The flowers stay entwined despite Megara's withering glare.
I continue to eat my soup, ignoring the stilled silence and the bubbling surface of questions. Alec, sitting across from me, continues dipping bread into the hot food with an appetite I admire, oblivious to the furious whispering of Megara and Tisi.
Down the table, the other guests begin to pick up their spoons and begin ladling, as if they weren't listening with all their might to the questions Megara is muttering in my direction.
Only once we'd finished the appetiser and all of our plates were cleared, did the two girls strike again.
'Tradition upholds that you are only the Underworld's Queen if you have consummated your engagement within the month of your sacrifice,' Tisi states, as blandly as if she were bringing up the bright yellow of the blooming flowers on the tabletops. 'Without such, you have no claim to call yourself a Queen.'
Heads buoy in my direction as if watching a game of tennis. Only Hadrian does not look at me, although I can tell, from the tenseness of his posture, that he's concerned. He doesn't attempt to speak for me, however; he knows it would ruin my fun.
I give the girls a predator's grin. 'I agree. Tradition does state that.'
Megara's mouth twitches, her face sour. I don't let my gaze drop, I just keep staring with that demonic smile that makes her squirm.
And at that moment, a flurry of movement brings out more platters of food. Servers rush forward, lowering trays of roasted chicken and gravy, freshly cooked rice, steaming vegetables and crisping, golden potatoes. Even my own waspish desire to scrap with the infuriating redhead is not enough to quell my delight.
Out of the corner of my eye, Hadrian relaxes, smirking to himself.
I eat with such ferocity that Megara looks disgusted, Tisi paling. Alec, sensing a kindred spirit, offers me more potatoes. Thankfully, the whole table turns to enjoy the meal, eating voraciously and without care for my virginity.
Hadrian, to my left, casually brushes my hand as he reaches for his glass of dark wine. The act calms my roiling nerves, soothes the icy fire that wants to unleash. I enjoy the remainder of the meal talking to Char and Sybella, whilst at my side, he talks to a man about the state of affairs in the city.
'Potatoes beat parsnips, hands down,' Char says, his mouth filled with bits of the two.
Sybella, with an insulted look, spears a potato and eyes it, shaking her head. 'I dunno...A potato always seems like it's hiding something.'
I snort, taking gulps of wine to help my food down.
'Surely the winter influenza can't still be raging,' Hadrian murmurs, 'It had its usual peak a few months back.'
I turn my head, watching the man beside him reply. The man looks tired and thin, with a sallow face and a hooked, ugly nose. 'I thought so too, until these last few weeks. Doctors are preaching that it's a new strain. It's spread through the fishing district already.'
I frown, placing down my wine. Minoa's influenza always peaked in the darker, colder months, despite their not being much variation in weather once March came, and with summer months being a dismal washout. But, after the peak, there was not usually a recurrence; those that survived had immunity until the next year's influenza wreaked havoc again. Only twice in my lifetime had a second peak occurred, and it had nearly cost me my life.
Shuddering away the memories of bile and fever and rooms of decaying flesh, I turn back to Sybella and Char's lighter conversation.
'No way,' she says, shaking her head emphatically, 'broccoli? Here? They haven't been able to grow the like since...'
Hers and Char's not-so-subtle glance towards my direction makes me look down at my dinner, the swirling gravy reflecting my puzzled face.
Since spring was abolished? Is that the reason vegetables on this table is so scarce, so hardy? Peas and carrots and roasted onions; hardly the food for a wealthy dinner party, I realise. But that had been the same in Minoa: harvest hadn't been plentiful in a long, long while.
Long as in, since the feud between Hecate and Hadrian?
That would be hundreds of years.
As plates begin scraping as the food empties, I sit back, feeling pleasantly full. As if sensing this lull as an opportunity, and before our bickering can break out once more, Quillan rises, turning everyone's attention.
Opposite, Sybella shoots me a glance that, to anyone else, must have looked like a tic. I understood immediately; here we go.
'It is an honour to be welcomed to the Underworld,' Quillan speaks with the softness of authority. 'I am appointed by my majesty, Queen of the Spring Court, as an advisor now her daughter has fulfilled her duty and arrived here to vanquish the curse placed upon our courts so long ago.'
Fulfilled my duty? I stifle a barking laugh, my clenched jaw the only indication that I'm suppressing the inner desire to punch Quillan. As if the queen had cared a hoot before I'd made it down here. As if I'd acted on any sort of duty to her.
Before my anger boils, a finger curls around my pinkie. The gesture is warm and personal, with Hadrian's finger wrapped tightly against mine as if to say; you and I, we know the truth.
We don't let go of one another even when my shoulders slump and the tension leaves my neck.
Quillan continues on, 'With this, Nerissa will bring back spring to the Underworld, and to the land-- if she marries the King and consummates their marriage before the allotted time of the curse runs out. Therefore, we would like to propose a celebration-- a real wedding ceremony-- for both courts to attend.'
Before he can even finish, Megara is furiously opening her mouth to speak and the their guests are rustling as heads turn to us. I blink twice, my ears slowly processing the suggestion. Did Quill just say he wanted me to marry Hadrian, after all the trouble I went to in order to avoid needing that very outcome?
Aren't you secretly pleased? You admitted to Hadrian that you loved him.
Had I said that? Well, if I did, it was coerced. Times were desperate, and in desperation who doesn't start thinking they're in love?
'In return for marrying a princess of the Spring Court, we will pledge our warriors and our co-operation for future challenges to come,' Quill says, and his lighthearted tone does not match the gravity of the words he speaks.  Here, an alliance against Hecate is being pledged, a bond between two courts. This is the war that Hadrian spoke of, a battle against Hecate that has been brewing for hundreds of years. But do we need Spring's help? Do we know what we're up against?
Look at who's saying "we". You're really part of the Underworld now.
'Of course, my being here is also to build a relationship between the courts,' Quill continues, sweeping a nod towards the members of the room. 'My Queen would give you until tomorrow evening on whether you agree to the terms, as the wedding must be arranged rapidly if we are to break Hecate's spell before Nerissa's time is up.'
I let his words wash over me, observing the approving nods from around the room, and the angry glares of certain others. Hadrian's hand squeezes mine, and I shift to look at him. His blue eyes are wide, and the bubbling fear in my chest at the turn of events is reflected there. I squeeze his hand back.
I know.
His smile brightens his face at our interlocked fingers, an exchange that the whole table appears to notice and start applauding. Jefferson is practically hooting, and I had no idea the codger liked me so much. Or maybe he just doesn't want to be left out.
Weirdly, I don't protest. Sane Ness would have barked a comment, made sure to kill the mood, but not this Ness. The me right now is a blushing, giggling mess of nerves pinging from where Hadrian's hand holds mine and a pounding giddiness that he's doing exactly the same. We keep turning to look at one another, catch sight of the other smiling, and grin further.
It's not even the wedding I'm pleased about, I muse, it's the fact we've finally made up, and more than that...
Another coy smile as I rub my thumb across Hadrian's hand, and I see the pink tinge rising from behind his ears.
'Well, erm, if you want to start planning now...' Quillan chuckles, looking as though he'd intruded on a proposal, '...I would say we leave these two to it!'
More agreement and applauding overpowers any attempt I make to ask about the terms of this marriage; namely, if I did not accept. Relationships take years, and I definitely do not want to spend the next week planning my dress. In fact, such a major event would be highly inconvenient on the verge of a war. Wouldn't it make more sense for Hadrian and I to just...?
No! You just want to sleep with him, not become his eternal lover!
People are starting to rise from their seats, yawning and bidding one another good night. Megara and her crew stand and leave the room without another word, whilst Sybella shoots me a look I can't interpret, but that could also just be her face. Only Char seems energised, coming to clap us both on the back with a knowing look.
'A wedding! Here! The Underworld might be fun again, hells forbid!'
Hadrian nudges him back. 'Relying on me to be the party, as usual.'
I puzzle over Hadrian's words, finding something odd about them. It's only when we're walking out together, side by side, that I think it through and realise. The hall is now quiet, with the last few people finding they had unnamed places to be, and we haven't spoken a word. But his reply to Char is still revolving around in my head, and I realise: Hadrian never denied that there was going to be a wedding.

-------

'You're moving quickly, Ness,' Hadrian's voice echoes from ahead. I have followed him from the dining hall, down the flights of stairs that lead to his suite.
I tilt my head up at him. 'Meaning...?'
In a smooth motion he holds open the door for me. 'Wanting to make love to me, of course.'
My heart rate must spike, because I feel the flush immediately. I'm only halfway through the door when I snap in defence, 'I'm here to remind you about your promise to train me.'
The door creaks shut, and I'm once again back in his chambers. The rush of the waterfall echoes in the distance, a low roaring that drums along with the blood pumping through my veins. The chamber is low lit, with Hadrian a shadow darting among brackets, setting bright orbs glowing.
I blink, taking in the mixture of clean and clutter; shelves of books in disarray, pages loose and inkwells spilled, but with each volume organised alphabetically, spines of gold lettering shining bright against the pale glow of the orbs. A bureau of chaos lines the back wall, piled with yet more books and paper, but with splatters of black ink in symbols I can't decipher. The tome I'd sneaked a look at my previous visit lies there, splayed with bookmarks and scribbles, and I feel it's gaze upon me.
Curious? It whispers. Your blood now runs cold. Let me guide you.
I glance towards Hadrian, who is unbuttoning his shirt with his back turned, heading towards his bedroom. He doesn't seem to hear our conversation, and my traitorous feet step quietly towards the open book.
The pages flip, almost a greeting. Where to start with you? It caresses. You are not the theoretical learner.
I don't know how to answer, but it seems to sense my thoughts.
Take me with you. Knowledge and practice go hand in hand, and I am the most knowledgeable of all.
My mind flickers automatically towards Hadrian, and his promise to teach me, but the book hisses gently.
He is too afraid for your wellbeing to truly train you by experience, to throw you to the wolves and wait for you to howl among them.
Would Hadrian care? That would explain his reluctance to rush beyond theory...
But, would the book let me die, if dying was a possibility for necromancers, for not knowing enough?
Yes. I care not if you die, for necromancers have no afterlife, merely fade from existence. But, my student, think not of failure, but of triumph, and how you will feel to live.
Fingers hesitating over the corners of the book, I jump as Hadrian clatters in behind me.
He's dressed head to toe in black, looking every bit the grimmest reaper and giving me a serious look. Everything fits tightly as he moves around me, appraising me slowly. Toned muscles ripple as he turns, hands moving to his waist, his eyes raking my figure analytically.
Finally, he says, 'Fine, let's compromise. You must come here to study the book every night, and if we want to move quickly, I expect at least a chapter per day. The mornings you will train with my friend, Char. He doesn't look it, but he's been training the Ferrymen recruits for centuries.'
I nod, wanting to ask questions but terrified it will change his mind. So I politely smile, holding in the bursting questions.
If the Ferrymen were trained, then how were they all killed?
'...so, after your early sessions with Char, you will be under my tutelage. Do as I say or I can't promise what will happen to you.'
The voice of the book still whispers in my head, but I drone it out and think: this is it.
He offers me his hand. I take it, shooting him a questioning look.
'You'd better not be trying to sweep me off my feet,' I mutter, as he wraps an arm around my waist.
'Trust me,' he laughs, 'I'm about to.'
I open my mouth to ask how, but then I feel a lurch.
After that, world literally drops beneath my feet.