Page 115 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“Please,” Jaro whispers, and my head jerks up. “I can’t watch her lose him. You have no idea what that does to a female. I’ve grown up watching it. We won’t have Rose anymore. We’ll have a shell of her, and we’ll spend every day wondering if that will be the last one she chooses to spend apart from him.”
“Jaromir,” I begin, but his name falls flat. “I don’t want that either.”
He doesn’t answer me, just turns on his heel and leaves too.
A blade pokes between my ribs, drawing blood.
“Break my pet, and I’ll make eternity miserable,” the redcap promises, but when I turn, he’s gone.
Goddess damnit. “Fuck off, redcap.”
I can’t see the creepy little gremlin, so I wait for his response, another taunt, anything to tell me he’s still here. It never comes.
Alone in my room—pillowless and soaking—I groan at the ceiling. “Goddess, just…”
What? Don’t let him die?
Danu literally delegated the decision to us, to me, and I’m beginning to think she did that because she knew I’d be unable to cross that line. It’s like the Goddess has decided to punish me alongside Caed for his mistakes.
He’s earned Rose. He’s fought for her. Would I have done any better in his place?
I’m not so arrogant to disregard what the others have said, but I silently resolve that their suggestion is my last resort. If we reach Beltaine Eve, and that curse isn’t broken… I’ll do it. Leaving Rose and Caed alone together doesn’t have to be risky. It’s a public event. One of the others will surely watch from the shadows to make sure she’s safe, even if Caed gets… distracted.
My hands ball into fists at the idea, and I take a deep breath to clear my head.
Until then, I’ll try everything else. I’ll leave my head in the common room for the night. I won’t sleep, but it’s a gesture. It has to tip the scale slightly.
The tight, cold feeling in my gut tells me it won’t be enough.
Thirty-Six
Rhoswyn
Throwing myself into preparing for the feast of Beltaine hasn’t helped. The dread, which once was a low-level hum in the back of my mind, has become a constant underlying buzz of anxiety that starts when I wake, then follows me into my dreams.
No amount of planning, decorating, or helping has dispelled it.
So here I am, watching the sun lower towards the horizon from an empty room in the palace, hiding from my Guard as I try to find the strength to face this.
Beltaine Eve.
The moment the sun goes down, the feast starts, and it continues until the following sunset. No one seems sure when Danu’s curse will take effect, and Caed will…
My breath catches, eyes watering.
“Kid,” Maeve murmurs, sitting beside me. “It’ll be okay.”
“It won’t,” I whisper. “I was so stupid. I should’ve kept my distance. I should’ve known that Drystan would never… that this was doomed.”
My heart is breaking, and the worst part is, they can all feel it. I never thought I’d regret mating them, but I wish that they didn’t have to go through this.
“Dear heart,” Titania tries from my other side. “They’ve made progress. There’s still time.”
My three guides are convinced that the stag’s head on Caed’s arm is a fraction darker than it was at the start of the week. I’m not so sure. And time? Everyone has been telling me ‘there’s still time’ for too long now.
All that remains is hours, if not minutes.
Taking another shaky breath, I watch the fae in the outer city crowding the many dark silhouettes of unlit bonfires. They’ll be lit as the sun goes down, and then I’ve been told the fucking will start. Samhain is dedicated to the Wild Hunt chasing the dead, but its sister festival is the polar opposite. Life, sex, joy.
