Mates are said to be a blessing from the gods. Very few fae get to experience the sacred joining of their aether-heart with another’s. Blood is, naturally, the conduit of realization for two fae, though many mates have reported feeling a deep connection to one another prior to scenting the blood of their mate. It is tradition to draw the blood of your mate, a symbolic gesture that shows no other will draw their blood again, because they are now under your protection.

The Traditions of the Fae

Instead of working in the crowded and noisy archives, Genevieve lets me use her office to study every day. It reminds me of my small reading nook in the Thayarian archives and is hidden away from the prying eyes of the other librarians. That fact also seems to be a reason Genevieve likes it so much as well—she’s an outcast, even amongst them. But it never appears to affect her. She’s always happy, always grateful for the life she was forced into for no reason other than her own mother’s death delivering her and the whims of the males who control her fate. When I work here, she brings me tea and snacks throughout the day on her breaks, and we talk until she realizes she’s late and dashes away again. During one such break, we’re drinking steaming cups of tea when she asks me about the books Mazus gave me.

“Have you found anything interesting in the books from King Mazus? The one you’re translating, or any of the others?”

I consider my words carefully. I like Genevieve. We’ve formed a fast friendship, and I want to trust her, especially after all the small cracks I’ve seen when she talks about Mazus. But I’ve also seen how brainwashed the Velmaran citizens are when it comes to the Golden King.

“Many interesting tidbits, though nothing that’s sparked my own particular interest. One of the stories about the fae says that we’re the descendants of a powerful group of goddesses.”

Genevieve laughs brightly. “What a fun story,” she giggles out, and the way it makes her cheeks flush and her eyes brighten overwhelms me with a need to touch her. I lean into her warm amber gaze and place my hand over hers on the table. Her eyes cut to mine, a question in them. Before I can say anything, she stands and straightens her gown, though I swear her fingers linger on mine for a moment before she fully pulls away. “I need to get back to covering my section. There’s a Reshnar scholar here. The King himself granted the request, so I should check in on him.” She turns her back to me.