“How do you know if your love for someone is true enough to be mated?” I asked.
“Oh, the rite is very simple,” Eleanor chirped. “You shed a little blood, commit to them forever… if the love is worthy, the magic does the rest.”
It wasn’t the mechanics of the rite that were haunting me, but her words caught my attention.
“If it doesn’t work, haven’t you just admitted that you don’t truly love each other?”
“Happens all the time,” Taran answered.
“It’s the worst,” Eleanor groaned. “So painful to watch. Some couples test the rite first to avoid embarrassment. Technically, the bond can be one-sided, so—”
“What?” I cried out, drawing stares from nearby Corbois.
Taran grinned at my outburst. “It’s not uncommon to start the rite in private to be certain it will work. If one mate completes the bond, the other usually will, too.”
“But not always?”
“It’s very rare, but it’s possible,” Eleanor agreed. “They’re called stranded mates. It’s all the worst parts of the bond—having to be near them, feeling their pain, never being able to love anyone else—without any of the benefits.” She winced as if just thinking on it caused her actual pain. “It’s the worst fate I could imagine.”
I studied the couples seated around us. “Who is mated in House Corbois?”
Eleanor and Taran exchanged a loaded glance. A shared pain seemed to pass across their faces.
“Royals marry for strategic alliances, not for love.” Eleanor’s posture drooped. “Uncle Garath told me if I tried to mate without his consent, I’d be exiled from the realm.”
Taran grunted quietly, his glum expression implying he’d received the same order.
My eyes narrowed on the throne where his father now sat. The more I learned about Garath, the more I reviled him. I wasn’t sold on the concept of taking a mate—even a simple marriage to Henri was keeping me awake at night—but I very much believed in love.
I had seen it countless times in my years as a healer. Desperate, gut-wrenching pleas for help when a spouse was gravely ill, and quaking sobs of relief when they recovered. Elderly couples saying their final goodbyes, their devotion steadfast over decades of ups and downs. Healthy spouses who mysteriously passed within days of their partner, their hearts unwilling to keep beating in a world where their beloved’s heart didn’t.
I knew what it looked like to watch love be cut short too early. If I could spare my new friends—by the Flames, do I really have Descended friends?—from that tragedy, that was a battle worth fighting.
I shot them a defiant scowl. “You tell the family they can mate with whoever they damn well please. Garath’s order ends with me. If he doesn’t like it, he can take it up with his Queen.”
Taran studied me, his face hopeful. “You truly mean that?”
I scoffed. “You think I would let anyone dare to stand in the way of my beloved cousins and mind-blowing sex?”
Taran and Eleanor looked at each other and grinned.
“Sorry Ellie, she’s definitely my favorite Corbois now,” he crowed.
“Mine, too,” she laughed.
“I step away for a few minutes and the conversation has already turned to sex?”
The three of us looked up to see Luther towering over us with eyebrows raised.
“Diem is lifting Garath’s ban on royals mating without permission.” Eleanor smirked. “And all in the name of good sex.”
Taran pulled me into his side as he beamed up at his cousin. “We love a woman with her priorities in order, don’t we Lu?”
Luther’s piercing stare pinned me in place. “We do,” he said, his voice heart-stoppingly soft.
I squirmed under his rapt attention. “Tell Iléana I said ‘you’re welcome.’ Be sure to send me an invitation to your mating ceremony.” I tried to make my tone light, but the words came out bitter.
Taran cackled so loudly it reverberated around the royal box, and again, a sea of faces turned our direction.
Luther wedged back into the narrow space beside me, his body pressing distractingly hard against mine. He kept his posture stiff, as aware as I was of the crowd scrutinizing our interaction.
“Iléana would never be my mate,” he said tersely. “Our relationship had nothing to do with love.”
“You cared enough to stay with her for years,” I argued.
“No, she and her family chased me for years. She wanted to be my Queen Consort, and my father wanted an alliance with House Hanoverre. What I want…” His jaw ticked as he stopped himself short.
“What do you want, Luther?”
His eyes dragged slowly to me. He held me there like a butterfly cupped between his hands, fluttering against his touch and wondering if he would be my doom.
Every hair on my neck stood on end as he turned his lips to my ear, his voice low and rough. “Something I cannot have.”
A quiet, breathy sound rushed out of me. The poem in Luther’s hand crinkled loudly as his fingers curled around it into a tight fist.
Behind us, Eleanor laughed loudly at something Taran said, and Garath suddenly shot up from his chair. He stormed toward us. “By the Blessed Mother, will you four keep your childish giggling down? This is a funeral, you know.” His glare sharpened on me. “Haven’t you shown enough disrespect today?”
My face went hot. I jerked away from Luther, dropping my eyes to my lap, though the guilt running through me had little to do with Garath’s scolding and more to do with the way my skin was alight with crackling fire.
“Uncle Garath,” Eleanor said from behind me, “it was my fault, not hers. I—”
“You’re wrong, Uncle,” Luther interrupted loudly. “Targeting innocent victims, as usual.”
Everyone in the gallery stilled, as if Luther had crossed some boundary I could not yet see. I glanced at Aemonn, who was glowering at him in disgust, then at Taran, who looked wide-eyed and wary.
Luther’s jaw lifted in challenge. “Descended funerals are a time for celebration. I’m certain the late King would be honored by our laughter.”
“Yes, how very close you were to my brother.” Garath sneered as he moved closer. “What intimate access you had when he came to such an untimely death.”
Now even I held my breath.
“How interesting that you have positioned yourself just as closely to our young new Queen,” he added. “I wonder if your ambition will cause her to meet a similar fate.”
Luther looked almost bored, seemingly unruffled by Garath’s words, but I saw through his ruse—or rather, felt through it. His powerful aura throbbed against my skin, the blistering fury radiating from him nearly hot enough to burn.
I opened my mouth to interrupt. Luther dropped the poem and clamped his hand high on my leg, shocking me to silence.
“You are certainly the expert on striking blows against your own family, Uncle,” he said flatly. “Though you prefer it when they’re smaller and weaker.”
“Luther,” Taran rumbled in warning. His usual grin had vanished, and for the first time, I saw a glimpse of the terrifying warrior that lay beneath his easy disposition.