It was nearing midnight, both in Faerie and in the mortal city, when I returned to my chambers after a day on the road.
I loosed a breath as I entered my apartments. The walls were forest green accented with gold, the humid air alive with the scent of foxgloves and the sweet fragrance of the apple tree that grew in my room. Moonlight poured over the tree and plants through a skylight. It was as close to a greenhouse as I could get in the castle.
I dropped onto my bed, still clothed.
Today, I’d personally invited one hundred fae women to compete for my hand in marriage. One princess from each noble clan and an additional ninety-four common fae. No commoner had ever actually won the tournament, but inviting them to participate made them feel included and kept their families from rebelling.
Over the next few weeks, these women would compete for the Seelie Queen throne and the chance to reign next to me as my wife. And that drunk, ranting woman was probably right—what they really wanted was power and fame.
It didn’t matter.
Even if I had no desire to marry, a queen on the throne was crucial to keep our magic flowing. It was the only way to protect the kingdom. And more importantly, it would give me the magic I craved.
If I didn’t marry, Faerie and all the fae would die. It was as simple as that, and it really didn’t matter what I wanted at all.
My eyes were drifting shut when the door creaked open, and a sliver of light from the hall lit up the room.
“Torin?” It was my sister’s voice. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, Orla.”
“May I come in?”
“Of course.”
Orla pushed the door open and slipped into my room. My sister was twenty-three, only three years behind me, but she looked even younger. Slim and wide-eyed, she hardly looked a day over seventeen, especially in her pale satin frock and silk slippers. Her blonde hair rested loosely on her thin shoulders.
She stood by the doorway, gazing in my general direction, awkwardly waiting for me to speak. Orla was blind, her eyes ruined in childhood. When I remained silent, she went first. “How did it go today?”
“I did what I had to do.”
Orla’s head shifted ever so slightly towards me as she followed the sound of my voice. “So you didn’t have any trouble?”
I sensed my sister knew the answer to this question. Despite, or maybe because of her blindness, she was very perceptive, and I could never lie to her.
“The only trouble I encountered was a drunken common fae who called the tournament embarrassing, on par with the worst of human civilization.”
Orla’s narrow shoulders stiffened. “I heard about that.”
“She had the slovenly appearance of a beggar, the manners of a fishwife. And yet…she’s not entirely wrong about the tournament, is she?” Why was I still thinking about her? Possibly because her words had a painful ring of truth in them. “It’s not important.”
Orla looked less than convinced. “Brother, your reputation is very important. Our enemies need to fear you. If the six clan kings learn the truth—”
“Don’t worry,” I said quickly. “Everything is under control. I’ll have a queen in a month.”
“And you’re sure you want to do this now?” I could hear the worry in Orla’s voice.
I nodded, feeling the great weight of my position. “A king has to sacrifice for his people. The queen’s throne has been empty far too long. You know the people are suffering. The winter drags on, there have been reports of malign magic returning to the land. Without a queen on the throne, the magic of the Faerie is fading. Including mine.”
“You know, there’s another way.” Orla’s pale eyes seemed to search my face. “I have a proposal from Prince Narr. I could marry him, and then you could abdicate. Our line would still rule Faerie. I could sit on the throne.”
Fear caught at my heart. Orla could never be queen of the Seelie fae. She was blind and sick, sometimes in bed for weeks. For her, the strain of the role would be a death sentence. But I couldn’t say that out loud to her.
So I feigned anger instead. “Marry Prince Narr? Absolutely not. As King of the Seelie, it is my duty and my duty alone to defend the kingdom. The tournament will select my wife. The queen’s throne will be filled again. Magic will flow once more into the kingdom.”
Orla dropped stiffly onto my bed. “But what if you have to marry someone gorgeous, like Moria of the Dearg Due, or Cleena of the Banshees? Etain of the Leannán Sídhe? I’ve heard no man can resist their charms. If you should slip up and fall in love, if you kill a princess, it will be disastrous for everyone. Torin, a fissure within the clans could start a civil war. The clans weren’t always united, you know—”
“I will not fall in love,” I said, cutting her off. “My heart is a vise. Whoever wins the tournament will enjoy all the benefits and luxuries of the position, but I won’t curse them with my love. She will be the queen of our people.” What I didn’t say was that Orla was absolutely right. Any woman near me would be in terrible danger if I started to fall for her.
Orla got up from my bed and began to walk slowly to the door. She’d been in my room a thousand times before and knew every inch of the stone floor, but still it made me nervous, watching her move about on her own. I rose, catching her by the elbow.
“Torin, you know I can walk without your help.”
“Humor me,” I said, giving her arm a gentle squeeze as I led her the rest of the way to the door.
My footman was waiting for her in the marble hallway. “Aeron,” I said, “take the princess back to her room. It’s quite late.”
I shut the door behind her, then turned around to lean against it, breathing in the vernal air. My hands clenched. I hated to admit it, but Orla was right.
I was cursed, and I had been my whole life. If I ever fell in love with my bride, she would die. And it would be my own touch that would kill her—freezing her to the marrow like the bleak landscape around us.
This was my curse.
Cold webs of grief spread through my chest like a winter frost. I’d been in love before, once. By the old temple to Ostara, I’d held Milisandia’s frozen body in my arms as my soul split in two.
My fault.
And every time I began to weaken in my resolve, I’d return to that same temple and remember exactly how Milisandia had looked as her body had turned white and blue…
My fingers tightened into fists.
As part of my curse, I could never speak about it to anyone. I hadn’t been able to warn her, to tell her to keep away. The words would die on my tongue. Cursed by the same demons, Orla could never speak of it, either. Only the two of us knew one another’s secrets, and that knowledge would die with us.
My love—my touch—is death.
I poured myself a glass of scotch and took a long sip. I’d tried to break it off with her, but she’d followed me to the old temple that night. And I could not resist her…
I would never love again. I could never love again. I had only one purpose now—one way to redeem myself for the blood on my hands—and that was to save my people.
And not only would it ruin me completely, but it could mean the end of my kingdom.
Princesses might die in the tournaments, yes. This was always a risk. But a dead princess at my hands? Slaughtered by the king himself?
The six clans of the Seelie could turn against a murderous king, as they’d done a thousand years ago when King Caerleon lost his head during a time known in Faerie as the Anarchy. Already, enough rumors had spread through the kingdom of the things I’d done to the women I loved.
Rumors not entirely untrue…
If the clans turned against us, it would be the end of a united Faerie. The first king in thousands of years to let it fall apart.
Unless…I chose someone I could never fall in love with.
I closed my eyes. What I needed was a woman willing to make an arrangement and think of it as nothing more. Someone with repellant manners and no sophistication. Someone who loathed me as much as I did her. Someone lowborn with no sense of morality, who could simply be bought…
My eyes snapped open as the most glorious idea came to me.
