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It’s the decor adorning the space that likely has her rolling over in the mausoleum.

Stone benches are softened with plush pillows, and cozy rugs hide the grass beneath, each topped with wooden trays of cheese, crackers, and fresh fruit, all untouched.

From the dais set up in the center of the garden, I’m watching the brides mingle, chattering amongst themselves like birds.

Showing off like them too.

Drenched in bright colors with their hair styled in intricate updos, the brides preen around like they’re already royalty. Perfect posture, the invisible weight of a crown on their head, sweet smiles that seem just a little too practiced.

They’re all easy on the eyes, sometimes blending together in a swirl of fine fabrics and flushed cheeks.

Only one female stands out.

With her moonlit hair and unearthly silver eyes, Gwyn commands the attention of the brides the moment she strolls into the space. The beads on her dark blue gown catch the last remnants of sunlight and send tiny bursts of light around her with every movement.

She approaches the golden-haired siren and green-eyed werewolf, timid at first, shy as I’ve ever seen her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and smiling softly. More interested in their responses than they are in hers, she listens intently before fluttering away to another pair of females.

On and on she goes until she’s introduced herself to every bride and winds up right where she started with the siren and werewolf. The latter says something that has Gwyn tipping her head back and laughing.

The sound is magnetic.

I don’t even realize it’s drawn me to her until I’m standing in front of her.

She’s staring at me wide-eyed, pretending she’s in shock.

Or maybe she is in shock because I shouldn’t be singling her out, or drawing attention to her at all, or the brides might see her as competition.

And no one is honest with their competition.

The werewolf gasps as she yanks Gwyn and the siren into a low bow.

The sight of Gwyn bowing for anyone, let alone me, makes me feel nauseous.

It just feels wrong.

“Rise,” I command.

“Thank you so much for gracing us with your presence, Your Majesty,” says the werewolf, her black curls bouncing as she pops upright. She places a palm flat against her chest. “We are honored to be the first of the brides to speak with you. I’m Miriya, and this is Lyrielle and Gwyn.”

“You can also call me Elle,” says the siren, biting her bottom lip. She bats her eyelashes at me. “Actually, you can call me whatever you’d like, Your Majesty. I’m here to please.”

Gwyn’s eye roll is subtle but so typically her that I can’t help but smile.

Lyrielle—Elle?—must think I’m smiling at her because her cheeks redden and her eyes sweep over me from head to toe. There’s a glint in her gaze that shimmers like she’s admiring a fine jewel, or at the very least, calculating how she can acquire it.

“Right.” I clear my throat and gesture to the stone benches. “Let’s get started.”

I cross the garden, back to the bejeweled throne on the dais, and sit, folding one ankle over my knee. A staff member hands me a goblet of wine. I sip it as the brides drift closer, sitting side by side in a half-circle atop the woven carpet, spread out before me.

One by one, they introduce themselves.

Two of almost every creature—vampire, nymph, siren, werewolf, and genie—and a lone witch.

Eliphas, the warlock supreme, was not pleased when I told him I wasn’t seeking a witch for a wife and that his participation in the mart wasn’t necessary. The snub softened once I explained—and slightly exaggerated—that I feared my people wouldn’t accept a witch as their queen due to their beliefs. I stressed that I didn’t share those prejudices, but I needed to be cautious. As an apology, I promised to pay double for all incoming witch goods for the next year and that all exported fae goods would be halved in price.

A costly burden, but one I’d pay ten times over if it meant Gwyn felt safe and comfortable.

My gaze drifts to where she’s seated, cataloguing each bride as if she were a flower, studying them and their words, no detail going unmissed. I should be doing the same, should be paying attention to the females who want to marry me, and not the only one who doesn’t.