Chapter 14
“The golden willow displayed in Castle Rose’s garden fountain was a gift from the Kingdom of Laurel for King Octavius Waltz III’s coronation.”
— Castle Rose: A Royal Marvel
I’m not certain how a long stroll through the local orchard ended with me standing at the gates leading to the castle gardens. Probably has something to do with me missing my cousin.
Yes. That must be it.
Since I walked all the way here, it would be silly to waste the trip without seeing at least one person I know. Maybe Maddox will have good news to share about his Unseelie love.
Best not to focus too much on why this thought makes my stomach ache. Maybe it’s not the thought of the two of them together. Maybe it’s the apple I ate on the way. Could’ve had worms.
Yes, that must be the problem.
Never mind the fact that the aching stops the moment I see Maddox sitting on the steps behind his wagon.
The two are completely unrelated.
Pure coincidence.
There’s a bottle of wine in one of his hands and a corkscrew in the other. Five other bottles wait on the small porch behind him, three with the necks broken off, the remnants littering his stoop.
Interesting.
Does he plan on drinking alone, or is his goat going to join him for an afternoon tipple?
Imagine the two of them passing the bottle back and forth, Maddox on his stoop and Biscuits on the ivory chair still sitting in the garden.
He would do something ridiculous like that .
. . assuming he ever gets the bottle open.
From the way he’s stabbing the cork, that seems unlikely.
“Would you like some help with that?”
Maddox’s head snaps up, and his eyes widen with his grin. “Nia Quill.”
The ends of my skirts brush along the short grass as I cross to where he sits. “Give it here.” I motion toward the corkscrew.
His grin fades into a scowl as he glowers at the metal strangled in his fist. “I know how it is meant to work.”
From the state of the other bottles and the mangled cork in this one, that doesn’t appear to be the case. I, on the other hand, am a professional wine opener. If there were a contest, I’d take home the blue ribbon. Unless Ivee was there. Then she’d probably steal it.
“I’m sure you do. But I’d love to do it for you if you’ll let me.”
With a huff, he drops the metal contraption into my outstretched palm, then drags a frustrated hand through his hair. How do they open wine bottles on their side of The Divide? Do they even have wine? Kerris said there’s very little sunlight, so I doubt there are many vineyards.
Not that it matters. There’s enough wine in Rosehill alone to keep them well sozzled. Although I cannot imagine them drinking often considering the dangers that lurk there. One of the most dangerous things on our side of The Divide is the wine.
I take the bottle from between his knees, gripping the neck tightly. “First, you must make sure the tip goes in straight and center. Otherwise, you’ll tear up the cork.”
“I did that.”
The plethora of stab marks would suggest otherwise. Not that I say as much. There’s no need to embarrass the man. I’m sure there are plenty of thirty-year-olds who don’t know how to open wine bottles.
“See the sides?” I pick one up and let it fall with a metallic jingle. “Think of them like arms. And the top here is the head.”
His brow furrows as he watches with more concentration than I’ve ever seen him apply to anything.
“When the bottle is corked, the arms are down because we’re sad.
” I give the top a twist, and the screw digs deeper into the cork.
“The closer it is to opening, the higher the arms rise.” Up they come, lifting with each squeaking rotation.
“Keep turning until—‘Yay!’—the bottle is almost open.” I lower myself onto the chair, grip the bottle with my knees, and push both sides of the opener down, extracting the cork with a victorious smile.
Maddox’s slashing eyebrows come together as he blinks at me. “Yay?”
“A simple expression of excitement.” I hand him the open bottle and the corkscrew still piercing the mangled cork. “Do you mind me asking why you’re opening wine at half twelve in the afternoon?” Not that I’m judging. I did the very same after Nolan and I broke up.
Perhaps things haven’t worked out with his Unseelie.
Or perhaps they have and this isn’t a bottle for drowning sorrows like all of mine have been of late. “Are you commiserating or celebrating?”
“Just practicing.”
“For?”
“Opening wine.”
Straightforward. I appreciate that.
He sets the bottle next to the broken ones.
“Aren’t you going to have any?”
“I do not like wine.”
“No one likes wine.” Not really. If they claim to, they’re most likely lying. “Still, seems like a shame to waste it.” I swipe the bottle and take a swig straight from the long neck. Fruity, with notes of—oh, who am I fooling? It tastes like wine.
I hold out the bottle to him.
His fingers brush mine, wrapping nearly around the whole bloody bottle as he takes it from me. He brings it to his lips, his throat bobbing with his swallow.
What is it about being green that makes a throat so much more attractive?
Not once did I ever notice Nolan’s throat. For all I know, he might not have had one at all.
Maddox’s grimace makes me giggle. “This is revolting.”
“Yes, but the more you drink, the better it tastes.”
He peers into the amber bottle, his lips pursed. “Is this true?”
If only. “No. But you don’t notice the taste as much because your mouth is too numb and your mind is too fuzzy.”
He places the bottle back in my hand. “Are you here to see your cousin? I am afraid Kerris Dawn is still in Applewood.”
“I know.” Dammit. I take a deep drink to get the taste of my foot out of my mouth. Might as well come right out and tell the man I came to see him. “I mean, I already checked.”
“And you decided to visit me instead?”
“To see how things are faring with your Unseelie.” That sounded convincing, right?
He snags the bottle and swallows two large gulps. “She is . . . away. On a trip.”
I didn’t realize the Unseelie did much traveling. “When will she be back?”
“In three days.”
Good. I’m glad she’s gone. Otherwise, he’d be off in the Unseelie lands wooing someone else. This calls for more wine—a celebration. I motion for the bottle and take another deep drink. “You must be anxious for her to return.”
The sunlight catches his hair just so, making the silky black strands appear almost blue. “You have many questions this day.”
“Sorry. I’m just interested in knowing whether or not my advice works because . . .” Because I’m hoping it doesn’t so that she won’t fall for you.
Can’t say that, can I?
“Because I’m thinking of writing a book.”
Someone please take my tongue from me. I don’t deserve to speak any longer. This lie calls for more wine. Immediately. Not one sip but two.
“I will read this book,” he announces with a bob of his head.
“You won’t need to. You’ll already be happily mated.” And I’ll be here, drowning on my own.
Brilliant. Now I’m sad.
That’s what they should name this brand instead of Mountain Pass: Sad Wine.
Maddox takes the Sad Wine for himself, muttering over the top of the bottle. “Or she will reject me, and I will be alone until the end of my days.”
Sad wine, indeed. “If it doesn’t work out with her, I’ve a feeling you’ll be snapped up faster than a . . .” Than a what? All I can think of are sad things.
Maddox’s brow furrows as he stares down at the grass as if it holds all the answers we’re looking for.
If only.
A cooling breeze drifts over the green blades, reminding me there is something missing from this scene.
“Where’s your goat?” The little mangey menace should be nibbling my skirts by now.
“He is sleeping in the stables. I had to help Ever at the bridge at dawn and did not want my Biscuits to be lonely. When I returned, I did not have the heart to wake him.”
How sweet. Maddox would make an excellent father.
Assuming he wants children.
Maybe I should ask him.
A terrible idea. I don’t need to ask that question because the answer does not and will not ever pertain to me.
My feelings and I should return home. The sad wine in my stomach sloshes around when I stand. “I need to go.” Before I say something I’ll inevitably regret. We’re at a good place, Maddox and me. We might even become genuine friends after this.
My announcement brings a frown to his face. “Then who will help me open the next bottle?”
True. Wouldn’t want him to accidentally cut himself while trying to open it. If he struck an artery, he could bleed out and die.
Friends don’t let friends die.
One more drink, then it’s back to the cottage before I make a complete and utter fool of myself. Or worse, before I accidentally tell him that I’m starting to find him wickedly attractive.
“Go on, then. Let’s see you try.”
He glances around the porch, then scans the ground. “Where is the wine-yay?”
Here I didn’t think he could be more attractive. “You mean the corkscrew? I gave it back to you.”
Didn’t I?
Heavens, I can’t even remember. I stand in case it fell into the cushion beside me, but it’s not there. Maddox slips off the steps and bends down to check beneath his wagon.
There it is! “Behind you.”
He spins in a circle.
“No, it’s . . .” Oh, sod it. I stumble forward and drag the corkscrew from his back pocket. “Here. Be sure to remove this cork before you try to open the next bottle.” Best to be thorough when giving advice. Perhaps I’ll write a book on opening wine next.
Actually, no. I should write one on how not to fall for handsome Unseelie warriors. Then I’ll read it every night before bed.
Step One: Don’t let your gaze linger on his muscles, no matter how many abdominals he has. And don’t ever, ever let yourself start counting them, because there might be eight, and that’s a large number, isn’t it? Too many, really.
Step Two: Don’t look at his arms, because then you’ll want to lick them.
His tongue peeks between his teeth as he concentrates on inserting the corkscrew into the center of the cork.
Step Three: Don’t think about his tongue, not even when you remember that an Unseelie tongue has a rough, sandpaper-like texture. And don’t ever, ever wonder what that would feel like dragging over your body.
Maddox glances up at me from beneath his lashes, his expression so earnest, my heart begins to ache. “Yay?”
I look again at the corkscrew, seeing the metal arms up in the air. “Yay,” I agree with a chuckle.
Bottle clasped between his knees, he pushes down the arms, twists a few more times, presses them down again, and out comes the cork with a pop.
“I did it.”
“Well done.” Mission complete. He has opened a bottle of wine, and I have developed a most regrettable crush. “Now, I really must go.”
He holds out the bottle to me, giving it a shake. “Or you could stay.”
“Or I could stay.”
Step Four: Don’t stay.
My feet remain planted on the grass, the sun beating my brow as I stare at that bottle, knowing I should go but not wanting to.
Why am I hurrying to spend more time alone?
I accept the bottle and take another drink, the taste barely registering.
Step Five—or is it Six? Heavens, I’ve lost track. Either way, one should steer clear of intimate topics, especially when inebriated.
Let’s see . . .
The weather. That’s straightforward, isn’t it? “It’s hot today, isn’t it?” Might even be hotter than the hottest day in July.
Maddox shoots to his feet, then catches himself on his railing. “There is a fountain.”
Architecture. Another harmless topic. Perfect.
“Come. I’ll show you.” He takes my hand, and I try not to think too much about it because he’s only keeping me from falling on my face as we race through the garden to where the royal fountain awaits.
“Very pretty.” Not sure why he felt the need to show me this, but I appreciate the way the water glides down the golden willow branches as they dip toward the aquamarine pool below.
Maddox plops right onto the pool’s edge and starts unlacing his boots.
Oh. Oh—
Now I understand. “I don’t think this fountain is meant for bathing.”
He drags off his second boot, discarding it next to the first. “Ever does not mind.”
I’m not so sure about that.
Although the water does look inviting. Perhaps a little dip, just to get my feet wet. That should be enough to cool me down. It is unbearably hot outside, and watching Maddox bend at the waist to roll his trousers to his knees doesn’t help my spiking temperature.
I kick off my slippers and step over the low wall, joining Maddox in the water. The water soothes and cools as it laps against my shins, drenching my skirts. I don’t even care. The wetter they are, the cooler they’ll be for the walk back home.
“Maddox?” A deep shout reverberates through the garden.
Maddox twists toward the sound, his eyes as round as saucers. “Shit.”
Why shit? “I thought you said Everett wouldn’t mind.”
Instead of answering, he laces our hands once more, dragging me toward the golden willow at the center of the fountain. Water cascades over us both as we duck beneath the dripping branches and press ourselves against the golden trunk at our backs.
A bubble of laughter rises in my throat.
If someone had asked my plans for today, it certainly wouldn’t have included wading into the middle of Castle Rose’s ancient fountain, hiding from the bloody king.
Everett calls for Maddox again, and my grinning partner in crime holds a finger to his lips, urging me to keep silent.
I remain still, listening for the king’s approach.
He mustn’t suspect our whereabouts, because his calls fade into silence, leaving only Maddox and me grinning beneath the dripping branches of a gold willow.
Step Six (or maybe Seven): Whatever you do, avoid staring directly into his eyes, lest you see a reflection of the joy on your own face.
Joy you haven’t felt in far too long.