Ding.
“I do.”
“Then we are bound together. I take your name, and you take my protection. I take the name of your forebears.”
The fire branched out, a thin line wrapping around their hands. Mouse expected it to burn, but when it touched her skin, a chill settled on her down through her bones. The line of fire dissolved, leaving a jagged white scar around her hand. Thornwood sported a matching one on his.
“Tell me your true name, Mouse,” he said, tilting one ear closer.
She breathed her name into his ear. “Misneach.”
It was strange to hear it spoken by anyone, after all the years when she had not even whispered it to herself.
“It is done,” Thornwood said.
It was as though a balloon popped. The atmosphere constricted around Mouse, and she gasped, pulling away. Thornwood gripped her shoulders and spun her to face the crowd. He held out his hand, and a goblet appeared.
“Water,” Mouse wheezed.
“It is water,” Thornwood said, pressing it into her hands. She drank it all, the moisture a balm to her throat. She wanted to cry. Thornwood tipped her chin up and smiled. “You did well.”
“I want to rest,” she said.
“Soon. We must give the court a few dances, but after that, you can sleep for as long as you wish.”
Dancers filled the floor, dressed in elegant gowns in every color, twirling across the room. Mickelwaithe’s dark shadow stood out among the bright shapes. He was guiding Beckett through the crowd. As they passed, Faeries reached out to them, only to shrink back at Mickelwaithe’s dark look. Mouse sighed in relief.
“Not all Fae are as gentle with humans as I am. Stay close to metonight, Mouse,” Thornwood said against her ear. When he pulled away, it was to beckon her to the dance floor.
Something cool encircled her finger, and when she looked down, his ring glittered there. The gem was whole again, sparkling with magic.
The other Faeries cleared out of the way, leaving a trail for them to follow. Behind their cheerful masks, Mouse could see they were laughing at her. She winced, her thoughts slow. Why would they be laughing? She looked down at herself. There was nothing on her dress, and her reflection in the mirror was as beautiful as she had ever been. No, it was something else.
It struck her that she and Thornwood had not kissed. Was it a sham wedding in Faerie if they did not kiss? It did not seem right to Mouse, even with her thoughts heavy and thick. And she’d enjoyed kissing him before! When she looked back at Thornwood, he was frowning, but his expression softened when she took his extended hand.
He was not expecting her to lean forward and press her lips firmly against his.
A sharp taste coated her tongue as soon as her lips touched his. It was bitter, like fruit eaten before its time. The taste of a spell breaking lingered on her tongue and slowed her thoughts further, as powerful as poison.
Somewhere, her childhood memories whispered something about true love’s kiss breaking enchantments. Closer, the voice from earlier, her mother’s voice, cried,Get away from here, before he puts another spell on you.
Thornwood’s lips parted, and his pupils blew wide. He leaned forward to press his lips to hers again. The kiss was overpowering, and for a blissful instant she kissed him back, her thoughts still slow. Thenher mother’s voice shouted again. She bit down hard on his lip, and he pulled back with a cry.
“You tricked me,” Mouse whispered. “You enchanted me.”
He clutched her hand in his, his eyes frantic. “Mouse, please.”
Her memories rolled through her mind slowly, a moving picture of the last day. She saw John’s disappointed face and the parade of Faerie guests and remembered whispering her name aloud to him. Nothing made sense, and everything was wrong, although she could not quite voice why yet.
She was going to be sick in the middle of the ballroom in her wedding gown. She wanted to be alone.
But, more than anything, she wanted her brother.
“Why?” Mouse whispered, the magic still dulling her senses like the numbing throb of too much champagne.
“The choice to say yes was your own,” Thornwood pleaded. “But I could not have you backing out.”
It was as though he’d struck her. He continued speaking, his voice no louder than a whisper in her ear. Begging, she thought.