When he looks over at Wren again, he can see that she is covering her mouth as she eats, as though to hide the sharpness of her teeth.
There is a sound at the entrance, a clatter of armor as guards leap to attention. The storm hag has arrived, hours late, wearing a tattered black dress that hangs off her like a shroud and a smile full of menace.
Bogdana thrusts her hand into the pie in the shape of a stag. Her hand is stained red with the juice of sloes as she pulls it out, her fingers gripping a coin. “I shall have my boon, king. I want Wren and your heir married tomorrow.”
“You requested three days,” Cardan reminds her. “To which we gave no answer.”
“And three days it will be,” says Bogdana. “Yesterday was the first, and tomorrow will be the third.”
Oak sits up straighter. He glances across the table, waiting for Wren to stop this. Waiting for her to say she doesn’t want to marry him.
Her gaze meets his, and there is something like pleading in it. As though she wants to both break his heart publicly and have some guarantee he won’t hold it against her.
“Go ahead,” he mouths.
But she remains silent.
A glance passes between Jude and Cardan. Then Jude stands and raises her glass, turning to Oak. “Tonight, we feast in the hall in celebration of your betrothal. Tomorrow, we will have a hunt in the afternoon, then dance on Insear. At the end of the night, I will ask your bride a question about you. Should she get it wrong, you will delay your marriage for seven days. Should she answer rightly, we will marry you both on the spot, if such is still your desire.”
Bogdana scowls and opens her mouth to speak.
“I agree to those conditions,” Wren says softly before the storm hag can answer for her.
“So do I,” Oak says, although no one asked him. Still, this is all a performance. “Provided that I am the one who comes up with the question for my betrothed.”
Wren looks panicked. His mother looks as though she’d like to stab him with her fork. Jude’s expression is impossible to read, so rigidly does she keep her features set.
Oak smiles and keeps smiling.
He doesn’t think she’ll contradict him in public. Not when Bogdana drew so much attention to them.
“So be it, brother,” his sister says, sitting back in her chair. “The choice will be yours.”
CHAPTER
18
S
hortly after that, Wren rises and makes her excuses.
On her way out, she stops by Oak whispers in his ear. “Meet me in the gardens at midnight.”
He nods with a slight shiver. She’s already moving away from the table, fingers resting briefly on his shoulder as she goes. The storm hag spots her leaving, rises, and follows, menace in her movement.
That’s two assignations for Oak. The moon’s zenith tonight is about an hour past midnight, so they’re a little too close together for him to feel easy about moving between them. And yet, he’s helpless to do anything but agree to see Wren. When they were alone on the floor of the brugh, he felt as though they were friends again. And something was obviously wrong. Wren said she made mistakes— could that have to do with allowing Bogdana to accompany her? The storm hag wants them to marry—and soon—but he isn’t sure why Wren doesn’t tell her that isn’t going to happen. Is it because Wren’s power is at such a low ebb that she’s afraid she will lose if she has to fight?
He can postpone the betrothal easily enough. Pose her a question to which she doesn’t know the answer—or pose it in such a way that it’s possible for her to pretend to guess wrong.
Who is my favorite sister?
What’s my favorite color?
Can you ever forgive me?
Okay, maybe not that last one.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Tiernan has walked up to Hyacinthe. Both of them stood near the High Table throughout dinner; Hyacinthe didn’t follow Wren out. Instead, he had remained behind, looking uncertain.
“I want you,” the prince hears Tiernan say. Oak feels some chagrin at overhearing that, but he is also surprised at the starkness of the admission. It sounds almost like an accusation.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Hyacinthe asks.
Tiernan snorts. “Pine, I suppose.”
“Aren’t you tired of that?” Hyacinthe could have said the words like a tease, but instead he sounds exhausted. A man offering a truce after a long battle.
“What else is there?” Tiernan’s voice is harsh.
“What if I said you could have me? Have me and keep me.”