His head dipped, breaking our intense stare, but I knew what I needed to do as sure as I knew how to breathe.
“Reece,” I sighed, my voice husky and low with magic as I surrendered to her lead. I already knew what we needed to do, but she knew the words, knew how to activate the magic behind those words, so I'd take a backseat and learn. “A pledge freely given I humbly accept. Let it be known, my Lord of Autumn has been appointed.”
As we spoke these words, magic snapped out from my body and into nature, carrying my words and spreading them to all fae creatures this side of the Veil. All now knew of my Autumn Lord, and that alone was cause for celebration.
It had been hundreds of years since the last Lords were chosen, so many of these fae would never have experienced what would happen next … but so long as they lived now, they'd never forget it.
Reece's head lifted once more, his eyes shining bright with my magic as it seeped into him, beginning the magical bond which would only be completed with the sharing of pleasure. The look on his face though, was more than lust. It was sheer rapture, unadulterated joy, and dare I say even the stirrings of true love behind those rust gold eyes.
I held out my hand, intending to raise him to his feet and seal our bond, but paused when Killian stepped forward into the little bubble of magic surrounding Reece and me.
“Ciarah,” he said quietly, speaking my name with reverence, and I withdrew my hand, waiting to see what he, too, would say.
Despite my previously spoken claims to their cocks, I hadn't truly expected them to formally offer themselves as my Lords so soon. Could I be this lucky? Was Killian about to pledge fealty as well? Surely not …
Killian held my gaze, and slowly sank to one knee beside Reece while fresh tears ran down my face. For so many years I, and Gràinne before me, had known nothing but the touch of unkindness. Of hate, pain, fear, and despair. We'd been bent though not broken, and inside me she was falling to pieces remembering the all-consuming love of her Lords, her Knights, already gone from this world.
“Ciarah,” Killian said again, his gaze serious and solemn, “I too offer myself, freely and un-coerced as your Lord of Winter. My soul to join with yours, forever to support, never to betray or deceive. My life is yours to keep. This is my pledge, if you will accept, mon chéri?”
Kill ended his words with an uncertain edge, his clear blue eyes showing his fear and self-doubt, his obvious worry that I may not accept him. But his fears were unfounded, and the tears I cried were those of such joy that it hurt my heart.
“Killian,” I whispered, this time taking the lead from her, as she wept for her lost loves in the shadows of my fractured mind. “A pledge freely given I humbly accept. Let it be known, my Lord of Winter has been appointed.”
The magic snapped out from me once more in a tsunami, and I dimly heard cries of joy and celebration from the clubhouse where so many fae were already gathered. The party tonight would be one of legend, to be told from father to son, mother to daughter, for centuries yet.
Never had more than one Lord been appointed at one time before.
I raised my head to look at Arlo. Finding more than one lord in a single night was something that may never happen again in the history of this world or any other. But standing on an old deck outside the clubhouse of a motorcycle club, listening to the frogs and the gators, the distant chatter of sprites, this was not a conventional knighting ceremony.
New guardian, new world, new traditions.
“Even butterflies without wings deserve flowers,” I said as Arlo gaped at me and I closed my eyes, letting my head fall back as my wings unfolded behind me. Butterflies. I remembered butterflies. Sometimes, my captors would bring big cages full of them and then slowly and without mercy, they would present them to me one by one … and tear their wings off. Shadowy fingers stained with bright colors, thrashing insects, my own body screaming in violent melancholy as I remembered the pain of losing my own wings.
“Even without wings,” I repeated, opening my eyes and looking at him, reaching up to rub the tears away. “Go inside and find yourself a clubwhore,” I continued, making a split-second decision. If Arlo accepted my proposal now, it would be because he didn't want to leave the Wild Hunt and not because he actually wanted me. “I won't bully you. If you want to stay, stay. But I no longer wish to have you as my Lord. Reece, Killian.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he murmured in that beautiful accent of his, keeping his chin lowered in deference.
“Oui, mon cher.”
“When we're done here, you'll move my things out of Arlo's room and into an empty one. We'll be sleeping in there together from now on.” I crossed my arms over my chest and beat my wings in a slow, easy motion. Just feeling them on my back made everything okay. I didn't need Arlo. Fuck, I didn't want him if this was his attitude. I was worth more than this. But I also didn't want to bully or pressure him either. “I set you free—go on now.”
“Ciarah,” he started, but I shook my head.
“I apologize for the way I've treated you, Horned One. You deserve more respect than that. But I am telling you now to go; please respect my wishes.”
I curled my wings around me like a shield, a blanket, their warmth and smell so soothing after so much time without them. Yes, every once in a while, my captors would drag fae before me, fae that reeked of pain and death and corruption. In my weakened state, it was impossible to resist the pull, and I'd take their souls … heal … and then feel myself torn apart all over again.
Those few moments of being whole made being torn apart hurt so much worse.
The purple and turquoise colors of my wings blended together, as if the two shades were dancing a waltz across the surface, the edges a rich velvety black like the night sky, dusted with silver that reminded me of stars. I remembered my wings as different shapes, different colors over the years, and old knowledge locked away inside my head whispered that each time a new soul took over the Veil Keeper's body, her wings changed to reflect the spirit inside.
These wings didn't just belong to Le Gardien du Voile, they belonged to Ciarah, and the person inside of Ciarah, the spirit that made me, me.
“Thank you for your service, Arlo,” I told him, nodding my chin and turning away, focusing on the two men offering their souls to protect me. The last guardian's knights … had not been very lucky. And these two, they knew they were promising themselves to a queen who would end up in the middle of a war.
One that they might not survive.
When I didn't hear footsteps, I looked back and found Arlo staring at me with a hardened expression, his body trembling in either rage or lust, I wasn't exactly certain.