Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
DAPHNE
W e disembark at the northernmost station and hail a cab to get as close as we can to the unseelie forest by carriage. After that, there’s no other way to get to my hometown except for walking. Several signposts stand sentinel outside the woods as we approach, staggered every few yards, to remind travelers that they are about to enter unseelie territory. This entire forest is protected unseelie land where human rules do not apply. Hunters who dare step foot beyond these signposts will undoubtedly be torn limb from limb by the first dangerous fae they encounter and there will be no recompense to their families. Any conflicts that arise—whether between residents or visitors or any combination—are dealt with according to unseelie tradition, which is often a fight to the death.
I share a glance with Monty, ensuring he’s ready for this. I prepared him as best I could on the train, reminding him that even though Cypress Hollow is modeled after a human village and will look rather cute, it is very much a place of ancient lore and fae-governed practices. The village is meant to give fae creatures who are interested in seelie culture but not seelie rules the ability to experience it without sacrificing their values.
He nods, giving me a dimpled grin. “Let’s go.”
Hand in hand, we enter the canopy of trees, the early evening sunlight dimming the deeper we go and casting speckles of golden light on the leaves and underbrush. It’s such a beautiful palette of color. I’d give anything to capture this moment—the quiet stillness of the woods interrupted only by birdsong, the feel of Monty’s hand in mine—and replicate it on canvas. Yellow ochre here. Cadmium red there. Burnt sienna and viridian?—
“It was my fault, wasn’t it?” Monty says, pulling me from my mental painting.
“What was your fault?” I release his hand as we reach a fallen tree. It landed at an angle, resting in the V of another tree. Too tempted to resist, I hop onto the log and begin to cross it.
Monty stays on the ground and strolls beside the beam. “The reason you were so upset that you buried your sorrows in booze last Lughnasadh.”
I’m so surprised by his words that I nearly lose my balance. I spread my arms out wider and secure my footing before proceeding. “I wouldn’t say it was all your fault. I’m the one who drank too much.”
“You can tell me the truth, love,” he says, and there’s no judgment or apprehension in his tone. He truly wants to know.
I make my way to the end of the beam where it rests in the crook of the other tree, a good six feet off the ground. Monty stands at the base, arms wide. I don’t need him to catch me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll refuse. I drop off the edge with control, and Monty catches me with ease, cradling me sideways in his arms. That’s when I realize he doesn’t plan on letting me go until I tell him the truth.
I give him a sheepish look. “Well, the thing is…I’d planned on inviting you home with me for my annual visit. Only as friends, of course. It had been so long since we’d seen each other, and I wanted to catch up. I also thought you’d enjoy Cypress Hollow and the festival’s matchmaking ritual.”
His expression fills with regret. “But I was an asshole and you never got the chance to invite me.”
“I was more upset than I wanted to admit, even to myself.” I don’t want to say this next part because I don’t want him to feel any guiltier than he already does. Yet he deserves to know. “I was feeling raw for weeks afterward. On edge. The end of our friendship felt like a fissure in my heart. In my confidence. Coming home felt like running away to safety. Clyde was extra attentive to me, and I clung to that. Under the haze of inebriation, I thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay and take a mate. To give up my dreams of being an illustrator and return to my easy, predictable life where things don’t change nearly as fast as they do in seelie society. Where every day is the same and I fit in without effort.”
He pulls me tighter to his chest, nestling his face in my neck. “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.”
“It’s truly not your fault,” I say, hugging my arms around his neck. “I needed to learn a lesson in confidence. I needed to commit once and for all to the life I wanted.”
He sets me on my feet but keeps his arms around my waist. “Thank you for telling me. And trusting I won’t spiral into self-loathing over it.”
“You’re here now, and that’s what matters. I wasn’t planning on bringing you this time, but you’re a stalker.”
“I can’t argue with that.” We proceed walking. “I truly am sorry, though. I know I’ve already said it, but I regret that I was such an ass the day I got fired. I was so afraid that we’d gotten too close. I’d felt that fear ever since the night of the gala when I saw you in seelie form for the first time. I…I sensed the spark then.”
I whip my gaze to him. “The spark? What spark?”
He rubs his neck in an adorably shy gesture. “You know how I told you I can sense a spark between potential couples? I felt it the night we stood on the balcony after the gala. You climbed upon the railing and caught cherry blossoms that were drifting on the breeze. That’s when it hit me. That you were someone I could have feelings for one day. And that fucking terrified me.”
Because, deep down, he’s always been afraid of getting hurt.
Silence falls between us. I step closer to him and bump my shoulder into his. “So…you’ve liked me all along?”
“It was a spark,” he says with a teasing roll of his eyes.
The underbrush gets denser the deeper we go. We follow game trails whenever we come across them, but the terrain becomes increasingly complex.
“Am I holding you back?” Monty asks as we climb over a series of rotted stumps on the trail. “Since you didn’t know about my fae heritage a year ago, you planned on inviting me to your hometown in a human body. Would it be faster if you were in unseelie form? If I was too? Furthermore, won’t the villagers react poorly if we show up like this?”
He makes a valid point. Our progress is certainly slower than I planned. I’ve never walked to my village on two legs. But still.
“I hoped to present myself like this,” I say. “We don’t have rules against fae entering our village in seelie form or even bringing human friends for visits, and I wanted to show them this side of me.”
Monty assesses me with a thoughtful look. “I can see the value in that, but I’ve also noticed you don’t let yourself shift into your unseelie form very often.”
I shake my head. “I promised myself I wouldn’t use my unseelie form to run away anymore.”
Monty’s fingers encircle my wrist, and he stops me on the trail, gently pulling me to face him. “From what you’ve told me, you haven’t run away in a long time. You’ve faced your fears and anxieties and continue to face them daily. You’ve gotten so strong, but I don’t want that strength to be the reason you lose a piece of yourself. You love your unseelie form. You love climbing and frolicking and curling up in high places.”
My chest tightens with yearning at his words. He’s right. I do love that. All of that.
“You deserve to enjoy both sides of yourself, Daffy Dear.”
I blow out a heavy breath. “I’ve been so afraid that returning to my unseelie form will make me want to stay in it. That it will make it easier for me to shrink down and hide when I feel nervous or too seen. But I suppose that’s just another fear I need to face. Another lesson in confidence.”
A grin breaks over his face. “That’s my girl. My brave little beast.”
An answering smile melts over my lips. I’ve really come to adore his praise. “And I suppose it would be much faster if we were in unseelie form. Assuming you can shift at will now?”
He winces. “About that…today was the first time I shifted intentionally, and it wasn’t the easiest feat. Maybe it will get easier one day, but for now, I can only do it when I connect with my fae magic, and I’ve spent most of my life doing the opposite.”
“How did you manage today?”
“Well, I was fucking angry about the Modesty Committee, and that sparked feelings of…of my passionate love for you.” He blushes when he says the last part, which is so charming I could bite him.
“Ah,” I say with a nod. “We need to get you hot. Want to see my breasts?” I’m already unbuttoning my waistcoat while he stammers to form an incoherent reply. By the time I have my blouse open and my bralette raised, he’s ceased even trying to argue.
His mouth drops as he drinks in the sight of me. “I’ll never get tired of this view,” he says, striding closer with the hunger of a man ready to pounce.
I halt him with a pointed look.
“Ah, right. Shifting, shifting.” He stares longingly at my breasts a few beats more. “Yes, I can use that, just give me a moment.”
I press my lips tight to keep myself from laughing at the amount of concentration that twists his features, paired with the fiery lust in his eyes. Just when I worry his efforts will come to naught, a shudder tears through his frame and he drops to all fours.
With a delighted squeal, I press my palms to my cheeks, staring down at the fennec fox he’s become. I know I’ve already seen him like this once today, but he truly is criminally adorable. I crouch down to study him closer, from his enormous ears to his long whiskers. He’s so cute it makes me want to squeeze his giant head, crush his tiny little bones, and chomp him to bits—out of love! Out of love, not hunger. I want to chomp him to bits metaphorically . It’s hard to explain, but I am struck with the undeniable urge to squeeze him with all my might.
“My dear,” he says, tone wry, “are you going to keep staring at me like you might have me for dinner or are you going to join me already?”
“Oh, right.” I close my eyes, turn my attention over to my inner hunter, and shrink down into my pine marten form.
Monty’s eyes go rounder. “Aw, look at you,” he says, voice soft. “I haven’t seen you like this in so long.”
“Keep up if you can.” I spring ahead, scampering down the trail. Monty catches up with me in a matter of seconds, and we race across stones and dirt and fallen trees. As we’re running alongside a stream, I sense his eyes locked on me.
“You’re really pretty, Daph.”
I angle my head toward him. “Are you falling in love with me in unseelie form now too?”
“Maybe— urp !” Monty crashes face first into the dirt, his hind legs snagged on a stump he’d tried to leap over while looking at me.
I hiss with laughter.
He scrambles to right himself, not a hint of the elegant aristocrat, only the clumsy fox. “Don’t judge my lack of agility. This is only my third time in unseelie form and only my second time running in it. My legs are tired from chasing you across town.”
Despite his defense, I can’t stop laughing, so I take off running again, and he keeps close to my side, baring his teeth in a vulpine smile.
It doesn’t take long to reach Cypress Hollow, and we decide to remain in our unseelie forms as we enter. We pass beneath the trellised ivy-tangled archway that serves as the entrance to the town and step onto a brick walkway. The trees are only somewhat sparser here, but most of the architecture is built between, around, or inside the wide trunks. Strings of warm light weave overhead, strung from branches and towering boughs, creating a canopy of illumination. Nostalgia hums through my entire being at the sight of the market just ahead. It’s in full swing every day until sundown. We join the busy throng of fae creatures bustling between buildings and stalls. The architecture is bright and colorful in every shade of yellow, blue, and green, the style closer to something one would find in a human farming town with deeply sloped roofs, exposed wood framing, and barn-style doors. The main difference is the size. Every building is in proportion to the average size of the fae creatures who reside here. Were we in our seelie bodies, it would look quite miniature.
Monty studies our surroundings with an awed look, his ears down and back as we pad across the brick walkway and between other furry bodies. “This is incredible. I can’t believe you don’t feel overwhelmed here.”
I skip ahead, then frolic backward for a few paces so I can study the look on his face. “It was very overwhelming when I first moved here from the solitary quiet of my tree burrow. Now it’s just home to me.”
“Daphne, is that you?”
I recognize the wizened female voice at once. Whipping back around, I catch sight of a large black mustelid with a wide silver-gray stripe along her head and back. We may be of the same genus, but a honey badger is much larger than I am, and fiercer too. She has the highest kill rate in our village and is famed for eating venomous snakes twice her length with her afternoon tea.
“Elder Rhisha,” I say, bowing my muzzle in respect.
“You’re rather early,” she says in her creaky, crotchety voice. “You normally only come back for Lughnasadh.”
The first pinch of anxiety I’ve felt since entering the town strikes me now, reminding me what I came here to do. I hold her gaze without falter, trying not to focus on the sharp teeth that hang over the sides of her muzzle. “There is an issue I want to address as soon as possible. I should have done it sooner, and I’m not willing to put it off any longer.”
She huffs. “Does it have to do with this friend you’ve brought this time?”
“Apologies,” I say, stepping aside to give Elder Rhisha a better view of Monty. “May I introduce my…”
Shit, how do I introduce him? He’s more than a friend, but is it poor taste to call him my beau or my lover when I’m engaged to her nephew?
“Monty,” he finishes for me, lowering his muzzle.
She makes a raspy chuckle. “You need to have a talk with Clyde.”
I shift from paw to paw. “Actually, I thought maybe I should talk to you first.”
“I won’t need to intervene, trust me. This is between the two of you.” With another raspy laugh, she pads off, leaving me to wonder what she’s so amused about.
I bare my teeth in my pine marten equivalent of a grimace. “I guess it’s now or never.”
Clyde’s residence is at the edge of town, a small A-frame house painted red. I spot him just outside it, sitting at a picnic table set before his front door, polishing a wooden mug. He’s a woodworker and specializes in carving intricate mugs that he sells to the tavern and other villagers. I even caught sight of them at a boutique near the train station once. I’ve always envied his dexterity. I may not have ever succeeded at creating art without opposable thumbs, but others have, including Clyde. Since his is a practical art, it’s admired in Cypress Hollow, unlike my sexy paintings.
We approach the table. Clyde freezes when he sees me, nearly dropping his mug and cloth. He’s a honey badger just like his aunt with the same wide build, same black fur with a silver-gray stripe down his head and back. He is not, however, nearly as intimidating. “D-Daphne, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Hello, Clyde,” I say, unable to hide the trepidation in my voice. I hope this conversation remains civil. While he must have been hurt by my abrupt departure after the ritual last year, he likely held out hope that I’d seal our mating this year. He has had a fierce crush on me for as long as I’ve known him.
“We need to talk,” he says, lowering his voice. His eyes dart anxiously between me and Monty. “Quickly.”
“Yes, we do,” I say, “and I have every intention of making this quick. Clyde, I’m so, so sorry but I cannot be your mate. You’ve been a good friend to me for so long, but that’s all we can ever be. Our handfasting was?—”
“Who the fuck is she?” I snap my muzzle shut as my eyes swivel toward the source of the female voice. A stocky gray-brown marmot hobbles out of Clyde’s front door on her hind legs, carrying a butcher knife in one of her front paws. She slams the blade point first onto the table, sinking it an inch deep as she stares at Clyde with a murderous glare. “You were goddamned engaged ?”
This time, Clyde fully drops his mug and cloth and holds out both paws. “I was drunk, baby. I didn’t even remember what happened until my aunt told me a month later.” He swivels toward me. “I was just about to tell you. I can’t go through with our handfasting either because I’m already mated.”
My jaw drops. “Mated.”
Clyde’s mate turns her enraged glare to me now, gripping the handle of her knife and tugging it free from where it was embedded in the table. “I will fucking cut you if you so much as make eyes at my Clyde-baby.”
“You should go,” Clyde rushes to say. “She really will cut you.”
His mate bares her teeth. “Oh, you’re taking her side?”
“No, baby, it’s just...”
I don’t wait to hear a word more, sharing a knowing look with Monty before we take off as fast as we can. We dart between trees, yelping when a butcher knife strikes a trunk just to the right of us, sending shards of bark flying.
We run until we’re out of breath, stopping only when we’ve put ample space between us and the village. Then we collapse at the base of a thick cedar, its wide draping branches shielding us from view. Soon our panting breaths turn to sounds of relief. Then laughter.
“What the hell was that?” Monty says, his furry figure suddenly spilling outward to take the shape of his seelie body. He leans against the trunk of the tree, throwing his head of messy waves back. “A marmot with a butcher knife? Is that kind of domestic dispute normal for your village?”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug and shift back into my seelie form as well. I’m sprawled before him, my weight propped on my forearms as I recline halfway.
A snort of laughter has my gaze returning to Monty. “Your tits are still out, love.”
I glance down to see that he’s right. I’d forgotten about baring my breasts for him earlier. I lift a hand to tug my bralette back down but Monty’s palm stills my fingers. He’s crawled over to me and now hovers above me, one hand propped near my waist, the other removing my hand from my bralette to pin it overhead. I fall back on a bed of soil and cedar leaves.
“Don’t cover up on my account,” he says, lowering his lips to mine. “I’ll never deny a chance to worship these morsels.”
He moves his mouth down to my collar, then to my breast, where he flicks out his tongue and swirls it over my peaked nipple. I squirm at the pleasure that jolts through me, burning at the apex of my thighs. He moves to the other nipple, suckling until I release a whimper. Then he returns his lips to mine, kissing me deeply. As he pulls away, he bites my bottom lip. I let out another soft whine.
He cradles my cheek. “My friend. My lover. My partner in violence. Have I told you how much I love you today?”
“You can tell me again.”
His expression turns serious. “I love you, Daphne Heartcleaver.”
“I love you, Monty Phillips.”
He shakes his head. “I’m a Heartcleaver too now. I’m relinquishing the Phillips name. I’m free. We’re free.”
Delightful shock ripples through me. He’s right. We’re officially free from every obstacle that stood between us. His debt. His father’s control. My handfasting. All that’s left…is whatever the hell we want. What we want to do. What we want to become. Our careers. Our relationship. We’re both free to live how we wish. To love how we wish. To support each other and correct each other when one of us is being an idiot—mostly Monty, I’m sure.
I fully relax onto my bed of soil and stare up at the man I love, backlit by the setting sun filtering through the cedar boughs. “Correction,” I say. “I love you too, Monty Heartcleaver.”
He lowers his lips to mine in a fierce kiss. A kiss that burns with fire and lust, friendship and love. A kiss that burns with the violence that is distinctly us .