Page 107 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
Nathaniel joins me along the rim of the second circle, his top lip curled in a snarl. “Is Devi Eros meant to strike Tatiana with a love arrow in front of everyone? Tell me!” he whispers in a rush. “Could that work? Can Devi really make her love him?”
The youngest Rayne is dressed in a tailored black evening coat and crisp white undershirt. His eyes are cloudy—almost enough to mask their mismatched colors.
“You’re missing the point of this wedding. Devi is the bride,” I say quickly.
His jaw hangs open, his gaze searching the bleachers, focussing on a booth at the front, where a thick man is standing alone, flanked by guards. “No. I saw Tatiana head off with Brel earlier…”
“Devi is the bride.”
“How can you be sure? Is she that hungry for power?”
My teeth grit together. “He’s forcing her, you idiot. Just as he planned to do with your Tatiana.”
Nathan huffs. “Like Devi Eros couldn’t overpower a newly-minted king? Alaric’s no match for her.”
“Alaric wanted us here as his kindreds to salt the wound. Me because he gets my girl. And you, your dream of becoming king. If he was marrying your friend, I wouldn’t be here.”
His face slowly falls. “Fuck. If you’re right, then where is Tatiana?”
Deep, guttural notes grate through the air, ancient and dissonant, before the organ’s music swells. The mournful melody sharpens into a primordial dirge, announcing the start of the ceremony, and Devi steps into the arena.
My pulse stumbles and spikes. Rushing. Swirling.Screaming.
She wears a simple white dress with no corset or embellishments, but the simplicity of the silk gown only makes her look more ethereal. She walks with purpose to the inner circle, eyes glued to the ground.
Gasps erupt from the crowd.
The outcropping of the altar is the only part of the arena that’s directly exposed to the elements, and she crosses into it at Brel’s silent command, following the swirled pattern etched into the floor with her back to the spectators. She stops just before the slab of lyranthium where she’s meant to kneel.
Rain hits her in waves, soaking her wedding dress until it clings to her body. The fabric molds to her deep brown skin, revealing the swell of her breasts, the line of her thighs, and the shape of her ass. Her braids are woven into one thick side braid that hangs heavy with water, strands of red hair plastered to her cheeks and collarbone.
She doesn’t flinch, but stares at the stone slab in front of her, arms limp at her sides.
Percy pinches my neck, voice thick with urgency. “You’ve got to stop this.”
“Patience, little man.”
Gods help me, I need her to look at me. Just once.
Alaric steps into the circle, standing dry beneath his magic shield. “Under the watchful eyes of the gods, I claim this woman as my one and only wife,” he declares, licking his lips in triumph. He unbuckles his belt, and for a moment, the only sound is the pitter-patter of rain on stone.
The spectators hold their breaths, waiting for Devi to kneel. A sharp pain at the center of my breastbone chokes me.
“The bride must kneel for her husband,” Brel whispers, just loud enough for Nathaniel and I to hear.
It’s a reminder that’s rarely needed, and the sprite’s worried gaze flies from the bride to her groom.
Devi’s top lip curls in disgust as she contemplates the slab, and she digs her heels into the ground. Brel flies closer, motioning softly, unsure whether to coax her or beg.
Alright, that’ll do.
“Wait! I challenge your claim to this woman!” I roar over the wind.
Gray clouds gather overhead. A heavy shift in pressure rolls through the arena, the air thick and unstable. Too many Storm Fae are packed into one place, heating the atmosphere with their presence. It’s volatile, electric, ready to break. There are a few boos, some fists raised—but mostly, silence. Trepidation.
I circle around Nathaniel, putting distance between myself and the ledge, then step into the third circle.
“Did you hear me?” I call out. “I challenge you, Alaric Neptune Rayne.”
