Page 87 of Across an Endless Sea

“I’ve done some research,” Kitarni adds. “There’s nothing in the law that states a Nicnevin must have a mating ceremony before she’s crowned, but…”

“But?” I ask, dreading her answer.

Drystan gets there before Kitarni does. “If Rose goes to the courts and demands their vows without mating her Guard, there will be questions. Nobles will use it against her and us.”

“And with your powers still unsettled by an incomplete bond, you’re more likely to cause a diplomatic incident than anything else,” Kitarni finishes. “It can’t be helped.”

“We can’t just do the ceremony without him?” I ask, grimacing at the thought of yet more accidental shields popping up all over the place.

A few days ago, I accidentally shielded my office door, and I didn’t notice until I realised it had been more than an hour without anyone coming to disturb me. Ascal was not impressed, and I’m not sure she believed it was an accident either.

Drystan, too, must hate the idea of having our magic out of control for a second longer than necessary, because he agrees with me.

“I’m not sure the asshole deserves a bond with her.”

“We could try doing it without him,” Kitarni mumbles. “But I don’t think it would take. The Goddess bonded you to Rose as a unit. You all swore your oath at the same time. As far as the bond is concerned, the Guard is one homogeneous being—a rope of many strands. Trying to create an incomplete mating bond might even be harmful to Rose.”

That settles it. We’re not doing it if there’s any risk to her.

“Then we find Caed and force him to do the ceremony,” Drystan growls. “Before I accidentally set the Summer Court on fire.”

“And when all four kingdoms refuse to swear their vows because they’ve discovered a Fomorian is part of the Guard?” Kitarni snaps. “At the moment, no one knows about Caed. The palace is a vault, and the servants and knights are sworn to protect the privacy of the Nicnevin. Once the ceremony—the very public ceremony—happens, the world will know.”

“Then make the ceremony private.” It seems like a commonsense solution.

The high priestess shakes her head. “That would lend credence to the theory that something is wrong with Rose’s Guard. Some of the more vocal high fae are already muttering that Danu made a mistake in including Bricriu and Lorcan.”

So we’re trapped between a rock and a hard place. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I let it out in a long sigh.

“And we’re back where we started.” I groan, dropping to sit on the bench beside the dryad, my shoulders slumping. “We can’t mate her with him. We can’t mate her without him. We can’t crown her without her being mated, but we can’t save the city without her being crowned.”

“It seems like to have any solution at all, we need Caed here and co-operative,” Kitarni admits.

“Then it’s a good thing he’s on his way here.”

Rose’s voice cuts through our gloomy discussion without warning, and all three of us snap around to face her.

Twenty-Eight

Rhoswyn

“Nicnevin,” Kitarni jumps to her feet, and Jaro isn’t far behind. “You should be resting—”

“I’m fine.” I brush off the dryad’s concern, wishing I felt more confident than I do. “I’d rather be here, since it all seems like you’re making plans for my future…”

Without including me, the words are unsaid, but my accusation lingers in the air.

Prae and Caed were right about one thing: I have been letting them make decisions for me. It was easier that way, and I was already overwhelmed with starting a new life and the pressure of suddenly being queen.

My time in Fellgotha has taught me exactly how little I like being at the mercy of others’ plans for my life.

Drystan, standing across the patio with his arms folded across his chest, meets my eyes. The connection only lasts a second before he breaks it, dipping his chin in an unreadable gesture. The second his attention leaves me, my shoulders relax.

Behind me, Lore and Bree are silent pillars of strength. I wasn’t the only one affected by, and left out of, the discussion. My mating affects them too, and all of us should’ve been involved in this talk.

Kitarni’s brow creases with worry as she realises her error and takes in my—admittedly unsteady—stance. “My apologies, Nicnevin.”

She beckons me over to the bench between her and Jaro, and I tug the knitted shawl around my shoulders as I cross the space on unsteady legs. I’m still exhausted, and I can see all of my males visibly struggling not to put their arms out, ready to catch me.

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