Chapter 9
Wolfe
Normally, I didn’t bother myself with my brother’s affairs, but in this case, as Niamh currently chattered away while we walked through town, those affairs directly affected me.
It had been unlucky the castle had shoved Niamh and me into the same room, but I was not about to endure this woman all day because Cillian hadn’t thought it important enough to tell her the details of her becoming queen.
We walked down the cobblestone road that wound around the castle, and so far, Niamh had insisted on stopping at every single fucking shop. I could hear Cillian’s voice in my head: She’s been trapped in a tower for three years. Let her live a bit.
So instead of saying something, I gritted my teeth and stood by while she fawned over jewelry and charms and clothes.
Not even buying anything—just looking. I itched to find my brother and ensure he was okay.
There hadn’t been any attacks today, but what if one happened before I got to him?
A pounding hit my ears at the thought of Cillian being alone, helpless, unguarded during an attack.
Niamh whipped around, draping a pink scarf across her neck, and the pounding lessened. “What do you think? Do I look queenly?”
I stared at her, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m Wolfe.” She adopted a mocking tone. “I’m a big, strong man. Must never talk. Must never show emotion.” She moved forward and draped the scarf around my neck.
“What are you doing?” I asked, irritated. She fluffed the scarf out, and I swatted her hand away. “Stop it.”
She frowned. “I don’t know if pink is your color.”
“I thought you wanted to find the prince.”
“Oh, I do, but this is way too much fun to stop.” She reached out to adjust the scarf, and I grabbed her wrist.
She met my gaze, eyes dancing with mischief. “Not a fan of the pink, then?”
“No.”
“Shame. I’m starting to think maybe this is your color after all. Now can you let go of my hand, sunshine?”
“Can we leave?” I gritted out.
“Let’s just try one more scarf.” She reached out with her free hand and grabbed a green-striped one, attempting to drape it over the pink one.
I let go of her hand and snatched the green scarf. “Don’t you dare.”
Her smile grew wider. “But I really think green might be the one.” She tugged on the scarf, and I tugged back.
“Put it back.”
She raised her chin. “Do you wear anything other than . . . that?” Her gaze lowered, roving over my tan shirt, down to my plaited leather trousers and my thick black boots.
“No.” I glanced at her green dress, cloak, and gloves. “And do you always wear so many . . . layers?”
Her eyes flashed with an emotion I didn’t recognize, something like shame, maybe, and she tugged on the green scarf again.
“Well, you should wear more variety. Those are boring colors that do nothing for your complexion, and if you actually ventured to wear something new, it might improve your mood.”
I noticed she didn’t answer my question, and part of me wanted to know the answer, but I didn’t want to pry, mainly because I was afraid it would lead to more conversation.
If we didn’t find Cillian soon, I was going to take this stupid pink scarf and shove it in her mouth. Fuck, that was an image I hadn’t expected to pop into my mind and be so . . . erotic. “My mood doesn’t need improving,” I snapped.
She snorted right as the shopkeeper swept out of the back room through a curtain.
“Can I help you two . . .” His green eyes flicked to me and widened as he ran a hand over his thinning white hair.
“Oh. It’s you. In my store.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling wholly unwanted.
But that was how I felt most places I went.
The gazes of those who knew how my brother had died, who knew that I was responsible, were heavy.
The shopkeeper crossed his arms and glared at me, but his gaze softened when it landed on Niamh, whose green eyes bounced between us in fascination.
“A scarf is a good idea, my dear,” he said, arching his neck to look out the windows. “You don’t want to be catching a cold out there.”
“We were just leaving,” I said, grabbing Niamh’s arm and yanking her out the door as she dropped the scarf, protesting the entire way.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone glare so hard, especially not a sweet old man,” Niamh said once we were outside. “He must really hate you.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “He doesn’t hate me. He . . . well, maybe he hates me.”
Niamh gasped. “Did you yell at him?”
I glowered at Niamh, whose eyes were dancing with glee.
“Not . . . at him.” Just around him—when I’d been looking for Cillian and was convinced my brother had been hiding in his shop.
Niamh stopped in the middle of the street, making passersby go around us. “Why would he have reason to hate you, then?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never asked.” I never wanted to, too afraid of the truth, too afraid that everyone would reveal that they hated me as much as I hated myself after what happened to Lor.
I wondered what Niamh would think of me if I told her about my past. Would she suddenly stop talking to me like everyone else had?
Would she glare at me? Dart away when she saw me?
Give me a wide berth as I stalked through the streets?
That was an idea. I could tell her, could use that to get her off my back, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to in this moment.
Instead I stalked away, her hurried steps pattering after me. “Does the entire town have magic?” she asked, glancing at the storefronts we passed by.
Good godwitches almighty. She never stopped. She didn’t get my hints, or she didn’t care. She just kept talking and talking and talking.
She tapped her chin, looking down. “Because I was thinking that I’d never seen an entire town with magic.
Only single objects or creatures or plants.
An entire town would be unheard of, and I can see why you’d want to keep it hidden from everyone.
” She gasped, chattering on. “Does the town grow on its own? If you got more residents, would it expand to accommodate them? That would be fascinating to see. How long have you lived here? Cillian said you had to be invited to stay, so can anyone invite someone new and Fairwitch Isle will accept them?”
I stopped in the middle of the street, a horse whinnying and raising onto its back legs as the woman riding it harrumphed and settled it down, trotting around us.
Niamh gave a friendly wave, which, amazingly, softened the woman’s glare.
“You’re asking too many questions.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re giving too few answers. I have more questions, you know.”
I held up a hand, unable to fathom any more.
“Okay, okay.” We kept walking and passed the bakery, cakes, tarts, and pies on full display in the window.
“Yes, the whole town has magic, but not as powerful as the castle. There’s a protective magic around Fairwitch Isle that keeps us hidden, safe.
And some of the shops have magic, but we don’t know why.
We lost a lot of that information.” I took a breath.
I hadn’t spoken this much in years. “Happy now?”
Niamh looked up like she might see the magic dancing over her head. “How do you get items for clothes and food?” she asked. “You can’t just make everything yourselves. In Bergenay, we had established trade partners.”
Good godwitches. It didn’t matter how many of her questions I answered. She just asked more.
“We do have established trade, but we have couriers who meet our trade partners at designated posts, far away from Fairwitch. And to answer your other question, no, the town doesn’t grow on its own that I know of.
” I rubbed the back of my neck, not sure I could explain the rest of this without Cillian but also not sure Niamh would let up if I didn’t explain. “The magic decides who gets let in.”
Niamh was chewing on the end of a long strand of hair, looking in each window that we passed, and thankfully, she was too distracted by our conversation to stop.
I chose my words carefully. “Not us. But we also have rules about inviting people, about leaving. We can’t just have citizens popping in and out of our invisible kingdom, can’t risk travelers seeing that kind of magic.
” Niamh turned her green eyes on me, and once again, I was struck by how light they were.
They weren’t any shade of green I’d ever seen.
“Why not?” She looked ahead and gasped. “Cillian!”
My head snapped in the direction she was looking, where my brother stood, talking to a blonde, her hair curly and full like a halo around her heart-shaped face.
“Who is that next to Cillian? They’re standing so close.” She gasped. “Is she an old flame?”
She didn’t seem remotely bothered by this, and I was starting to wonder if anything got under this woman’s skin.
“No, Cillian doesn’t court. He has no interest in relationships.” I winced, realizing what I’d just admitted to the woman who was supposedly going to be his wife.
“Then who is she?” Niamh asked as Cillian put his hand on the woman’s arm, still not seeming upset. “They look awfully friendly.”
“It’s his best friend, Ceri.” They’d been friends since childhood, and I was almost certain Ceri was the only woman in Fairwitch Cillian hadn’t tried to bed.
“Cillian!” Niamh set her hands on her hips, frowning at him, and I realized maybe she wasn’t upset about Ceri because she was too busy being upset about Nevan’s revelation.
His captain of the guard stepped forward in full armor, raising her sword and stopping Niamh in her tracks.
“Please step away from the high prince, or I will be forced to use this,” came Harriet’s voice from behind her helmet.
“Harriet, I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Ceri said to the guard.
“Why have you had so many brides?” Niamh asked, voice coming out high and squeaky. “Shouldn’t that be something you tell your future wife?”
Harriet’s sword faltered, and Ceri’s head snapped in Cillian’s direction. “Wife?”
I’d assumed Ceri knew. Cillian usually told her everything, so I wondered why he’d kept this from her.
It wasn’t often that I saw my brother angry, but he shot me a glare so withering it could’ve smote me on the spot. Shame swept over me at my rashness. I could’ve handled this better, could’ve not been so determined to keep Niamh away from me that I put my brother in a bad position.
I cleared my throat. “She wanted to see you.”
“I can see that,” Cillian said, shifting his gaze to Niamh. He held out his hand, and Harriet lowered her sword, re-sheathing it. “Could we go somewhere to have this conversation in private?”
Niamh swallowed thickly, clearly wary of this entire situation. “Fine.” She gestured for Cillian to lead the way, then turned and jabbed a finger at me. “And don’t think you’re off the hook, sunshine. You have as much explaining to do as he does.”
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.