Chapter One: A Forced Union
Elowen Aurial shifted with miniscule movements, the cold stones of the great hall floor numbing her knees. Her crimson gown pooled around her--a reminder of the blood shed trying and failing to defend the castle.
Her gaze flickered sideways to her brother, Lysander, kneeling next to her. His brown hair flopped over the lavender eyes they shared, though her hair, when unconstrained by a coiffure, was dark as midnight and curly.
His gaze remained fixed on the floor, shoulders slumped.
Heavy booted feet marched up the central aisle of the hall, the echoes dying against the dense tapestries covering the stone walls. The column of unseelie sidhe, their lord and commander at the head, strode into the solar, taking possession of the conquered castle.
Elowen's lip caught between her teeth. She tilted her head to peer up, her heart hammering against her ribs. Before this moment, her only view of Lord Thalion had been a glimpse on the battlefield.
All through summer, the fae host had sieged Aurelian Castle. For five months, Lysander and Elowen had held their people together, rationing food and thanking the Dagda for depths of their wells. But then the fae dammed the streams that fed the underground cisterns.
Three days later, Lysander surrendered.
A pair of boots embracing powerful legs stopped before her, leather so soft her fingers itched to pet it. She rolled her eyes up along the length of the sidhe's body, past the sleeveless chain mail vest tumbling down his chest like a shimmering waterfall. A torc shaped of the same fairy silver as his chain embraced his throat, topaz and crystal picking out a lily in its center.
Lord Thalion Moonsong.
His gleaming eyes caught the light of the chandelier, the tiny sparkling stars that formed his irises more beautiful than any pendant she owned.
The unseelie sidhe stared down at Elowen and she trembled under his cool gaze.
His sculpted jawline, framed by a cascade of liquid silver hair, hinted at the strength and passion hidden beneath his enigmatic gaze. The chiseled planes of his face accentuated high cheekbones and sensuous lips that curled into a dark smile as his starlit eyes pinned her where she knelt.
Those glittering orbs stripped her soul naked, as though they could see every flaw.
She swallowed, her guts crawling. According to the ancient tradition of firth, he could claim her hand in marriage. By Brehon Law, their union would bring peace. Would he demand that? She bit her lip, fear drawing a tingling line down her spine. At eighteen, she was old enough for the rites.
Muscles played against his gleaming, moonflower pale skin as he curled his fingers over the silken restraining band that kept her hair up. Thalion jerked and Elowen's ebony curls tumbled out of the careful coiffure to fall to her shoulders in a careless cascade. His smile took on a satisfied air, though the starlit gaze remained cool.
"I had heard you were beautiful." Thalion's voice was a deep, entrancing rumble that reverberated through Elowen's very soul. "I am pleased that it is true."
Her fists crumpled in her dress as he turned away from her to Lysander. "Here are my terms, boy. You will swear your fealty to me, and the fae realm will grow by the length of your lands. You will remove all the measures you have taken against the wee folk, and Aurelian will be fairy once more. To seal your loyalty, I will take your sister as my wife."
Lysander swallowed, his throat-boll jerking up and down in his throat. He finally met her gaze. Anger burned behind his lavender eyes, but defeat slumped his shoulders. "Yes, my lord." His tenor voice seemed thin after the rolling bass tones.
Elowen's breath came faster, her throat convulsing. They had no choice but to surrender. She had known that since the first bucket from the well came up dry. Under Brehon Law, Thalion had every right to claim her. She braided her trembling fingers together as dread balled in her guts.
Stories were told about the sidhe. Tales of what they did to humans in their beds. Her buttocks clenched together, bile rising in her throat. Their power bloomed in lust--the more debouched the better. Her breasts bulged against the corset and around the edges of her sight, darkness closed in.
Her father used to say,
'Fae will suck the life right out of you and make you thank them for the privilege.'
And he had married one of them.
Danu preserve me.
She closed her eyes.
Will there be anything left of me after Thalion has taken his tribute?
Her fairy mother had left her father bitter and alone.
But Thalion did not wait for either her consent or even Lysander's whispered agreement.
"Diarmuid!" he called over his shoulder.
The glittering host of fae at his back parted in a jingle of mail, and a tall sidhe with shining obsidian skin approached. On his chest, a silver cauldron glittered--the mark of a priest of Cerridwen. Pale sapphires tumbled from the lip to stud the amulet--reflecting the crystalline blue of his eyes. The tight band around Elowen's chest gave a notch or two when he smiled at her, a gentle expression that reminded her of Elder Brennan, the Dagda's priest in the town.
"My lord." Diarmuid bowed with sinuous elegance, a dazzling shadow before his master's bright light.
"You'll marry us."
The priest ran his hand over the cauldron. "If the lady is willing?"
Elowen struggled for breath, her hands clutching at her crimson skirts. Thalion would use her for the laws and discard her.
Like my mother did to Father.
"I..."
Thalion's hand tangled in her hair. "If you prefer, I can return to the siege."
Her belly cramped. They had lost so many already. Aurelian's folk could not afford her pride, nor her fears. No matter what she'd promised her father, the living needed her courage.
She lifted her chin. "N-No, my lord. I... I consent."
Diarmuid bowed. "Then yes. Now?"
"I see no purpose in waiting." Thalion closed his hands on Elowen's elbows and lifted her effortlessly. The iron fingers on her arms tightened the bands around her chest once more. She was as helpless to resist this as she was to halt the marriage. A thrill of terror ran down her spine, her groin tightening, and a strange tingle trembled in her womanhood.
She swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth. "May I not... have a day to..."
"To what? Get to know me?" Thalion laughed, a rich, tangible sound that rolled over her. "I am older than the castle in which we stand. A day or a year, it will make no difference. We'll get married and seal your brother's surrender in his bedroom. Tomorrow, I want to be on the road home. Lysander, speak your vow of loyalty and stand next to your sister."
Stumbling over the ancient words of fealty, her brother surrendered his independence, fear and anger waging war in his gaze. He bowed his head, twin red spots of rage staining his cheeks.
Elowen's shoulders drew tense lines beneath her silken gown.
I'm going to be married.
To a fay.
I promised father I wouldn't touch their world.
I swore I'd never turn into one of them.
But we have no choice.
I'm going to be married.
The circling thoughts drummed out everything else. Lysander put his hand on her arm, guiding her to the dais where the fay priest stood next to her future husband.
"I'm sorry." Her brother breathed the words in her ear.
Elowen's gaze flickered to him. His hand drew soft, comforting circles on the small of her back. But they had lost--the time for comfort was over.
"Can you do this?" Lysander whispered. "For the sake of our people?"
Their people. Thalion had not spoken of war reparations. She was his prize and if she accepted this fate, he would take no more from them.
Elowen swallowed and raised her chin, hiding the terrible fear swirling inside her. "Yes. He won't break me. I know why I'm going to his bed."
They walked forward to stand beside Lysander's new liege. Thalion nodded to Diarmuid, and the priest started the ceremony. His words washed over Elowen like the dawn chorus of the larks that woke her every morning. Just meaningless sound.
"Under Brehon Law, I bind you to peace and declare you wed," Diarmuid intoned, completing the ceremony.
"Good." Thalion's hand closed over Elowen's arm, and he drew her against him, the chain links pressing into her skin. "Lysander, you will host my men. Food, drink, and such entertainment as you can muster. Elowen, lead me to the lord's chamber."
Her legs shaking, Elowen obeyed. Every step took her away from the scant safety of humans and toward the end of innocence.
Free of the great hall, Thalion's scent rolled around her--honey, with a hint of cinnamon. She lifted her skirts to mount the stairs. He'd be the one lifting her dresses soon. Heat flushed up her neck and into her cheeks. As a noble, she'd expected to marry for politics. But not like this. Not as the prize of conquest. She'd expected a human man, not a debauched fay whose desires...
A shudder rattled down her spine.
No matter what he does, he won't break me. He can't turn me into one of them.
She made the promise to herself and to her dead father.
I won't let him.
Gritting her teeth in determination, she made it to the top of the stairs.
Beyond the oaken door of the Lord's Chamber waited a giant four-poster bed, its tall, intricately carved posts reaching toward the high ceiling. Azure drapes hung from the canopy, their velvet softness promising warmth.
Elowen's legs stiffened, and she took one shaking step into the room. He'd take her there. On that bed. What would it be like? She wrapped her arms around her chest, her breath trembling over her lips.
Cushions piled high atop the linen bedclothes, adorned with the embroidered sigil of her house--a crimson sun in splendor rising on an azure field. The sigil reminded her of her duty, and she raised her chin.
