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CHLOE
Three spans later
The lavishness of the Unseelie royal wedding is taking my imagination to new heights, and I pinch my hand to remind myself that I really am here and that this winter wonderland truly surrounds me. The reception is being held at the Ice Princess, a grand tower built for a baby who is yet to be born, one whose magic will change the world.
When I learned that this was the wedding to which my new husband referred before he left me on the hilltop the other span, I imagined a dark and gloomy tower. It’s anything but, with glittering white walls between floor-to-ceiling windows, pixies buzzing around serving drinks along with the other staff of Summer fairies, mixed with Winter fae who have returned to their homes after their king’s wrath destroyed the court.
He destroyed everything except this tower.
We’re seated at a round table near the dance floor. I’ve been offered more fancy drinks than I can consume, and that’s saying something since over in the village, we’re heavy on drinking after a long, tasking span. I’ve settled for fine champagne, even though I would like the same drink my king is drinking. A tumbler of what appears to be bourbon whiskey.
As if reading my mind, a gorgeous pixie with purple hair and black wings offers me a drink from a tray that also has herbs and cigars on it. When I go to take the drink, my husband swipes it and says, “I’ll be right down.”
For a moment, I think he’s talking to me, so I turn and smile up at him as he stands. He kisses me on the cheek and whispers, “Don’t wait up.”
Despite my husband excusing himself from my company to seek out other companions for the card game he’s planning on attending, I’m determined to have a great evening surrounded by the most powerful, most beautiful people in the world.
For fate’s sake, even the two fates are here.
And one of them is the bride.
Pinch.
I watch my prince walk out of the room, and sure enough, a few other males along with a number of females follow. Since my brother-in-law owns several gambling halls and, if rumors are true, at least one pleasure house, and he’s the one who arranged my marriage to the crown prince, I’m sure the prince indulges in gambling, alcohol, and prostitutes. That must be how they know each other. But that’s just speculation for which I have no proof. And even if I did, his mother, the queen, would deny it.
So would his father, the Spring king, who arranged our marriage with my brother-in-law.
At least the king is kind to me.
The queen? Not so much.
From her place beside me, she glances at me down her long nose and flicks her fan, tapping the top of my hand, which is folded in my lap.
“Quit that,” she hisses. “You’ve made it bleed.”
I keep picking at the side of my thumb, and she’s right, it is bleeding. Like most fae, I heal quickly, so I can pick at it all I like. Of course I don’t tell her that, but wait for the wound to close before putting on my gloves.
When my brother-in-law said I’d be marrying a Spring prince, I was so happy, so excited about what my future might hold. But it turns out the prince owed the savage horde money, which my brother-in-law covered to save the prince’s life. Since the king wouldn’t cover the debt of his son, my brother-in-law asked the prince to take me for a bride.
The royals are telling everyone that the prince fell madly in love with me. That’s to cover for the fact we married in secret, and it appears as if I eloped with the prince and now he’s fulfilling a duty. His mother thinks I’ve used his good royal name and whored myself out to him, then trapped him in marriage with a pregnancy.
That is untrue.
Yet, it’s the reason the queen dislikes me, if not hates me. The king arranged our marriage without her input or knowledge and, according to her, forced their only remaining son into a loveless affair. She thinks I’m a social climber.
Also untrue, although that’s much harder to disprove now that my family’s elevated status will gain them invitations to the palace. My oldest sister can flaunt her newly acquired jewelry all over the court and make me appear as materialistic as the rest of my lot.
In addition, as if I need the queen to hate me any more than she already does, I lack manners or the royal etiquette taught to highborn ladies with the idea that they’ll serve the prince or king one day.
Since I arrived at the wedding, I’ve picked up things here and there, but I presume the training will come once I’m taken to the Spring Court. Maybe after the Unseelie wedding? The thought of the Spring Court makes me think of the palace, and the palace makes me think of the royal chambers and the royal bed and the wedding night.
Gathering up my skirts, I push back my chair and excuse myself to go to the powder room.
The queen tsks. “No slouching.”
Of course not. The tight corset my sister made me wear barely allows my lungs to expand. “Yes, my queen.”
She frowns. “The powder room is on this floor.”
