My eyes drop down to her pocket as the countless possibilities of that ribbon filter through my mind, each more unbearable to me than the last. A seething pit of jealousy writhes in my gut, every inch of my body filled with tension as I wait for her answer and my anticipation claws at me as I wait to discover who I'll be hunting for the transgression of touching my wife and daring to call her their own.
Mywife. She's already mine, ceremony be damned.
I could blame the Unseelie nature within me but there isn't a seed of doubt in my mind at my reactions to her. No matter what blood circles within my veins, which family crest I wear or the name I bear, no matter who raised me and taught me the ways of the world; one look at the female before me and I would covether. My rage will cower the Fates themselves if any other fae feels possession towards her and to think she might return their affections is intolerable.
Still without meeting my gaze, Rooke murmurs to me, "I couldn't sleep when I first arrived to the Northern Lands. I could barely eat. I worked endlessly in the healer's quarters and then only when it became clear that my exhaustion could risk the safety of others, I’d retire to the rooms that were set aside for me on my arrival. My brother was worried.”
She pauses for a moment before a wry smile stretches over her lips. “Well, worried isn’t a strong enough word for how Pem felt about it. He would stay with me, speaking for endless hours about anything and everything to keep me company. He would ravenously and obsessively discuss topics he once hated if it meant I might tire and finally rest. I was plagued by a grief I didn't know how to process, stuck in a land I didn’t understand, with fae who interacted far differently than my coven and family did… and they all knewexactlywho I was. They all wanted something from me and it’s only ever been my nature to give whatever is asked of me."
Kharl's armies arriving at Yregar's gates once more could not tear me away from this conversation. Her voice is strong and sure, but her eyes have taken on an almost dreamy quality as she stares around the temple, her demeanor an echo of Tyton's shade when the forest speaks through him, and yet I know these words are her own; steady and true.
My elbows rest on my knees as I lean in towards her, nothing about my pose princely, and there's no hiding the tension within my core. I'm every inch a soldier before her now, nothing but a male of the sword waiting for orders on who I'm to kill as I hang on her every word as though it alone will sustain me.
No matter how refined and formal her own posture is, her feet are planted firmly on the marble, her own chest directedtowards the door as the only point of access. Her own instincts are honed as keenly as mine, my match in every way. It’s never been the high fae way to covet such a female and yet I'm enthralled by her, unable to look away from such strength. Her beauty steals the air from my chest until I'm certain I’ll never take a deep breath again, but I'd rather die than look away.
Unaware of the fervor overtaking me, Rooke's words are unfaltering. "Hanede suggested to my brother that he find a familiar task to ease my mind, something small and routine but complicated enough to force my mind to focus on it alone. He took us into his care from the moment we arrived at the ports and he thought a task of my coven would bring me some comfort as we navigated our grief and acclimated to the Seelie Court."
She stops and swallows again, a sigh coming from the depths of her chest as she centers herself once more. Turning away from the ribbons she finally meets my eye and there's more emotion in her gaze than I've ever seen before, more than the carefully contained grief and rage, more than the small whispers of joy I cling to desperately, jealous of any other who might draw it from her. There in the perfectly Celestial silver of her irises is my Fates-blessed mate in all her glory; strong and kind and sure. She’s everything I've ever longed for, and I’m humbled by her.
Her voice drops to a whisper, nothing more than breath, and if I were standing I'd be taken to my knees by it. "It's a tradition of the Ravenswyrd to craft ribbons for our marriage ourselves. The process starts when a witch has found their love and while Pemba offered me many other tasks for distraction, it was the only one that worked. My brother had grave concerns about why I weave one in the first place but I was finally able to sleep, even in the worst days of the war… it brought me comfort."
She stops for a moment, leaning forward just as I have and her head tilts away from me just as color slowly blossoms on her cheeks at her admission. The weaving in her pocket wasn’tjust a distraction, but a gift for her Fates-blessed mate; always intended for me. She ran from her fate but maybe she clung to those few short, precious months we spent getting to know each other through the mind connection between us as tightly as I have.
No matter her own insistences to keep me out, maybe her terror wasn’t at her fate to marry me but the death of Kharl at her hands. I haven’t had the stomach to admit to myself yet that the reason I clung to my bitter and stubborn mistrust of my Fates-blessed mate was how much I missed her. Those two hundred years of silence between us still lay like an aching wound within me and when she opened her mind to me for a brief moment to prove she truly was my croí, I assumed the worst of her motives and actions.
She nods to me firmly, one soldier to another, before the wry tugging at the corner her lips starts again and I’m captivated by it. "You don't have to learn how to weave ribbons; I'm not expecting one in return. Having a tradition sprung upon you at the twilight hour is never a blessing and I keep myself from expecting such things."
She shouldn't, she should hold me at far higher expectations than any other. By every right this female should look upon me now and find me wanting, just as I was so sure the Fates did when, in truth, it was a gift to the little witch of the woods who grieved her family. She needed that precious time to find herself and prepare herself for what momentous and awful task they set out for her.
The shame I feel for the way that I’ve treated her is nothing on what I feel for cursing the Fates every day for the last two hundred years, begrudging them for that grace they gave her. No matter what else happens in this war, I’ll prove myself to the Fates and to Rooke. Whatever the cost, neither will ever find me wanting again.
My voice is gravel and filled with hard edges, not even close to the warmth I want to show her. "Can I see the ribbon now or do I have to wait for the ceremony tonight? I’m quickly discovering I’m not a patient male when it comes to my mate and the customs of the high fae are grating on me.”
She sends me another of her amused looks, the tilt of her lips a taunt. "It's not the Ravenswyrd way to enforce secrecy and elaborate games… but my ribbon isn't traditional. I think it's best if you see it at the binding. You'll have far too many questions and this isn’t the place to answer them."
I cast her a curious look and she shrugs. "It became a way to record my journey, to capture my history so it didn't slip through the cracks of the Fates War as so many other things did. At first, I wove the forest and my life there in my grief. Then my journey to the Northern Lands, my time training, all the soldiers and fae folk I healed, the many friends that I made?—"
She stops abruptly, swallowing roughly. Her hand trembles where it presses against her thigh as though she's reassuring herself the ribbon is still tucked away in the hidden pockets of her robes. I want to reach out and comfort her, to pull her into my arms and ease the pains of the war that still ravages her. Her screams still echo in my mind unbidden, the devastation and pain all too familiar to me, but the careful distance she’s maintaining between us now is as immovable as the wall between our minds.
She swallows roughly. "I wove Ureen as well, I should warn you of that. Perhaps I should find a different ribbon?—"
The thread of panic in her tone breaks my control and I reach over to take her hand, barely holding myself back from tugging her into my arms. Nothing but a chaste touch, this time it feels different. This touch is simply for her or, if I'm honest with myself, for me. Reassurance that she's here, and that she's mine.
"I’ll accept nothing but that ribbon, no matter which creatures and horrors of the war lie there. Whatever burdens you carry, they're mine to hold with you. I want every part of you."
A truth that lays my own heart at her feet and yet the words are unstoppable. I didn’t know I was capable of such vulnerability, and it threatens to send ice coursing through my blood to be so utterly exposed but one glance at Rooke dispels any defensive impulses. She’s as open to me now as she’s ever been, unflinching and true.
With a slow nod that breaks the hold of her gaze over me, her reply is careful. "And I'm to have every part of you, as well, just as the Fates command."
"Whether you want me or not, croí, you’ve had me from the moment you first whispered in my mind. There is no other path before us both now, and I thank the Fates for that mercy."
Roan watchesme tuck the ribbon into my pocket with a frown, but when he glances up to meet my gaze his eyes are clear once more. "I've secured the guest wings and posted guards heavily throughout the castle; an even split between the goblin soldiers and Yregar's own. Airlie was quite sure to let all the high fae noble and royals know that the first sign of dissent is a death warrant."
I give him a firm nod, my hand tugging at the collar of the stiff shirt Airlie insisted on as it strangles me, and the row of medals sitting along the Celestial blue fabric chime like bells with my every move. Roan's eyes get stuck on them just as surely as my own get drawn to the sound, and his brows tugged closer together as he claps a hand on my shoulder.
"Nothing is going to stop this union, Soren, not even the Fates themselves at this point."
I huff at him, reaching up to tug one last time at the collar, and mutter furiously at him, "You sound as though you're seeing me off to the pyres, and you really shouldn’t tempt the Fates."
