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“Come.” Marlak takes my arm again, but he’s still so cold, so distant.
Perhaps I was thinking that crossing the fire together would bring us close, but in truth, he must hate me for glimpsing his weakness. And yet he seems so much more human to me.
He brings me to a table behind a column with glass cups filled with colorful liquids and many bite-sized appetizers.
“Is it safe?” I whisper. I figure that as a human, newly wedded to a fae, it wouldn’t be weird to ask.
“The food is. As for the drinks, it depends.” He smirks and points to the red cups. “Those will make you want to have sex.”
I grimace. “People need a drink for that?”
He laughs. “Incredible, right? I don’t see the point either.”
Meaning that he normally wants to have sex—or that he sees no point in sex. Why am I thinking about that?
He points to a yellow drink. “This one is piss.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not. It’s queen’s piss, filtered and brewed to improve the taste.”
“You’ve had it?”
His nose scrunches lightly. “It’s a delicacy. Sometimes we can’t refuse a toast.”
Oh, yuck. “Is there anything I can drink?”
He looks up and bites his lip. “The purple one. It will make you dance more once you start.”
“That’s the harmless drink? What are the others?”
“The blue one will increase your senses. Your physical senses. The orange one will make you want to get rid of your clothes. That green… Helps with endurance.”
I guess some of what I heard about the fae is true. “Is this party going to turn into one big orgy?”
He laughs. “No, no. Don’t worry about it. There are alcoves upstairs, and many will seek the privacy of the woods. Not everyone is comfortable doing it here, and either way, they do it in small groups, like six at most, so it won’t be everyone with everyone.”
Is he serious? “Right. So a few small orgies then.”
“Yes, a few. But I think most of them will wait for after the ceremony, and we can leave.”
“Not interested in some fun?” I ask, half kidding.
He looks me up and down. “No.”
Did he just think I was suggesting… I pull his hair so that he lowers his head enough for me to whisper in his hear, “I wasn’t offering.”
“I know.” He snorts.
“I was joking,” I insist.
I don’t want him thinking I was suggesting we should go to an alcove upstairs and get down to business. For a brief second, I wonder what it would be like to drink the red liquid, blame the fae drink, and surrender to my desires without guilt, without shame.
My desires.
My thoughts tell me surprising things. Disturbing things.
He pinches the tip of my nose. “So hilarious, my sweet wife.”
