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Dressed in tight black breeches and an even tighter corset that brought out her shapely figure, Lorn gesticulated wildly to a man in front of her and—oh gods, did she just punch him?
I straightened in my chair, craning my neck to watch her disappear into the crowd before my gaze returned to the man. He raked a hand through his short black hair, grabbing it and yanking it in a display of pure desperation.
I leaned over the armrest of my chair toward Sebian, jutting my chin in the man’s direction. “Who is he?”
“Lord Aros of House Batana,” Sebian said. “He’s Lorn’s fated mate.”
Him.
My molars ground together.
Somehow, the idea of Lorn having a fated mate had not once crossed my mind, especially not with her fixation on Malyr. Why had the Raven prince have him brought here? To distract her? To get her to bond? To… rid himself of her?
“Why aren’t they bonded?” I asked.
“I’d like to say because he’s smart, but I’m afraid it’s more tragic than that.” Sebian shook his head. “She keeps rejecting him.”
I chewed on that for a moment as a new concern presented itself. What if Malyr came across his fated mate after our wedding? Where would that leave me?
Ugh, now I was getting ahead of myself. First, I needed to ensure that said wedding actually took place. Presume thekjaerwas a start…
“Enough with the merrymaking!” A man slammed his metal tankard on the table before he shouted from a foam-covered beard, “Court the pale-haired thing!”
“Yes, court her!” Sebian chuckled—his sides freshly-shorn for the occasion, the rest of his hair loosely tied together—and gave me a wink. “Or I might just do it.”
Again that flutter in my belly, whirling around in my chest with concerning intensity. What was he feeling for me? What was I starting to feel for him?
I feared the potential answers.
“You would court my betrothed during akjaerI paid for? That’s bold, even for you.” Malyr took a swallow of his wine, then gave a pat on his lap. “Come to me, little white dove.”
The familiar gesture rose the fine hairs along my limbs as if my skin were erecting a shield. He would unleash his malice on me tonight, I felt it in that itchy scar on my breastbone.
When I slipped off my chair, Malyr slung one arm around my belly and secured me on his lap before he said, “I am looking forward to dancing with you.”
There we had it, one degradation out of who knew how many awaited. “Tell me, Malyr, what gives you more pleasure? Embarrassing me in front of everyone, or setting me up so I will do it all on my own?”
He didn’t even bother to subdue his bemused snort before he lowered his cup to the table. “What do my people say?” he shouted. “What shall I gift my female?”
“Seashells! Glass shards!” a cacophony of voices yelled, shrieked, and cheered in a turmoil of suggestions. “Coins! Shiny pebbles! Nails!”
I frowned. “Nails?”
“Ouranoashave the habit of growing quite obsessed with gathering smooth, shiny, or… otherwise beautiful objects. Males often gift them to a female in courtship.” He grabbed a small package of a folded leaf wrapped with twine where it had been sitting on our table since the start of the feast. “This is my gift to you.”
I took the package, untied the twine, and carefully unwrapped it, only for something black and tangly to slip into my palm. “What… what is this?”
“A bracelet. The chain ofaerymel, a local artisan crafted for me, but the trinkets I chose and gathered myself.” He lifted the bracelet from my palm, letting wood and bone clank against metal. “Show me your wrist. No, the other one.”
I reached my other wrist to him, the one with the ribbon on it, squinting at the dull, flat discs, some of them elongated. “Are those… buttons?”
“Buttons?” Sebian asked, his brows drawing together in a doubting expression.
“Better than chestnuts, no?” When the closure snapped shut, Malyr cupped my cheek. “Yeh ash valtem skalde ya.”
Something deep at my core reveled at his words, or perhaps it was their foreign cadence flaring my curiosity. “What does it mean?”
“I will forever treasure you,” he said. “One of many oaths traditionally spoken during akjaer.”
