Page 108 of The Filigree Key

His gaze certainly dipped, his mouth parting, but he didn’t move from this throne to greet me as Daphne approached the dais. To his right and left were more than half of what remained of the Brotherhood—eight magic hunters. Alec and Shane were in their usual places on either side of his throne. The Brotherhood was dressed in their customary black, their expressions stoic or downright hostile. Not one of them was unscathed from the recent skirmishes with the Coalition enforcers. And while they had gained wounds, they had lost some of their Faerish scripts.

Except for the faelight Brother bearing the gyfu-gar rune. He looked healthy and hale with a handful of new Faerish scripts covering his skin.

While that didn’t bode well for me, it meant one very important thing to someone else.

Lewellyn’s still alive.

Had he been drained, the other Brothers wouldn’t look so haggard and beaten.

I didn’t feel an ounce of pity for any of them. That was reserved for the mountain of a grizzly bear slumped in the corner.

The poor beast was pathetically out of place amidst the decorations and splendor of the great hall. There were cheery evergreen garlands everywhere and cream-colored candles everywhere else. A faun I didn’t recognize with a wreath of holly nestled around his horns and blue faelight shining in his eyes was the source of the merry panpipe music. A feast glistened and steamed on the nearby table and promised gluttony, the lavender-colored wedding cake with its three tiers, sweet decadence.

The downtrodden bear had lifted his head from his paws at my entrance, his brown eyes sad and confused. He chuffed and rumbled, trying to get my attention and puzzled why the kind lady was headed for his enemy. The grizzly attempted to rise once, a great heave of his powerful legs, then cried out as Ossian jerked down on the rapier. I had no way of knowing if the callus held, but the bear had been trained to expect excruciating pain from Faebane. He collapsed with a groan, his bewildered gaze drilling into the soul of me and turning my heart to ash.

“Up here, love.”

The fae king flooded the mate bond with all sorts of warm and sultry emotions, but I was prepared this time. While my heart didn’t flutter traitorously in my chest, my attention still dragged to his beautiful, villainous face. He smirked and stood.

Daphne stopped in front of the dais, and I dismounted, Sawyer tucked under one arm.

“Get rid of the cat.”

There was no point in arguing, so I set my familiar down, and Sawyer loped off to join our friends at the trestle table. Shari was already there, having darted in after Daphne and me, working on a basic chain stitch and doing her best not to hyperventilate. Beside her, Emmett leaned in to offer a comforting word or two, and on his other side, Cody looked like he was ready to forgo all ceremony just to get at the closest bottle of wine. And not in a celebratory way.

“Shall we, love?” Ossian asked, striding down the steps of the dais.

Each click of his boots was a nail hammered into my heart—he was a high fae again, except for his antlers, powerful and strong and a force to be reckoned with. His wrath against Redbud would be swift and severe.

He offered me his hand—a patronizing gesture—and I took it, lest I displease him and Faebane sink another inch into the bear.

“Don’t touch the table,” Flora whispered to me as I sat down. I folded my hands in my lap as I waited for the wedding witnesses to join us.

The Brotherhood left their flanking positions to follow us to the table, each nervously taking a seat. Shane sat with his usual stoicism, his gaze on me instead of the feast. Mrs. Bilberry and the hobs had prepared a magnificent spread full of roasted meats and savory pies; bread loaves as big as pumpkins; pears stewed in wine and spices; mushrooms stuffed with sausage; potatoes of every culinary preparation—mashed, roasted, baked, fried, and dauphinoise; salad chock full of nuts and toasted seeds, cheese, figs, and every field green imaginable.

The Brotherhood had never been treated to a spread this decadent, nor had they ever been permitted to dine with the fae king himself. That would’ve been overstepping on their part—they were not his equal. Nor was I, according to their opinion, so there was no shortage of jealous or festering looks shot my way. And, under lowered lashes, towards the Stag Man himself. They had fought and bled for him and received scraps in return while I, his enemy, was treated like a queen (Caer-powder dosing aside). The loss of their Solomon knots had been a brutal blow, but this was an insulting slap to the face.

Alec lifted a glass of blood-red wine with a smirk. “To the happy couple.”

“Any witchy wedding words you need to utter before we eat?” Ossian asked.

“Blessings be,” was all I said.

That wasn’t the whole of the traditional wedding vows a green witch made to their spouse, but it sounded short and sweet and good enough.

At the head of the table, Ossian lifted his own cup. “Blessings be.”

The wedding feast began.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

With Mrs. Bilberry and the rest of the castle staff safely sequestered in the kitchen and enjoying their own supper, serving food became a free-for-all affair that showed the Brotherhood were just as beastly with their table manners as they were in all the other aspects of their lives.

Greed had a way of rotting you from the inside out, I supposed.

On the other side of the table, my friends did their best to mimic their . . . fervor. As far as the fae king knew, the Crafting Circle ladies and the two old codgers were still enthralled. Technically two of them still were, though his hold on them had lessened significantly.

Ossian himself dined lightly, more out of obligation than anything else. He was a picture of calm confidence, but on the opposite side of that stolen bond, I felt anticipation. And if I could feel that, then my tumultuous anxiety was no secret to him.