Page 5 of Accidentally Ever After
“It has been several centuries since a human was brought to court,” she explained. “And never as a royal consort. You are quite the novelty.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Just what I always wanted to be—a novelty act.”
By the time dinner approached, I was exhausted from trying to remember the names of various court officials, understanding the complex hierarchy of the Seelie Court, and mostly from sucking in my stomach all day in these clingy fairy clothes.
Melronna escorted me to what she called the “informal dining chamber,” which was still the size of a ballroom, with a ceiling that appeared to be open to the star-filled sky above.
Prince Caelen was already there, rising as I entered. He’d changed into formal attire—a midnight blue tunic embroidered with silver constellations that matched my outfit suspiciously well, and fitted black pants. His hair was partly braided back, showing off those pointed ears and sharp cheekbones.
Why does he have to be so damn beautiful?I thought bitterly. It would be easier to maintain my righteous indignation if he looked like a troll.
“Consort Morgan,” he said, bowing slightly. “You look… remarkable.”
“Thanks,” I said awkwardly. “Melronna helped.”
“She has excellent taste.” His eyes lingered on the open lacing at my throat, and I resisted the urge to tug it closed.
Dinner was served by silent attendants who seemed to appear and disappear like smoke. The food was incredible—familiar enough to be recognizable but with flavors I couldn’t begin to describe. The wine (at least I assumed it was wine) filledmy veins with gentle warmth and made the edges of my anxiety soften.
“So,” I said after we’d eaten in awkward silence for several minutes, “what exactly does a consort do? Besides wear ridiculous clothes and be stared at?”
Caelen’s lips twitched. “A consort is a partner to the royal they are bound to. Traditionally, they attend court functions, offer counsel, and…” he paused, those otherworldly eyes darkening slightly, “provide companionship.”
“Companionship,” I repeated flatly. “You mean sex.”
To my surprise, a flush of pale purple spread across his cheekbones. “Physical intimacy is an aspect of the consort relationship, yes. But not the entirety of it.”
“And if I’m not interested in providing that aspect?”
His wings, which had been relaxed against his back, twitched slightly. “As I said this morning, I will not rush you. However…” he took a sip of his wine, “the binding magic will create certain… pressures… over time.”
“Pressures?” I echoed, not liking the sound of that.
“The magic seeks to fulfill its purpose—the joining of matched souls. The longer that joining is denied, the more… insistent the urge becomes.”
“Are you saying this magic is going to make me horny for you whether I want to be or not?” I demanded.
Caelen choked slightly on his wine. “A crude but not entirely inaccurate assessment. It affects both parties equally, if that offers any consolation.”
“It doesn’t,” I said, pushing my plate away. “So I’m basically magically roofied into wanting you?”
His brow furrowed. “I’m unfamiliar with that term, but I sense its negative connotation. The magic does not override consent—it merely… enhances existing compatibility.”
“Existing compatibility?” I repeated skeptically. “We just met.”
“The matchmakers see beyond surface acquaintance,” he said softly. “They perceive potential harmony between souls. The magic would not have accepted our binding if the potential for genuine connection did not exist.”
I wanted to argue, but something in his expression—a vulnerability behind the regal mask—stopped me.
“Fine,” I sighed. “So we’re magically compatible. Still doesn’t change the fact that I’m stuck here against my will in clothes that feel like wearing nothing at all.”
“Does the attire truly distress you?” he asked, seeming genuinely concerned. “I can commission more substantial garments if it would make you more comfortable.”
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. “It’s just… different,” I admitted. “Humans don’t usually show so much… everything.”
“Curious,” he mused. “In our culture, physical beauty is celebrated openly. Your form is pleasing—why conceal it?”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. “Thanks, I guess? But humans are weird about bodies. We save the view for people we’re intimate with.”
