Page 89 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
“Nah. I need my beauty sleep. Goodnight, light of my life.” Willow pecks Ezra on the cheek, and I cover my mouth to mask a grimace.
“Sweet slumber, flame of my heart,” he shoots right back, like it’s normal.
“Ugh.” A cold, oily shiver rocks me from head to toe. “I’ll never get used to this. It’s a bit much, no?”
“Why? We’re getting married the day after tomorrow.” Ezra pats my arm in a patronizing manner, smirking as though his new married status will somehow hold him above me, but a flicker of understanding passes in his cider-affected eyes. “It’ll be alright, boo.” He smacks a big, drunken kiss on my temple. “Your sister and I are going to be great friends, and that’s more than most royals get.”
I stare down at the dark liquid swirling at the bottom of my glass, his promise not quite as heartwarming as I’d wish it to be. The unease I’ve been wrestling with ever since I caught wind of this engagement is somehow magnified by the cider.
Hephaistos knows how emotionally draining family affairs can be.
“Will you stand with me, as my kindred witness?” Ezra blurts out.
My brow furrows. “I thought your brother?—”
“Ethan wanted me to pick Elio to alleviate any rumors that our family is not as tightly-knit as it should be, but it’s my decision. The kid offered to play for the ceremony instead. He can’t do both, so that’ll smooth out appearances.”
Royal wedding ceremonies are flashy public affairs, where the bride and groom each select someone they trust to witness their union.
“I’m honored,” I whisper.
He purses his lips in a humorous pout. “Now, boo, don’t cry.”
“I love you, mate.”
“Love you, too.” His gaze flicks to the ground for a split second. “Willow is keeping it secret, but she asked Beth to be her kindred.”
My melancholic thoughts screech to a halt, my heart already racing in my chest at the mere mention of her name. “Wait. Beth is comingherefor the wedding?”
He shuffles the cards, taking his sweet time to answer. “Yes. She’s supposed to arrive tomorrow, and in only two days, you two lovebirds will be standing on an altar together. In case you wanted to make this a double wedding,” he says in jest.
“Who’s officiating?”
“I asked for my grandmother. She should be here soon.”
I arch a brow. “The Old Queen?”
“The one and only.”
Mabel lives in the new world. She’s the legendary widow of the Mist King, revered for her role in ending the war and stopping her monstrous husband from seizing power over the entire continent—yet feared nonetheless.
She’s a witch, one of the last remnants of the Red Forest’s ancient roots, predating the realm’s rebuilding. Reds now harbor a profound disdain for the old ways, favoring brute strength over mystical rituals. Old Queen Mabel had three daughters with her second husband, one of whom is Ezra’s mother. But ever since Siobhan Lightbringer’s death, the powerful matriarch hasn’t been keen on public appearances. “She’d never agree to do it.”
“Blessed Flame. I was joking,” Ezra scoffs.
“I know you were, but humor me. Would Mabel go for it, given the chance?”
“I have no idea. Probably. Mab’s a maverick, and she’s not loyal to your father. Or mine.”
I shake my head from side to side, slowly coming back to my senses. “Beth still hasn’t answered my letters.”
Ezra gulps down the rest of his wine. “Concentrate on getting the girl, yes? You can marry her later.”
“What are you two whispering about?” A smooth, velvety voice teases.
Mabel enters, her weathered eyes gleaming with mischief, the witch looking smaller than I remembered.
Ezra’s face lights up, and he leaps to his feet. “Grandmab!”
