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A small crowd of Fae have gathered on the lawn of their castle. It's a massive, medieval-looking structure. All walls and parapets. It looks like a fortress meant to repel attackers, and not like a home at all.
But all these people have made their home here.
I see little Tress laughing and smiling. Gabrielle nods to me in a respectful way, her eyes betraying nothing. The other elder women watch in mild disapproval, but it seems the sight of Fabien in his wedding suit melts their hearts. Smiles erupt on their sour faces. Lysander watches from beside the small stage that's been built for us. Zedona, acting as my father, stands on the opposite side. He looks stiff, like he misses the gun he used to carry.
He looks more like a nervous bodyguard than my dad.
I think of my actual dad then. Tears start to flow and I quickly dab at them with my silk handkerchief. I don't want to cry in front of these people. But I also don't want to redden my face or ruin my makeup.
A small army of sprites worked my face over, and I’m not ruining this moment forthem, darn it!
Every woman in the crowd, even the ones that are crazy old, looks immaculate. And they're not even close to crying.
I willnotbe the only one with raccoon eyes at my own wedding…
Fabien leads me to the front. I nearly gasp when I see the lion and the mice sitting there. A thousand sprites flit through the canopy overhead like bright stars.
I'm shocked when a human woman approaches with a book in her arms. She's cloaked and has a hood on, but long red hair spills out from the hood across her chest. Her eyes nearly glow in the shadows.
There’s something different about her. Inhuman.
Is she a shifter, or...?
But when she pulls back the hood, a wave of something bright and burning hits me. It's like a warm wind blowing through my soul.
Fabien, still holding me to keep me from dropping, shudders as it hits him, too.
“Fabien,” she says quietly, nodding.
“Arabella.”
She nods at me, too. I suddenly know what she must be…
A witch?
"Those who’ve gathered," she intones, "give thanks."
A mumbling of the wordthanksechoes through the gathered crowd. I'm a little surprised when I glance back to see them all sit right in the grass in their finery. I don't know why I'm surprised, though. These people have a very different relationship with nature than humans do.
It's the woods that are their home, not the huge castle.
"I’m here," she continues, "by the blessing of my kind, and by the ancient laws and agreements made between our realms. I give my blessing, and the blessing of the moon to this ceremony. I pass what luck I can to the bride and groom, to carry with them throughout their life together."
She sighs loudly and draws a long, sharp looking stick from her robes.
"Hold out your hands," she says, and in a lowered voice, she whispers, "It won’t hurt much at all," to me. Which is scary, because usually weddings don't hurt in the slightest, from the ones I've seen.
She pricks each of our palms and then presses them together with her icy hands. Something seems to pass between her and I at that moment.
When her eyes meet mine again, it's like I just know.
She knows I'm lying. Somehow, she knows.
