Crescent (Book 1)

+ 9 +

"I can't say I'm surprised to find you here." I recognize his voice before I even open my eyes.

My head whips up from where I'd fallen asleep at the table. The fire is ablaze, and I find Moira gone. The kitchen is full of servants. Buttery breads are baking away in the ovens, and the scent fills the kitchen. With all of the noise, it amazes me I slept this long, but I guess I'm more tired than I thought.

Ceth grins as I stare at him half-asleep. At least he's fully clothed this time. "Come. This is no place for a lady." He holds a hand out, and I stand without taking it.

I'm awake enough to at least retort to that. "If I accept your proposition, that is."

Something dangerous flashes in green eyes, but he remains otherwise unaffected, his hand still proffered. "We should eat."

I begrudgingly take it, and he whisks us away to the library. My stomach falls out from under me, and I take a steadying step. The pungent smell of iron lingers in the air. I still haven't gotten used to that.

A lavish spread is set with an overlook of the snowy mountainside. Two plush seats sit at either end of the table. Steaming tea in cups and saucers, finger biscuits with jam, and sandwiches with delicate meats decorate our plates, and I'm famished enough that I immediately sit.

Ceth snaps, his plush chair pulling out for him. "It's like I don't feed you enough." My mouth is already full of scones as he chuckles, but quite frankly, I don't give a shit if it bothers him. He eyes me appreciatively, toying with a thick golden chain round his neck. His food remains untouched, but he yanks a book from a nearby cart, thumbing through the pages. "As for your family," he starts, piquing my interest. My back straightens, food dropping to my plate. He tosses the book somewhere behind him. It lands with a thud. "I've given you some time to think it over. But, I believe you requested proof."

My heart jumps. He reaches into the chest pocket of his coat and withdraws an object before setting it on the table before me. My mother's necklace twinkles in the light, and my chest tightens as I snatch it from the table and hold it in my palm. A necklace of emerald and polished pearl set in silver- a wedding gift from my father. I've never seen another like it. Mom wasn't the kind of person to wear jewelry often, but this one, she wears most days on a silver chain hidden beneath her shirt. And somehow he has it. If he hurt her-

"When you choose to accept my offer, there will be more of this," he promises, but my eyes don't leave the gem. "Your family is safe. You have my word."

They could be dead and I'd have no idea. I shake my head, feeling my control slacken. "I need more than this."

"You will have it. When I can trust that you won't run." His smile practically dares me to deny it, but after that night on the balcony, we both know the truth.

I take a deep breath, composing myself. "I need to know what I'm getting into."

He gives his usual cocky smile as he sniffs his tea before sipping it slowly. "It's simple really. Be my lady until the Embassy Gala. Play by my rules, sell the act for my guests and... you'll see your family again. Alive and in the flesh."

"What happens at the gala? Why until then?"

Another sip from his cup and it clunks as he sets it back on its saucer. "This Gala is the most important event in the six realms. It would be foolish not to have a lady by my side until then."

My hands form firsts in my lap. "And everyone's just supposed to believe we've called off our engagement after?"

He runs a hand through his golden hair, sweeping it back as he leans forward again and stares at me head-on. "They'll believe what I want them to believe. For now, you're my fiance."

It isn't much of a choice, and he knows it. Play by his rules and I get to see my family again. Deny him, and I doubt I'll be alive long enough to even find out where they are. "Nine months is a long time. What am I supposed to do until then?"

"Well..." Ceth grins as he settles back into his chair. He rubs his chin, the ring on his finger flashing in the light as he looks out over the snowy terrain. "Your upbringing is an issue. No one is to know where you're from. You'll spend the months leading up until the gala learning our customs and traditions. You'll learn our history. Your history," he taunts without looking at me.

At least it will give me something to do- time to gather as much information as I can. "I want them well-taken care of." I stare hard at him, all humor gone from my face. "I want them to be comfortable. Protected. I want proof of it too."

His green eyes glimmer. "That can be arranged."

"I want to see them," I further. "I need-"

"Don't push your luck, love. After your latest attempt... I may need you, but you don't have that much leverage."

I bite my tongue because I know he's right. I have no leverage. "Comfortable, protected. I want them safe, Ceth."

He leans forward again, resting his arms against the table. I catch a strong scent of pine wafting from his tunic. "Not so much as a hair on their little heads will be out of place." I know, somehow, that I'll come to regret this decision. Something tells me, as I reach across the table and shake his hand, that Ceth Shawcross is not a man to be trifled with. His canines sharpen, gleaming as he stands and tugs me upwards along with him. "Wonderful. We'll announce it to the court at my name day party." He kisses my hand, and his lips brush across my knuckles. "I'm sure Moira could use help planning the event until then."

Nine months between now and then. Time is all starting to blur together. But, I have other questions. "About the woods yesterday."

He clears his throat, dropping my hand and adjusting the lapels of his coat. "Yes, I realize that was probably unsettling for you." Unsettling? Unsettling? I doubt I'll ever be able to unsee it again. "The problem is being taken care of." I want to ask him more about what exactly the problem even is, but I know it's the only answer I'm getting. He saunters towards the library doors, doing a quick mocking bow. "I look forward to seeing you at the party, Lady Brenna. We'll have to make that title more formal soon."

Mist carries him into oblivion.

A stack of parchment flutters down on a phantom wind, plopping into the seat he'd been in. Ribbon and stationary replace breakfast on the coffee table, and a black feathered quill and full inkwell appear by my hand. Moira will probably be up soon, but I take a look at everything myself.

Silver wax seals with a silver stag pressed into them already decorate envelopes and in gorgeous silver script, Lord Christian Shawcross is written across the parchment- soon to be sent off to neighboring estates. There are close to three hundred invitations. There's a book with a selection of richly colored flowers and different options for drapery and décor. I don't know what Moira has planned. But, with my newfound agreement with Ceth, I know it isn't going to be a night to forget.