Keeper of Storms (The Fallen Fae #3) - Jenna Wolfhart Page 0,39

pulled it down over the baggy tunic and trousers she’d worn to trick the world into thinking she was a boy. What a stupid mistake that had been.

“Good.” The Emperor turned and waved the druid forward. Donned in a dull grey robe, he looked nothing like a Fomorian and everything like the fae back home. He was even shorter than the others, and his complexion was far paler than theirs as well. Could he be fae? If so, why was he allowed here and no one else?

And why the hell did the Emperor want to marry her in the first place?

“Quickly,” the Emperor said. “Let’s get this over with. I have more important business to attend to, and this has taken up far too much of my time already.”

Eislyn scowled at him.

The druid nodded and led them to the foot of the dais where Emperor Lir stood opposite of her. He towered over her like one of the looming Fomorian statues from beyond the sea. Eislyn swallowed nervously and tried to focus on anything but his gleaming muscular chest, the way his trousers clung to his skin like a glove.

She cast a glance at the distant door, her skin itching to jump off and run. How far would she make it before she was stopped? Could she even get out of the hall? Did she have a chance?

“You aren’t fast enough,” the Emperor said, cutting through her thoughts. “Though you’re welcome to try it if you’d like. It could be a fun little game. I’m the hunter. You’re the prey.”

Eislyn blinked, swallowing hard. So much for that idea.

“Princess Eislyn, please hold out your hand,” the druid intoned. She ground her teeth together and refused to do a damn thing. She didn’t want to touch the beast, let alone marry him.

Emperor Lir grabbed her hand roughly and held it tightly in his fist. “Stop fighting this, fae.”

“Why wouldn’t I fight it?” she hissed around the lump in her throat. “I don’t want this.”

“Fae who trespass do not get what they want.”

“Now,” the druid cut in quickly, his voice rising, almost in fear. “Repeat these vows after me.”

The druid rattled off standard wedding vows that Eislyn had heard a dozen times. They were no different than the ones back home. As she forced them out, the druid leaned forward and tied a golden ribbon around their joined hands. It felt as rough as chains.

When they were done, the Emperor unwound the ribbon and dropped it between them. Tears filled Eislyn’s eyes as she watched it flutter toward her feet. Her hand was free now, but the place where the ribbon had touched her skin burned as if it were encircled by fire.

“That’s it then.” The Emperor turned away without even the slightest of glances in Eislyn’s direction. Her heart pounded hard as she stared after him.

“You’re leaving?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Of course. You’re wed to me now. I have no need for you otherwise. Druid Evin will find quarters for you. I doubt I will see you around very often. Enjoy your new home.”

She fisted her hands, gaping after him. Her cheeks flushed with barely-contained rage. What had the point of all this been? Why had he married her? And why did he seem like he didn’t even care?

“I hate you,” she hissed.

The Emperor glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Too bad you don’t have to love me to be my wife.”

14

Reyna

“Wait,” the High King boomed, holding up a hand as the orange-haired warrior yanked another girl away from the others lined up to die. “Unseelie wishes to speak with me.”

Lovely. That wouldn’t be at all creepy.

Reyna rejoined the path, her eyes locked on the gruesome king. His green, perfectly-groomed hair hung past his chiseled jaw, and a twisting branch of thorns perched on his head. His bloodshot violet eyes, set far within their sockets, eagerly stared into the flames.

Like the warriors that surrounded him, he was broad-shouldered and muscular, and he towered over most. The tips of his ears stabbed through his hair like twin blades. His leather armor had been topped with steel bracers, and his breastplate was smooth. No sigil could be seen.

Reyna understood at once. It was a statement, a warning to anyone who stood in his way. High King Ulaid Molt did not intend to reign over the Wood Court alone. He wanted all of Tir Na Nog to bow beneath his boot.

“Unseelie,” he growled, stretching his arms wide on either side of him. “Tell me what