Page 22 of Fallen Court

I wanted to save my friends, but marrying Oberon? My chest tightened, my skin itching and burning like my soul was trying to escape this fate. There had to be another way. It wasn’t like Oberon wanted to marry me. He was clearly already in love with himself.

I remained silent as he guided the witches out of the room. Titania lingered behind while he dismissed them.

I was still weighing exactly how to tell Oberon to go fuck himself over this marriage idea when Titania spoke. “What’s the news out of London?” she asked him. “I can’t believe you made me sit through all of that. You could have just told us.”

London. The rage simmering inside me cooled into fear. Bain was in London.

“I thought it best to wait.” His eyes were trained on me. “I wanted to be sure Cate remained cooperative.”

“Stop teasing.” Titania pouted. “You can torture her, but I’m your sister.”

“I have no plans to torture Cate, so long as she fulfills her end of our arrangement.”

“About that.” I took a deep, if shaky, breath. “Marrying you wasn’t part of the terms. Find another way. I’m spoken for.”

His answering smile hollowed something in my chest. “I think you’ll find you aren’t. Not anymore. Lach made a move on the Infernal Court.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Reports are limited, but it’s what I expected,” he continued.

Blood roared in my ears. No. No. No.

Someone squealed with delight in the distance. Titania?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

“I’m afraid there is no one left to protect your friends in New Orleans, if you will not.”

I crumpled to the floor before he finished speaking. Lach had done exactly what Oberon expected—what I would expect him to do. He had sought vengeance, and now…

“Because Lachlan Gage is dead.”

Chapter Six

Cate

Day passed into night. The sun rose and set again. I didn’t care. The witches came, chanting their blessings, smudging oils across my lips and forehead. I didn’t care. The world kept spinning.

I didn’t care.

Cedar from the previous night’s ritual lingered in the air like a punishment, mocking me with its cruelty. Lach’s scent. I couldn’t escape it or the memories it dredged up: his obnoxious smirk and those swirling, telling tattoos; the raw vulnerability I’d glimpsed under the moonlight the night I knew I’d never break the bargain; the utter calm on his face the moment before he took MacAlister’s life and spared mine. Gone.

He was gone. Dead.

I tested the words as I waited for the final ritual, staring out the window to where blue sky met endless sea. I didn’t notice when night cloaked both in darkness. I waited for it to swallow me, too. But it stretched before me like my future—a never-ending night as grim as a glimpse of the Otherworld beyond the court.

I pressed my cheek to the glass to cool my feverish skin, steadying myself with my palm when I thought I might collapse. Ribbons of moonlight fell across my skin…and twisted—like the tattoos that had wound themselves over Lach’s body. I stared, my heart leaping slightly, until they vanished.

“Pathetic.” Hallucinating was a new blow. Likely brought on by low blood sugar and lower expectations. The perfect combination for a bride on her wedding night.

Because that’s what this was: the last night of the ritual. Oberon would probably have a priest waiting to jump in as soon as Ilsa spoke the final incantation or waved her magic wand or whatever she did.

Knowing I would be married by morning cut through my numbness like a knife. Panic clawed at me as though, despite everything, my shredded soul was still desperate to escape. But it was the only way to shield Lach’s family and Channing—my friends and the closest thing to a family I’d ever known. His family was all that was left of him now, and I would not leave Channing unprotected, no matter how he had betrayed me.

I could give them the future that was stolen from us.

It was a justification, a futile attempt to find some scrap of purpose in all this pain. Becoming Oberon’s bride, giving him the ring, would keep him from going after the Nether Court.