“We finished all of the requisitions three days ago. Lady Arlet was keen to complete the list before her ascension,” Fira says. “The committee you set up for the journey already took all the crates to the lower floor. I believe Mother Liana was involved.”
Estela’s face glows with approval. “That’s marvelous. Thank you. Since that is out of the way, I have something else for you, Lady Arlet.”
She turns toward her assistant, a sharp nod passing between them. The enduar woman produces two scrolls, stepping forward to hold them out to me.
I frown, hesitating before I take them. “What’s this?”
Estela’s smile takes on a teasing edge. “The first is a list of men participating in the Mating Journey. All nine hundred and eighty-seven of them.”
My stomach twists.
“And that—” she tilts her chin toward the second scroll, her eyes gleaming with something far too amused for my liking— “is what you have somehow neglected to complete for Lirenne. Now, I know you have been busy with your new position, but remember—all unmarried members of the council are required to go. We went over this during the council meeting, but you didn’t attend. In that scroll, you will find a list of questions about yourself and your preferences.”
Then, she winks.
Something unpleasant slithers through me, curling like smoke in my ribs. I hadn’t forgotten about the damn scroll. I had just… let it hang in the air, floating above me, unclaimed, undisturbed. Lady Fira, sensing the discomfort, returns to her duties.
Hope is a dangerous thing. I’d been in only two relationships, and neither had ended well. I purposefully didn’t think of the Mating Journey because I knew my heart would start to conjure ideas, likethis could be what I’ve been waiting for. The thing that will change everything and cause me to recognize a mate. And then I would finally have an increased measure of magic to let me get pregnant.
Right now, that thought is especially comforting because having a husband would make me ineligible for the Elf King’s awful proposal.
But another part of me is tired. Exhausted from pain. Tired of betrayal and rejection. Of being an option, never the choice.
I clutch the scrolls, feeling their weight, the jewels glinting in the floating lights. Lirenne is the enduar in charge of the festival, and she has been sorting scrolls for over a month. She has developed a mathematical system to help her match potential couples together while still preserving a flexibility that would let everyone at the festival at least see each other.
The week after would be spent filled with mating ceremonies. It is to be a long month for me. It would be a kindness to let me just… skip it all.
Estela’s voice softens. “Given our friendship, I have told Lirenne to accept your scroll at the beginning of the festivities. And I think it would be a good idea if you made note of any men who seem to stand out.” Another knowing look. “Perhaps it will lead to a more successful day.”
Well, ouch.
Something pinches inside my chest, a quiet, relentless ache. I don’t covet Estela’s power nor her husband. But the idea of what she possesses? Love. Family. Trust.
She has always had that, and it has always hurt. I hunger for such things.
This isn’t helpful. I know she means well, that she wants me to move forward. To heal. But this—this isn’t the answer.
I twist my hands and her expression changes.
Her brows furrow, a crease forming between them. “Arlet? Was I too forward?”
I hesitate. Then, finally, I say it.
“I don’t wish to attend.”
She blinks. “But youmust, it?—”
“A foreign king wants to carry me away as a bride. I don’t know if I’m in the right state of mind to find a mate,” my voice snaps, sharp as a blade.
It’s a mistake.
The air changes, crisping at the edges.
Estela exhales slowly. "Querida," she says firmly, "you don’t have to do anything that doesn’t feel right for you. I know you are overwhelmed.”
The words should be soothing. But instead, they crack something inside me.
Daniel. Joso. King Arion. They all swirl before me. Of the two lovers I’d had in my life, both had broken my trust and it came down, sadly, to one thing. My inability to give them a family.