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Breeda clasps her hands to her chest and floats up next to my head. The red flames dancing over her minuscule body begin to flutter faster. “A prince? Oh, how completely and totally dreamy. You should marry him, Amelie.”
“I don’t even know who this prince is,” I say, too stunned to take my eyes off my sister. “What are you talking about, Evie?”
“Do you remember the offer you made me a long time ago?”
“Define a long time ago,” I say, although I have a sneaking suspicion I know exactly when—and what—she’s referring to.
“Soon after the war, you said if I ever needed to arrange a marriage for political advantage, you’d marry anyone.”
I wince. I had made such an offer, but not out of enthusiasm. It was more out of…resignation. Apathy. Which is a funny thing, considering only a few months before that, I’d have given anything for a favorable marriage. In fact, Ididgive everything for exactly that. And it blew up in my face. In everyone’s faces.
“I remember,” I grudgingly confess.
“Well, I’ve received a proposal from King Grigory.”
My stomach lurches. King Grigory is the ruling monarch of Bretton, the very man who sought to annihilate all life on the isle during the war. Not just fae lives. The humans living here would have perished too, were it not for my sister and her allies. “I’m not marrying King Grigory. I may be forty-two, but he must be…at least a few decades my senior.”
Breeda nods at Evie. “That is gross, Your Most Gracious and Beautiful Majesty. Don’t we hate him?”
She gives Breeda a wry look, then turns the same expression to me. “I know better than to pair you off with that slimy bastard.”
“Then…who?”
“One of his middle sons,” she says, forcing a hopeful smile. “Prince Albert.”
I blink at her a few times. “Prince Albert? You mean the entitled drunken rogue?” We don’t get much news from Bretton, since we aren’t exactly on good terms with the country we once went to war with, but I’ve heard enough about Prince Albert to form a solid opinion that he’s nothing but a rake.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Evie says with a placating gesture, “but this might not be the best time to judge someone based on how they’re presented in the scandal sheets.”
I bite back the flurry of arguments burning my tongue. She has a point.
Breeda floats back to the top of the couch and perches on the backrest. “He’s not old and gross, is he?”
“He’s eight-and-twenty,” Evie says.
Breeda gasps. “Ooh, a younger man.”
Evie scoots closer to me. “King Grigory presented the Alpha Council with a marriage alliance as an act of goodwill to open talks on improving trade between our countries. By sending his son to establish a political marriage, we essentially possess a hostage.”
I must admit, I can see the wisdom there. After the war, we closed off trade with Bretton. Most imports and exports go through Isola and other countries, which makes anything moving between Faerwyvae and Bretton rather expensive. Giving us a valuable hostage is a good way to ensure peace continues between our countries. And if Grigory isn’t asking for a hostage in return, we hold the upper hand.
We already do, in truth. Even if Bretton were to resort to war with us, they wouldn’t get far. Our victory ended when Fehr—Foxglove’s djinn husband—helped forge a magic-infused barrier around Faerwyvae. It prevents humans from leaving or entering the isle without a pureblood fae escort. Additionally, the magic forms an invisible dome that protects Faerwyvae from any sort of attack, whether by land, sea, or sky. Although, with Bretton’s rumored advancements in firearms and explosives, I’d hate to see our barrier’s limits tested. Perhaps it’s time we solidified a formal pact with Bretton.
Evie reaches over and places a hand on my shoulder. “What do you think, Ami?”
Her use of my childhood nickname has my heart softening. She’s buttering me up like a scone. Still, I’m not sure how to answer.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been offered an arranged marriage. Althoughforced intomight be a better term thanoffered. Before the war, half the isle was claimed by humans under Brettonish rule, and peace was maintained with a treaty. According to it, two human girls were given as brides to the fae every hundred years. The event was called the Reaping, and during the last one, Evie and I were chosen to wed a pair of royal fae brothers. Being the eldest, I was engaged to the older brother, King Aspen, while Evie was paired with the younger, Prince Cobalt.
Not yet aware of our own fae heritage, neither of us were thrilled with the arrangement. I, however, adapted much faster than my sister. I was fascinated by our new environment, by the beauty and luster all around us, by the strange and gorgeous fashions. There was only one thing I couldn’t resign myself to—marrying King Aspen. Instead of falling for my betrothed, I lusted after my sister’s fiancé. Prince Cobalt seemed to share my feelings and offered me a happily ever after. I was so enamored with him that I failed to see his manipulations. I agreed to do anything he told me to if it meant we could be together. He formed a plan, and I went along with it without question. It wasn’t until he began using fae compulsion on me and forced me to do unthinkable things that I realized the truth. By then it was too late. Cobalt had everything in place to steal the throne from his brother. There was nothing I could do about it. I could only follow the orders given to me under the influence of Cobalt’s compulsion. Thus began the war.
My only solace is that my memories from that time are hazy. I vaguely recall the blood on my hands, the lives I took, the people I was forced to hurt.
But I’ll never forget how much I hurt Evie. Everything I did with Cobalt was a betrayal against her, even if I didn’t know it at the time. Even if I was powerless to change my actions after I discovered the truth.
Eventually, I broke free from the bonds of compulsion and joined my sister. She didn’t trust me, and for good reason. But after Cobalt died, she finally understood. Understood that I was no longer the simpering, lustful girl that would risk everything for romance. That was why I told Evie she could marry me off. I figured it didn’t matter if I was ever forced to wed. Love was meaningless, and I’d do anything for my sister’s reign.
But that was then, and this is now. I’ve moved beyond resignation and apathy. Beyond the rage I felt following the death of my devious first love. Where a political marriage once seemed like something I could bear with numb tolerance if it helped Evie, it now feels smothering. Repulsive.
