Page 99 of Fate's Wicked Oath

The devastation of their kiss hit him all over again. He stared blankly at the bride, itching to continue his pursuit.

“Probably went back to the Possum,” Hattie told her friend. “She appeared quite overwhelmed earlier.”

“She’s not much for crowds,” Idris pointed out.

“Make sure she’s alright, would you? I heard other objects crashing farther afield,” Anya said.

“You’re concerned aboutMariana?” Noble asked.

“It’s my wedding day, I’m drunk and sentimental,” Anya replied tartly, wrapping her arm around Idris’s waist. “The weather is worsening. If we want the party to continue—”

“Are we not packing up early? We could return to the inn and…” Idris dipped his head, whispering something in Anya’s ear.

A coy smile spread on her lips, and she placed a hand on his chest, pushing playfully. “We can’t abandon our own party,” she chided. “Besides, don’t you recall the story of the Astrophel the year I turned twenty-five? If a blizzard won’t stop the citizens of Waldron from celebrating, a little wind and rain will hardly deter them.” She swept her gaze out at the other tents, which were shuddering in the wind. “But we’ll need to collapse the rest of thetents before they turn into kites—come.” She began leading Idris toward the crowd, shouting orders, rallying the flushed and tipsy onlookers into organized action, with Hattie on their heels.

With a final, meaningful glance, Noble turned away, too, leaving Faren behind.

Faren didn’t need more prompting, nor did he have the mind to investigate Noble’s strangeness further—not now. In the ever-shifting landscape of Faren’s duty, Mariana had become the only reliable ground. He raced down the hill, past extinguished lanterns and wind-shredded flower garlands; petals, ribbons, and wrappers blew across his path as he hurried back to the Possum.

The inn was dark and quiet when he burst through the door. An uneven pattering of rain tapped on the roof; the wind carried an ethereal echo of distant music from the revived party, gusting against the closed shutters. Faren took the stairs two at a time, flying over the floorboards, his pulse a frenzied mess in his chest. When he reached the door to their room, he flung it open, chest heaving.

Mariana was there, pacing. She halted at the sight of his wind-mussed hair, rain-freckled waistcoat, and agitated state.

The candles in the room cast Mariana’s face in a strange patchwork of light and shadow, making her eyes appear particularly dark and unreadable. She’d draped the shawl he’d bought her on the bed, revealing the elegant neckline of her copper-colored dress. Faren felt vaguely taunted by the bare points of her shoulders, the deep grooves above her collarbones, the graceful and alluring shape of her.

Fates, she really was exquisite. He felt foolish for what a sap the observation made him, and also foolish for not admitting it to himself sooner.

Throughout his life, he’d built himself up to be steadfast and confident, his golden armor a symbol of his importanceand authority—hismightiness. Mariana made him feel stripped of his pretense, utterly ordinary, and it thrilled him. He felt more like himself in her presence than anyone else’s. Just Faren: flawed, earnest, and faithful to a fault. And Mariana—she was every quality he admired and strived for: brave, fierce, tenderhearted, principled. A true protector of the realm.

Earlier tonight, swept up in the remarkable sum of her beauty, her goodness, and her effect on him, he’d had no choice but to ask her what she intended and hope that she took pity on him. As he stared at her now, alone in their room at the Possum, he knew that there was no part of Mariana that he did not want.

His fingers began to tingle, yearning to hold her again. He took three stuttering strides forward, crowding her, then remembered his restraint and retreated. He knew how sensitive she was—inside and out—and with his arrival, she appeared wide-eyed and caught.

A terrible thought occurred: what if he’d pushed her too far tonight?

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I should’ve been more measured, or perhaps stopped it before it started, but—” He broke off, releasing a rough sigh. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

She ran her palms over her cinched bodice and the jut of her hips, as if to smooth the silken fabric of her dress—and perhaps her nerves, too. Then she stared down at her hands, tangling her fingers together.

Her silence made him want to peel off his own skin, just to remove the memory of her from it before his craving formoreconsumed him. “Do you forgive me?” he asked.

Her eyes flicked up to his. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

He had to know: “Did I touch you the wrong way?”

She shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

A soft chuckle. “I’m sure.”

He felt his body slacken, his muscles uncoil. He moved into her personal space, drawn to her like a bird flying home—entirely instinctual. His magic took wing, aching with promise. He lifted his hand to caress her face, to steady her for another swooping kiss, and she drifted into his touch, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting—

Then she snapped out of it, jerking back. “No.”

Faren’s hand fell to his side.

“It’s a bad idea.”