With a smirk at me, Airlie clears her throat delicately. “To Rooke, for seeing my son here safely. It’s an honor to have you all here to name him but, without Soren’s Fates-blessed mate, this night would surely have never come to pass.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Rooke
No matter how beautiful Princess Aura is, there's no mistaking the ugly heart that beats within the older female's chest, the cutting look in her bright blue eyes as she stares around the dinner table at each of the guests. The way that she weighs each word before she speaks it screams manipulation, and I’m forced to listen to her twist every interaction to her liking.
She embodies all the terrible qualities of the Unseelie Court royals that I once thought was nothing more than rumor and petty gossip. Devious and absurdly obsessed with themselves, creatures of the dark and cold who might not have hearts beating in their chests, disguising their depravity with masks of heartbreaking beauty as they weave their wicked webs.
I’ve traveled enough in my time to know these assumptions are not universally true of any folk, no matter how tempting that belief might be to hold. Every creature that exists craves something, and the high fae still crave warmth and love.
Watching Aura as she looks at her small grandson with distaste, you wouldn’t guess it.
“You can’t hold a naming now, like this,” she says, her words stilted and a smile still plastered across her lips, but cracks are beginning to show in her eyes.
She glances around and quickly discerns she’s the only person with protests, the smile slowly slipping away as the mask comes off. I begin to doubt that many folks outside of this group ever deny the whims of this female, and her entitlement rankles at the insult of enduring it now.
The baby stirs in his father’s arms, woken by his grandmother’s outburst. He’s held confidently and comfortably as Roan eases the discontent in the small boy as he wakes. His perfect and tiny dark curls peek out of the blanket he’s wrapped in and tug at my heart, competing with the tug of the Fates toward the mate they chose for me.
The damage of the witcheswane may not be visible to the eye anymore, but the bone-deep exhaustion still holds me in its vicious grip and makes the Fates’ demands more difficult to ignore.
Airlie steps up to her husband’s side with a cold smile on her face. “Roan and I decided that we want his naming to be meaningful, and for us, that includes Prince Roan being here. Our options are limited, and with the Outland soldiers returning to Fates Mark in the morning to ensure the kingdom’s safety, we’re moving with urgency. I’d rather have Prince Roan here and a small group in attendance than the entire rest of the Unseelie Court but not my son’s beloved grandfather.”
She speaks of the man with affection, and that emotion is reflected back to her in the older man’s eyes, the same Unseelie high-fae blue as the rest of the royals, except his son and small grandson. Both of them bear the golden Seelie eyes from Roan’s mother, a princess from the Northern Lands who was fated to live in the snow with her most beloved husband while he worshiped her every breath to the last.
These are stories from Airlie, of course, murmured tearfully to me in the first days of motherhood as we’d admired her infant son together. Though Roan’s mother’s death was many years ago, the respect that Airlie felt for her mother-in-law and still has for her father-in-law is nothing short of admirable. The way the males within her family trust her to deal with her own mother but will clearly back her up at a moment’s notice also shows her as a power to be reckoned with.
Some of my own apprehensions about the future of the Southern Lands ease, because if the baby turns out half as good and noble as his mother and father are, then the future of the Unseelie high fae looks brighter.
Aura’s eyes flash at her daughter, her shoulders tightening and her voice hissing from between her clenched teeth as she snaps, “It’s the first royal high-fae child to be born in eight hundred years, Airlie. You can’t just hold a naming in your chambers, in a depressed and darkened castle, in the middle of the moon cycle. It’s inappropriate, and the Unseelie Court will have much to say about it!”
The princess shrugs irreverently and tucks her hand in her husband’s elbow, close to her son’s feet. Her fingers carefully stroke the tiny knitted socks, Celestial blue with snowflakes and stars painstakingly stitched into them, a loving gift.
Often the maids and servants will bring small trinkets of affection to give to the little prince, beaming at the princess when she murmurs her thanks to them. She’s kind to all who are trusted with her son, and it’s a key part of why my respect for her continues to grow, the longer we spend as friends.
Aura opens her mouth again, but Prince Soren steps forward, holding out his hands to Roan, and the prince beams as his close friend passes along the baby. For someone I assume has very little experience with babies, he holds the child with confidence and a lump forms in my throat at the sight.
His stance softens as he takes on the weight, cradling the little boy to his chest and murmuring small assurances under his breath as the child settles once more. It's another large vote of confidence, one I can't so easily ignore, not with the ache that comes to settle in my chest.
A common rule amongst healers is that babies can tell if the person holding them is malicious or vile. There are exceptions, of course, and the small prince squawked and fussed the entire time his grandmother held him in my presence. The woman always grows exasperated at being forced to placate the squirming bundle and quickly hands him off to a maid with an unhappy grumble.
I trust his intuition more than most.
Prince Soren murmurs prayers in the old language, a long and exalting request for a life filled with abundance and joy. It's different from the prayers witches say for our own young but beautiful all the same, and at the mention of caring for the land, I sneak a glance at Airlie only to find her shooting me a look of her own. The smile on her face is bright, fulfilling her promise to me to teach her son better to ensure the high fae return to their former greatness and heal the land of the damage they wrought.
Tauron and Tyton both stand with their hands clasped in front of themselves, their heads bowed respectfully as they listen. Both of them were oddly silent and respectful during the dinner, mostly playing buffer between Airlie's mother and Roan's father. Their affection for their cousin and her child is in every tense line of their backs as they listen to Prince Soren's solemn prayers to the Fates.
When he reaches the oaths of the parents and the time to speak the child's name into the world, Prince Soren looks up and meets Airlie's eyes. Tears fill the princess’s eyes as she beams in pride before he looks to Roan.
"Prince Roan Snowsong of Fates Mark, Lord of the Outlands and heir to the Snowsong household, what name do you give this child and heir to the Southern Lands, our great kingdom?"
Roan takes a small breath before he says clearly and concisely, "Raidyn Snowsong-Celestial, Heir Apparent to the Snowsong family and the Celestial bloodline alike."
There's small ripple of confusion in the room, emanating entirely from Aura, but the parents both beam at the baby with pride as Prince Soren makes the mark of the Fates over the child's chest with his fingers, a small seed of power lingering from the action even as his hand moves away once more. I'm not sure the high-fae prince realizes that he put magic into his words, sealing his protection over the baby as one would the most precious gift.
For a man claiming to be nothing but a savage, he handles the baby with the utmost care.
Prince Soren looks at the baby for a heartbeat longer before he switches to the common Unseelie language. "Welcome to the family, Raidyn. We've been waiting for you for a very long time."
