Page 23 of Beyond the Mountain (Fae's Captive 4)

“She loves you. I could tell that from the first moment I saw you two in that horrible cave. And, to be honest, it took me totally by surprise. I had this one view of Cecile, but then there was this whole other side I never guessed at.”

“Sort of like being a fae and having an evil feral inside you, but appearing human on the outside?” She gives me a pointed look.

“Oh, come on. I’m not evil … That side was just, sort of, you know, locked away for a long time so when I got free I was—”

“Murderous and cruel?”

Okay, so minimizing it isn’t an option. I shrug. “It’s like I’m half Gryffindor, half Slytherin.”

Her eyes light with recognition. “I read your books. I want to be a Hufflepuff.”

“Oh, no, honey.” I pat her hand. “No one wants to be a Hufflepuff.”

“Stop rubbing your nerd off on her.” Cecile snaps her fingers. “Now come over here and try this on. I need Nadian to pin it until I’m satisfied. Then she only has a few hours to sew it. And I’m going to need every second of that time to fix your uneven complexion, lackluster hair, and slouchy posture.”

Taylor and I both straighten our shoulders.

“Harsh.” I frown.

“You get used to it.” The other Taylor shoos me toward Cecile. “I’m excited to see it all come together.”

Beth traipses in with another tray of food and a pitcher of wine. “The party is back on.”

“I think you may have cleaned out the pantry.”

“Not a chance. This place is stocked. Did you know they have a room just for jam?”

“I’ve heard.”

Beth sets the food down next to a snoring Selene as Nadian wraps lace around my torso and spidersilk along my bottom half, her hands moving so fast with pins that I can barely see them. It takes a while, and about a hundred modifications from Cecile, before the dress is up to her standards.

Beth’s eyes grow misty when it’s all finished. “You are a queen.”

Cecile circles me, her eyes running over every inch of the fabric. Finally, after a few more pins, she says, “This will do. Sew it.”

Nadian carefully removes it and whisks it away for finishing.

I sit on the bed as Cecile goes through every bit of makeup and toiletries in the vanity.

“Are you ready?” Beth pops a grape into my mouth.

I chew it slowly and contemplate the enormity of her question. Was I ready to be sent to Arin? No. Was I ready to meet Leander? No. Was I ready to learn who my true father was? No. Was I ready to learn who I was? No.

But being ready didn’t make a hill of beans when the time came. Things happen. They never stop happening. And I’ve realized that I have to grab happiness wherever I can find it, because I don’t know when things will change, when destinies will be revealed, or when I might be sent to a strange new world to meet my eternal mate.

It’s enough that I know what I want.

Leander. Forever. Just the thought of it makes a smile take hold, joy surging from deep inside me.

With a deep breath, I speak the truth of my heart. “I’m ready.”

23

Leander

“She’s here.”

Gareth adjusts his fur cloak for the hundredth time.

“Who?” I twist my crown a little to the right. “Is this straight?”

“Let me.” He reaches up and turns it back to the left. “Queen Aurentia. Her doves arrived early this morning, half frozen, with word that she would be attending the mating ceremony. I granted her and a small contingent of guards permission to enter the realm in the hopes that she will explain the incursion. Being that she is coming here in person, I can only assume those hostilities are ended. But she owes us an explanation. We already have a handful of nobles clamoring for war.”

“Oh.” My thoughts stray to Taylor. How will she look? What colors will she choose? Is she nervous?

“Leander.” Gareth’s voice is tinged with exasperation. “Are you listening?”

“Yes.” No. “Go on.”

“She waits for you in your study.”

“Right now?” I turn to him.

“She wants a word before the ceremony.”

I twist my crown back to the right. “I will not keep my mate waiting for anyone, not even the summer queen.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because Taylor isn’t ready yet. That roommate of hers has taken over, bossing everyone about like a—”

“I’ll meet with the queen.” I run a hand down my black attire, the gray thread along my collar catching the light. “Do you think Taylor would have preferred the silver thread?”

“No.” He gestures to the door. “Queen Aurentia.”

I follow him out and down the hall, every guard in the castle lining the corridors as guests arrive for the ceremony. I catch Taylor’s scent as I pass our bedroom, and it takes an intense force of will not to burst in and get a pre-ceremony taste.

“Focus.” Gareth strides next to me.

I grunt in response.

A small contingent of summer realm soldiers cluster outside my study door, their eyes wary as they part for us to pass.

Queen Aurentia’s back is to us as we enter, her gaze on the snowy courtyard. “It’s been so long since I’ve visited winter.” She presses a palm to the glass. “I’d almost forgotten what it is to be cold.” Turning, she walks to us, her lilac coat pulled tight around her.

“Would you care to explain Tavaran’s incursion now or later?” I put the bite of winter into my tone.

“Now.” She folds her hands in front of her. “I sent Tavaran through the border—thank you for returning him unharmed, by the way.”

“We aren’t needlessly cruel in the winter realm, no matter what the summer realm propaganda says,” Gareth bites out.

I cut to the heart of the matter. “Why did you break the truce?”

Her silver eyes lower, and a tired sigh flows from her. “I felt I had to. But we do not seek war.” Her gaze meets mine again. “I sent Tavaran to capture your changeling—”

“My mate, you mean.”

She nods. “Forgive me. Yes, your mate. After you had left Byrn Varyndr, I began having strange dreams. At first, I believed they were memories of the last war resurfacing. I ignored them, and they seemed to fade. But the night before the incursion, I had one so vivid, so real, that I realized the dreams weren’t memories. They were new. Your mate appeared in them, but she was … different. It was then I understood the dreams were prophetic. They were of the coming war. The disappearances, your mate, the king beyond the mountain—all of it was linked. And my dreams foretold that if the king beyond the mountain was able to capture your mate, then it would set all of the death and destruction that I saw—” She touches her temple. “In here, in motion. So, I attempted to stop it by bringing Taylor back to Byrn Varyndr where she would be safe, and I ordered Tavaran to use any means necessary.”

Gareth crosses his arms over his chest. “You expect us to believe you violated a hard-won treaty over a dream?”

“It is the truth. Make of it what you will. I have no intentions to break the treaty or start a war with your realm. I only wanted to keep her safe and away from the king beyond the mountain.” She turns back to the window. “But my spies tell me I was too late, and that p

erhaps our incursion served as the distraction Shathinor needed to take Taylor.”

“You knew it was Shathinor and didn’t tell me?” I don’t bother hiding my contempt.

“Of course not.” Her golden-crowned head lowers, her voice softening even more. “I only learned that after his destruction. I fear my sight has not been clear over the last few decades. The dreams were the only harbinger of knowledge, and they came too late.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. “This can be remedied. My nobles will demand a formal apology from the summer realm for the incursion.”

“Granted.” She waves a hand.

“And we should collaborate on the equality decrees that Taylor seeks. If both the summer and the winter realms work toward banishing the old ways of division and strife, then the changelings and lesser fae wouldn’t feel the need to follow a false leader like Shathinor. There would be no more threat of war.”

She shakes her still-bowed head. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

“What?” Gareth paces to the fireplace. “How is it too late? Shathinor has been defeated.”

“His evil lives on.” She turns, and her mouth is set in a sad line. “The war is unavoidable. I have seen it, and it will come to pass.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Gareth shakes his head.

“How?” I bristle, foreboding creeping along my spine. “How does his evil live on?”

“In his heir.” That’s when I realize her sadness is for me.

“You mean my mate?” I growl.

She nods. “My dreams speak of Shathinor’s bloodline, and I see a dark-winged warrior casting death onto a battlefield. It is her, your mate.”

I keep my voice even, though my feral side demands I bare my fangs. “Taylor is not the same as her father.”

“Perhaps not, but it doesn’t change what I have seen, what I still see.” She looks through me, her silver eyes haunted.

A knock at the door is followed by Brannon’s voice. “Taylor is ready.”

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