Page 23 of Fallen Court

I could do this one thing to keep them safe, even though it meant breaking my promise to Lach.

I just needed a sign. Minutes and hours passed—maybe even eternity itself—as I waited for another glimpse of gold. Even if it was only a hallucination, the possibility was a small comfort.

A soft knock at the door jolted me from my vigil.

“Come in.” The words were rough in my dry mouth. I forced myself to swallow, straightening as the door opened. The mute maid shuffled inside, a delicate white gown draped over her arms. She laid it across the bed, its fabric flowing like spilled milk, and turned to me. Our eyes met, and hers were filled with a sadness that mirrored my own.

I forced my feet to move, each step a cruel reminder of what waited for me as I followed her into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, laying out a towel by the sink, and nodded before disappearing into the bedroom. A polite reminder that I hadn’t bathed for days.

Shedding the dress I’d worn since my arrival, I stepped under the water. The heat loosened the tension knotting my shoulders after sleepless nights spent huddled by the window as my last moments of freedom slipped by. I reached for the soap, lathering it until its lavender overwhelmed the cedar oil that had haunted me all day. Every motion was automatic, performed out of habit. Just like the rest of my life would be.

I wrapped myself in the soft towel and returned to the bedroom, ready to get this over with. Lingerie had been laid out. My stomach dipped at the sight of the lacy undergarments and what they implied. That had not been part of the discussion. Oberon could have his ring, but he would never have his bride.

The maid studied me, an understanding in her eyes that broke my heart. Some words didn’t need to be spoken. Some scars were shared. I swallowed as I picked up the skimpy bra, nausea twisting my guts. She moved to the vanity, pretending to busy herself as I put on the underwear. After I hooked the bra, she returned to help me with the dress.

It wasn’t an actual wedding gown, not by modern standards, with its flowing layers of gossamer long enough to pool into a small train. Tiny, hand-stitched flowers and vines were embroidered on the gauzy fabric that rose into a high neckline before tapering into a pair of fluttery sleeves that draped off my shoulders like butterfly wings. There was no denying its virginal pretensions. It would be laughable if I was capable of laughing.

She slipped it over my head, layering me in an innocence long stolen. The dress clung to my curves, a second skin I neither recognized nor wanted. Her fingers moved nimbly up the buttons. When she was finished, she started toward the full-length mirror, but I moved to the vanity. I didn’t need to check my appearance. Today was a performance. Nothing more.

I sat on the stool, staring into the mirror without really seeing anything. She worked with a quiet precision, weaving my hair into an intricate updo, but each gentle touch felt like an apology—as if she wished she could protect me.

“I don’t need to be saved,” I whispered to her. “I’m the savior.”

Her gaze held a flicker of something more, a desperate communication barred by the cruel spell that stole her voice.

“Can you write?” Opening the drawer to search for a pen and paper—for a lifeline to express the words trapped inside her—I found only cosmetics. No glamours, then. I couldn’t be certain that she was human, but I suspected if she wasn’t, she wasn’t allowed to do magic. I uncapped an eyeliner pencil and held it out to her. But she shook her head, the glimmer of commiseration flickering out, leaving me with the heavy certainty that she deserved to be rescued, too.

She placed a cautious hand on my shoulder and squeezed before returning to her duty. When she finished, she gestured to the mirror as if seeking my approval. Since she wasn’t the one blackmailing me into marriage, I complied. A stranger looked back. She had my eyes, my mouth, my nose, but I wasn’t inside.

As I stared at my reflection, a golden filament flickered over my skin. I grabbed my wrist like I could catch it, but it vanished in a blink. The illusion shattered, and I turned away from the glass.

No more escape. No more denial.

Today, I would marry Oberon and seal my fate—and the future of those I loved. It wasn’t such a bad trade-off.

I barely had time to catch my breath before the bedroom door opened. I turned to see Oberon and the witches entering my room, their presence filling the space with an unsettling energy. They wore matching robes of emerald green embroidered with silver thread. Ilsa raised an eyebrow at my appearance but didn’t say anything. Her gaze flickered to the maid and lingered intently until the poor thing scuttled out of the room.

Oberon, however, was dressed for the modern world. He looked every bit the regal king he craved to become in his expensive tailored suit, the black fabric accentuating his dark hair. The choice was a stark reminder that the clock was ticking.

Titania trailed behind them. Her vibrant red dress, cut scandalously low, was a jarring contrast to my own. The tight-fitting fabric clung to her curves, and I couldn’t help but feel that her choice of attire was a wedding wish especially for me. The message? Fuck you.

At least she and I saw eye to eye. We’d be best friends in no time.

“Ready to get this over with, Cate?” Oberon’s voice pulled me back to the present.

Relief shot through me, short-lived but welcome. Maybe I’d misread the lingerie.

“You look…” He paused, raking his gaze down my body in a way that made my skin crawl. “Exquisite.”

Or maybe not.

“Before we begin the ritual, there is one more thing you must do to show the goddess the sincerity of your intentions,” Marin said, withdrawing a knife from a sheath under her cloak.

I swallowed hard as its blade glinted in the light, my heart pounding in my chest. “What is that?”

Oberon dutifully held out his left hand. He didn’t flinch as Marin pierced his index finger. Blood welled on its tip, and she smeared the blade through it before she turned to reach for my hand. I started back a step, repulsed, and she scowled, grabbing my arm.

“Blood helps seal powerful magic.” She pricked my skin. My blood seeped across Oberon’s blood, staining the blade as she murmured, “Mother goddess, sacred and true, let blood unite this spell anew. Beneath the surface where secrets lie, threads of fate may crimson tie.”