All Ways: To Win a Fae Heart (Willowhaven Romance #2)

Chapter 1

“Love lost is freedom found.”

— The Bitterness of Hope

In the Seelie kingdom of Willowhaven, fae are not permitted to marry before the age of twenty-five. Some say it has to do with maturity, but that’s a load of bollocks.

The elders simply forgot what it was like to be young, desperately in love, and anxious for your life to begin. In forgetting, they plucked an arbitrary age out of thin air for the hell of it.

Whoever gave them the authority to delay our happiness deserves a good slap in the face.

My only solace is that I know my future is secure.

I’m one of the lucky fae who chose a mate years ago, so there’s no need to join the others as they scurry around searching for someone suitable to marry.

There’s freedom in knowing. A confidence those still scrambling in the twilight of their twenty-fourth year won’t experience until they find a love of their own.

In three weeks, I’ll propose to the love of my life: Nolan Graham.

When we wed, I can finally move the hell out of my parents’ house.

Why am I so anxious to leave the quaint stone cottage on Briar Lane, with its fresh thatch roof and lovely climbing vines?

“Nia Josephine Quill!” The shrill voice breaks over me like shards of glass, ripping the smile from my face.

The answer to that question is one Cordelia Hanson Quill.

My mother.

I love the woman; really, I do. The trouble is that sometimes it feels as if she doesn’t love me.

On days like today, I wonder if her love is born more from duty than genuine affection. If she’s even capable of the latter.

“Coming, Mother!” It’s better to acknowledge her now than to have Cordelia stomp up the stairs and discover that the entirety of my closet has been emptied onto my bed. A “pigsty”—that’s what she calls my room.

I do clean it. Sometimes. The problem is that there are too many other enjoyable things I’d rather be doing.

Life is for living, after all.

Cleaning can wait.

Quickly, I finish lacing the black ribbons on my corset, loving the way they contrast with the white silk almost as much as I love the tight boning that lifts my meager chest, making me look like I have more than just nipples on skin and bone.

Nolan is going to love this dress on me almost as much as he’ll enjoy removing it after the party.

I catch the layers of fluted skirts to keep from tripping down the stairs that wind into our foyer. Mother waits with two parasols in hand and her sunhat tied smartly beneath her chin, covering her stark white hair. When she sees me, her lips flatten into her favorite expression.

Where will she find fault today?

Her nose wrinkles like it did the time we went for a stroll by a river and came upon a rotting fish, its eyes missing and rib bones protruding through its scaly flesh. “That corset makes you look like a harlot,” she says.

Oh, a harlot. That’s a new one.

“Thank you.” She has only confirmed that Nolan is bound to love it. Now to add the black kid gloves I left on the hall table, and my “harlot” ensemble will be complete.

Her hand snaps out like a viper, coiling around my wrist. “That was not meant as a compliment, and you know it. You will not leave this house without proper attire. I’ll not have you embarrassing me in front of the King and Queen of Willowhaven.”

My cousin wouldn’t have a problem with what I’m wearing, and her new husband only has eyes for her, so he probably won’t notice me at all.

Cordelia’s true concern is whether her circle of “friends” will deem me suitable. Does she ever tire of trying to one-up Mrs. Marple? Does she ever grow bored of attempting to outshine Mrs. Hinkle?

There’s no point asking or reminding her that a true friend is there to support and uplift you, not gossip about you the moment you’re out of earshot. If I push the issue, she’ll glower at me all evening, and I don’t want my first proper party at Castle Rose to be overshadowed by her black mood.

Back up the stairs I go, and when I return in an ochre gown that makes me look as flat as the tile beneath my slippers, my mother nods in approval, hands me my parasol, and ushers me out the door toward the hired carriage.

The driver, a saintly man named Martin who continues to collect us despite my mother’s penchant for talking down to him, gives me a wink before I climb into the carriage behind her.

With a crack of his whip, the horses lumber forward, and we’re off.

Our cottage sits at the southwestern edge of Rosehill City, where charming sandstone buildings line both sides of the street and flowers spill from every nook and cranny, a waterfall of spring hues on summer’s crest. More dangle from hooks on either side of the iron lampposts.

Seelie fae flood the streets, as bright and colorful as the blooms themselves. Fae come from all around to visit—and for good reason.

The Black Rose Pub has the best drink specials; Madame Ella’s Salon designs the most fashionable dresses; Café LaMonte bakes the most exquisite desserts.

Everywhere you look, people are smiling, excited to greet each day, their happiness rivaling my own. Tyrannical mother aside, it is still a glorious afternoon as the carriage bobbles along the cobbled street curving toward the whimsical Castle Rose.

When I was little, I would peer out my window at the castle’s fanciful spires and roof as blue as the sky itself, dreaming of one day becoming a princess. Now I realize how much better it is to have my favorite cousin wearing Willowhaven’s crown.

I can enjoy the luxuries of the castle with none of the responsibilities. Yes, being cousin to the queen is a pleasure indeed.

Mother clicks her fingers, dragging my gaze toward her perfectly poised form swathed in a stiff navy dress. Classic. Modest. Rigid. Cordelia Quill summed up in three words. “Sit back. You do not want to appear too eager.”

Heaven forbid. Our family’s reputation would never recover from such a terrible scandal as eagerness.

I press my spine into the cushion and bite my tongue, swallowing all the words I’d like to say as she withdraws a small pot of rouge from her handbag. “Take some of this. Your lips are far too pale. You look like a corpse.”

A harlot corpse. Exactly what a woman wants to hear before a royal garden party attended by Rosehill’s elite.

Nolan won’t let them be pale for long, I muse as I swipe the color over my lips. This is why I usually steer clear of the stuff. Nolan doesn’t look as fetching in rouge as one might think.

I return the pot, but still my mother does not smile.

Would it really be that difficult for her to pretend she’s proud of me, just this once? We’re all alone in here; it’s not as if anyone else would overhear.

The carriage rolls to a stop in front of the castle’s gray stone walls. The turrets seem even taller than when we were here for the coronation. Imagine standing all the way up there, admiring the clouds and picturesque view of the cityscape. Tripping over the balustrade. Falling to your death.

Needless to say, heights and I do not get along.

Yet another reason to be relieved my cousin Kerris lives here and not me.

A cool sweat breaks across my brow, and I force myself to look away, meeting my mother’s disapproving gaze once more. “I suppose you’ll have to do,” she says.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mother.” Forcing a tight smile, I reach for the carriage door and leap out before she can make me feel any worse.

Cordelia hisses that I’ve forgotten my parasol, but I pretend not to hear as I hurry up the red carpet leading through the arched gates and into the castle’s magnificent gardens.

Fae mill between hydrangea bushes laden with thick blooms, delicate champagne flutes clutched in gloved hands. Tall tables have been placed randomly throughout the space, each with golden candelabras resting atop blush-pink tablecloths that match the roses climbing the trellises.

With my mother so far behind, the whole world feels alive and full of promise, a deep inhale after too long beneath waves of disdain.

I weave through a sea of unfamiliar fae, searching for any I might know. The women in attendance have dressed in their finest gowns, with glittering jewels resting on hefty bosoms. Some I recognize, but we’re not close enough—and I’m not desperate enough—to engage in conversation.

A hand appears from between two high boxwoods at the start of the hedge maze, capturing mine.

The man I’ve loved for the last four years sweeps me into the leafy shadows and his embrace, sending the weight of my mother’s displeasure drifting away on the balmy breeze.

Nolan’s dark chocolate curls tickle my neck when he presses a warm kiss to my throat. “I love your dress,” he murmurs against my collarbone. “Is it new?”

I cling to his linen-clad shoulders, the strength in my legs evaporating and my stomach tripping over itself. “Not really.”

Soft lips skate up to my jaw as his hand trails down to my skirt, gathering the silk in his fist.

“Are you mad? Someone could see us.” The boxwoods may be high, but the maze opens on either side of this hedge.

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Perhaps not, but this is the castle, not some dark corner in an empty pub. “Nolan, stop. We’re not doing this right now.”

He lets my skirts drop with a groan. “You never want to anymore.”

That’s not true. Only last week, I snuck out to spend the night in his cottage.

When he draws back, I catch a whiff of stale liquor hanging like a broken promise on his breath. Bloodshot gray eyes seem unable to focus on my face as a disappointed grimace flattens my lover’s lips.

Not again . . . “How much have you had to drink?”

He bends down to retrieve a champagne flute from the grass. “Don’t start, Nia. I’ve only had one or two.”

One or two at the castle, maybe. “What about before you arrived?”

A wince.

That’s what I was afraid of.

Only a few weeks ago, Nolan lost his two best friends, and he’s been drowning in grief and drink ever since. I am trying to be patient, but it’s difficult to watch him destroy himself night after night and not know how best to help.

I swipe the glass before it reaches his lips and then take his hand. “Come with me.” It will do no good to let him make a fool of himself in front of all these people. Again.

He stumbles along as I lead him back toward the gates. A handful of fae watch us, but most are too engrossed in their conversations to notice the way Nolan sways.

“Where are we going?” he asks with a half-hearted tug of his fingers.

“We” aren’t going anywhere. “You are going home.”

“Good. This is a shite party, anyway.”

Must he be so loud?

Finally, we reach where Martin has parked the carriage between two others. When the driver sees me, he leaps down from his seat and straightens his waistcoat. “Is everything all right, Miss Nia?”

No. It’s not. Far from it. “My friend isn’t feeling well. Do you mind taking him to Summerville Cottage and ensuring he makes it safely inside?”

Nolan yanks his hand from my grasp, falling over his own feet in the process. Thankfully, Martin is quick to catch him.

“You’re not coming with me?” Nolan whines.

“I will after I’ve finished here.”

A storm rolls across his eyes, violent and swift, transforming him from the man I love to one I no longer recognize. “You’d rather stay with those Unseelie bast—”

I press my palm to Nolan’s mouth before he can say something we’ll both regret. He’s already been suspended from the royal guard for public intoxication. The last thing he needs is to be caught speaking ill of the new king and lose his position altogether.

Not everyone is pleased about an Unseelie fae sitting on Willowhaven’s throne, but Everett Gathin is a good man. I’ve no doubt that he will do right by both factions of fae on either side of The Divide. This is, unfortunately, a fact that my inebriated lover and I do not agree upon.

“Please go home and rest. I will see you later tonight.” I urge him toward the carriage right as Martin opens the door.

Nolan spins out of my grasp, catching himself on the carriage’s back wheel. “No.”

“Nolan—”

“I said no, Nia. It’s them or me. You cannot have both.”

Poor Martin slinks around the back of the carriage with his head bowed.

If only I could do the same.

“Come with me now, or this is over.” Nolan gestures between us, our four-year relationship reduced to a careless flick of his wrist.

We were here before, not long ago. Only then, I was the one making the demands, and he chose his friend’s corrupt orders over me.

In the end, he saw the error of his ways. But since then, we’ve been having difficulty finding our way back to who we were before.

Every time I think the past is behind us, Nolan insists on sliding back down memory mountain.

It’s them or me. You cannot have both.

“How dare you say that to me. Kerris is my family.” My best friend. The sister I always wanted but never had.

“Family? She’s the reason my friend is dead.”

His “friend” was a lying, manipulative, no-good bastard who couldn’t properly wield a sword. I’m glad he’s gone—not that I say so aloud.

“I can’t be around all of this and keep pretending everything is all sunshine and fucking roses.” He waves both hands toward the castle. “If you weren’t so blind to their lies, you’d see it’s not.”

If this were solely a matter of choosing love over familial ties, perhaps I could be swayed. But Nolan is asking me to choose what is wrong over what is right.

That is something I’ll never do again.

“Goodbye, Nolan.”

Perhaps once he sobers up, he will see reason.

With watery eyes, he sinks into the carriage and slams the door closed.

This isn’t our first argument, and I daresay it won’t be our last.

Hopefully, we can figure things out before I turn twenty-five.