted by chaos magic.
Even Titaine shivers. She has done more than any leader of the House of Fetes to reach out to the dark fae, but they are as aloof as they are strange, like alien creatures. I half expect to see one peel off from one of these tree trunks, the forest turning silver at their touch, leaving footprints of moonlight through the wood.
