Page 107 of The Filigree Key

“I’ll say,” Flora agreed. She twisted this way and that to show off the oiled shine of her fur. “We look incredible. Daphne’s working this whole fancy warhorse thing with her braids and Shari actually looks formidable for once without all that stuff stuck to her quills.”

The porcupine’s quills were almost bare, save a few essentials. We’d all agreed that the myriad balls of yarn and spools of thread and fabric swatches could pose a threat to her safety during their escape tonight—too many things that could get caught on everything else—but we’d also agreed that if she came to the wedding without some crochet project to keep her hands busy, it would be beyond suspicious.

“Crafting supplies,” she corrected. “Not stuff. And I feel naked.” She was in the middle of running her paws self-consciously down her underbelly fur when she suddenly looked up and exclaimed, “Charlie?”

The black Labrador retriever had approached us as a gentle trot, his nails hardly clicking as he hugged the far wall. Away from the windows, as if he didn’t want to be seen.

“Shhh,” the Labrador said, swinging a look behind him. He slunk forward, ears and tail lowered, and sat hunched beside the porcupine. Conveniently used Daphne’s bulk to block him from view from anyone milling about in the foyer too.

Shari reached out and touched his shoulder. “You’re trembling.”

Unlike his chatty brother Cohen would’ve done, Charlie got straight to the point. “Mrs. Bilberry told us we’re all to stay in the kitchen tonight. And do as we’re told, which may include getting into the supplies wagon and keeping our mouths shut. But you don’t ask the whole staff to do such a thing unless you’re planning on leaving through the back exit.

“Thing is, the courtyard’s packed with his servants, milady. Deer, coyotes, vultures, dogs, the bears—they’re all over the estate too. Saw them all when I was bringing beer up for the feast.”

That would explain why my wedding party and I weren’t chaperoned in the hallway. Ossian and his magic hunters were at one end and his minions at the other.

My teeth ground together as my mind whirled. “Thistle thorns.”

At the sound of panpipe music, we all collectively froze and held our breaths.

The first to recover, I whispered, “Charlie!”

The Labrador’s head snapped away from the doors, ears swinging.

“Take this.” I fished the black tourmaline crystal out of the censer and dropped it into his mouth. “Mrs. Bilberry is going to make an appearance at dinner, and when she returns to the kitchen, you all are to leave immediately. If that mule gives you any trouble, abandon the wagon. And if anyone stops you, claim you’re on your way back to the Magic Brewery for more beer. If they don’t let you pass, use that crystal. All you need to do is roll it at your enemy’s feet. Understand?”

Before he could nod, the double doors swung open and a voice boomed from within, “The moon has risen. Come forth, bride.”

“Ugh,” Flora muttered. “Pass.”

“Go on, Charlie,” Shari whispered, giving him a little push. “Do as she says. And . . . see you later.”

The Labrador rose and took a step down the hallway for the safety of the kitchen when he thought better of it. He whipped around, swiped his tongue against Shari’s cheek, and whispered, “See you later.”

As the porcupine’s gray cheeks turned bright red, the Labrador bounded off.

Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly and cinched down on the stolen bond, stifling its effects. “Y’all ready for this?”

My friends shared a glance and nodded. Sawyer sprang up and seated himself firmly in my lap, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“More like, is he ready for us?” the honey badger growled. Then she put on a toothy smile, snatched up her wicker basket full of rose petals, and flung a fistful of them into the air as the music of panpipes started. “Go get ’im, cider witch.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

The fae king was breathtaking.

He’d always been ethereally beautiful, but tonight under the soft light of a chandelier and the glow from the fireplace, Ossian was stunning.

Gone were his casual white linen shirt and buckskin trousers. Black boots, oiled to a shine to match the gleam of his copper curls, rose to just below the knee. Hunter-green lambswool fashioned his tunic, edged in black velvet. The cut of the fabric was so precise it revealed every curve and swell of powerful muscle concealed beneath, something I ignored despite the stolen bond’s suggestion to do otherwise. A cape of green edged and lined with black fell from his shoulders, a gold chain lashing it in place.

At his throat, the gold wire necklace with its many gemstones and blue cloch contrasted against his bronze skin.

And dangling from a silver chain a little lower, the filigree key.

Ossian didn’t slouch on his throne this time; his posture was regal but relaxed, hands melding softly against the armrests. His attentive gaze was mildly amused at the sight of the honey badger flinging rose petals this way and that; his jewel-green eyes widened when they spied me astride the back of the white mare.

Shari’s clever fingers had braided my hair more intricately than a challah loaf, weaving in bits of white baneberry to resemble pearls. She’d fashioned my dress to accentuate my curves, both top and bottom, the bodice snug against my ribs. The neckline revealed a ridiculous amount of cleavage, but if that helped keep the Stag Man distracted, I was all for it.