Chapter 21
Enid
Ipaced inside my cottage. The morning sun shone bright, yet I was tired and irritable after a night of tossing and turning and questioning everything.
Nevan had kissed me. I’d asked him if he wanted Ambrose to come next month, and instead of answering, he’d kissed me.
It had been everything I thought it would be. And that was what had terrified me the most. The kiss had felt impossibly intimate—like Nevan was revealing so much of himself, his feelings, with his mouth on mine.
Vine jabbed its tail at the door.
“I know I’m supposed to go to the festival.”
Apparently there was some huge celebration today, and I was meeting Nevan soon.
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to meet him when I didn’t even know what to say after yesterday.
I was also confused how Fiona had overheard us.
She shouldn’t have been able to hear Ambrose’s voice.
That was the entire point of the curse laid upon the Fair Folk.
Maybe it had something to do with the town’s magic, but I couldn’t think about that right now because Vine was currently pushing me toward the door.
“Hey, stop that.” I swatted at it, and it flopped to the floor dramatically. “Just give me a minute.” I bit my lip, making a snap decision to tell Vine the truth. “Nevan kissed me yesterday.”
It perked up.
“It’s not a good thing!”
It sank back to the floor.
I started pacing again. “We had a deal. This was supposed to be simple. Pretend to date. Get people to like me. Get his mother off his back. He wasn’t supposed to go and kiss me like that!” My fingers floated to my lips as I remembered his warm mouth coaxing mine open.
It had been the best kiss of my life, which only made this so much worse. It wasn’t even that Ambrose was a bad kisser. I loved kissing Ambrose. But the way Nevan had so thoroughly taken me apart with his lips . . .
Vine touched my heart, and I swatted it away again.
“He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even know me.” Nevan only knew pretend me. He had no idea I was a godwitch, had no idea I was the one who’d created all the monstrous plants that terrorized his town.
Outside, music played and voices filled the street. The festival was starting, and I had to meet Nevan shortly, which meant I needed to get myself together.
Vine wrapped around my shoulders, giving me a hug.
“I know you love me, but you have to. I created you.”
Vine squeezed me tighter.
“I have to go.” I shot it a look. “Do you want to come?” Vine nodded, and I exhaled a shaky laugh. “Then, let’s get this over with.”
* * *
Nevan stood near the front doors of the castle as I approached.
The sun lit his face in its warm glow, highlighting his pale skin and parted brown hair, the waves almost auburn under the direct light.
His usual suspenders and trousers over a plain tunic were gone, and today he wore fitted pin-striped trousers with a green shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal his muscled chest. He turned as I approached, a hesitant smile tipping up his lips.
“I told you to wear green,” he said, eyes traveling over my black dress and sending waves of heat through my belly.
I gestured at my face in response.
“That’s cheating,” he pointed out.
I rolled my eyes.
“Hey, stop poking me!”
Vine jabbed Barty in the chest, and the gargoyle scowled down at it.
“I think it’s trying to tickle you,” I said.
“I’m made of stone,” Barty replied. “I can’t be tickled.”
“Really?” Tal asked from the other side of the door, reaching over and poking Barty in the side with a talon.
Barty yelped while Nevan just smirked. “Ow! What was that?”
“I was testing to see if you’re ticklish.”
“I just told you I’m not! Do you ever listen to me?”
“Not really.” Tal stared at his talons. “You jabber on about so much, it’s hard to keep it all straight.”
Vine slithered up and stretched between the two gargoyles, hanging over their shoulders.
“Uh, what is happening?” Tal glanced at the heavy vine draped between them.
I raised a brow. “Vine wants you to stop fighting. It doesn’t like conflict.”
“The vine doesn’t like fighting?” Barty asked. “It suffocates people.”
Vine slumped.
“Now you hurt its feelings.”
Nevan gave a quiet laugh, and I swallowed thickly, my stomach flipping at the sound, at his whole face lit up just staring at me, like I was the source of his happiness.
“The vine has feelings?” Tal screeched.
Barty just snorted, crossing his arms and glaring at his twin.
“Do you have feelings?” Nevan countered, and Tal frowned, his fangs peeking out.
“Huh.” Tal petted Vine, and it purred.
“It’s kind of cute, actually,” Barty said. “When it’s not jabbing us.”
“You lovebirds have fun.” Nevan began walking toward me and held out his hand. “We’ve got a date.”
I swallowed thickly, all my nerves on fire as Nevan’s hand clasped mine. Nervousness was not an emotion I was used to, but I’d been experiencing a lot of firsts with Nevan lately, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about any of it.
“Stay out of trouble,” I said over my shoulder to Vine.
Nevan and I walked down the stairs and onto the cobblestone street, and my breath caught in my throat at the sight. I’d been so focused on getting to the castle from my cottage that I hadn’t paid much attention to all the decorations.
Tents and stands lined both sides of the street. Children ran past us, laughing. Merry music floated through the air, some kind of fiddle playing along with a flute.
I shot a nervous glance at Nevan, who didn’t seem remotely bothered. He was just enjoying the view and humming along to the music.
It was as if he didn’t remember that kiss yesterday. Or maybe it didn’t mean anything to him. Or it was so bad he was ignoring it completely.
No. No, that was not a possibility. I was many things, but a bad kisser was not one of them.
My throat was thick with all the words I wanted to say, but I couldn’t make them come out. Words weren’t my specialty. They never had been, and I still had no idea how to broach this topic.
Sorry, but you can’t kiss me like that because I’m a five-thousand-year-old demi-godwitch and I can’t fall for you.
“Listen, about yesterday,” Nevan said, and I tensed, bracing for impact. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I got so wrapped up in the moment.”
I should’ve been relieved by this, but instead, disappointment filled me.
So he did regret it. Of course he did. I was me.
And he was, well, him. He didn’t want a relationship, and he’d made that clear from the start.
I didn’t want a relationship. So why did this feel like he was yanking out my heart?
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “We won’t let that happen again.”
“Right,” he said.
“Good.” I swallowed again, throat dry and sticky.
“Good.” He squeezed my hand, and my heart squeezed along with it. “Have you ever had a caramel apple?”
He tipped his head toward a stand we were approaching. The counter was full of apples on sticks. Shiny caramel coated the apple, and my mouth watered, memories flooding me.
“I have. My mother used to make these, you know.”
His head snapped to me. “Really? I thought you said she didn’t make comfort food.”
“They,” I corrected. “And they didn’t make the apples for me.”
“Then who did they make them for?” Nevan asked.
I thought about the festivals and parties Mother threw at their estate, the elaborate decorations in the garden. “Parties normally. They loved to throw parties in their gardens.”
“Is that where you got your love of plants?” Nevan asked. “From your mother?”
I nodded absently. I supposed that was a way of putting it. “I don’t think I ever really had a choice.”
We walked toward the stand, and Nevan bought two caramel apples, handing me one. A pain shot through my heart. The last time I’d had one of these had been at a festival honoring my mother when they were still here.
“I guess my interests always differed slightly from Mother’s.” I took a bite of the apple, the sourness from the fruit mingling with the sweetness of the caramel and exploding on my tongue.
Nevan moaned. “Oh, that’s good.” He finished chewing and swallowing his bite. “How are your interests different? It seems like your whole life is this bog and all the gardens you’ve planted here.” He gestured beyond the city limits, to all the pieces of land with my various plants growing.
Peeks of green and pink and purple appeared through the gaps between businesses.
“Mother always loved beauty.” I took another bite of my apple. “And they would never approve of this bog. The wild gardens, the green water, the untamed bushes and reeds.”
Nevan was staring at me.
“What?” I patted my cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Your mother wouldn’t like all of this? The Cragh is beautiful.”
“You think the bog is beautiful?” I asked, momentarily shocked. “But no one thinks this bog is beautiful.”
“I do,” he said. “I think it’s one of the most stunning things I’ve ever seen.” But he wasn’t staring out at my little home. He was looking directly at me.
I cleared my throat and took another bite of my apple, unable to handle the intensity of whatever was happening between us.
“Mother never liked my plants,” I said. “I suppose I developed an interest in growing different varieties, ones that weren’t the norm.”
Nevan laughed. “That’s a word for it. I’ve never seen most of these species anywhere else on the continent.”
That was because they didn’t exist anywhere else. I’d grown a lot of them when I’d first arrived here.
“They don’t have much use outside of just being mine. Just existing.”
“Well, that’s enough.” Nevan frowned as a group of children ran past us, giggling and wearing beautiful garlands on their heads. “But I think you’re wrong.”
“What do you mean?” I took another bite of my apple.
“A lot of these plants could be useful. In alchemy, we use all kinds of species, poisons, objects, and powders to create potions.”
I snorted. “If you used anything in this bog, it would likely create something dangerous.”
He shook his head, a few strands of his brown hair falling over his forehead. I had the urge to brush them out of the way.
“I don’t think so. Did you know that in healing, we sometimes use poison as an antidote?”
I’d never heard of such a thing. “Really?” I asked, trying not to sound too curious, too hopeful. If I’d learned anything over my long lifespan, it was that hoping was pointless, that I couldn’t be anything other than what I was—and neither could my bog.
He licked a drop of caramel before it fell off the apple. The sight did ridiculous things to the area between my legs, heat flooding it as I imagined him licking me instead.
Nevan laughed. “Really. When I see your bog, I don’t see something dangerous. I see possibility. If I had more time, I’d collect samples, do experiments.”
I ignored the throbbing heat, wishing I could take a plunge in the frigid bog. “Why don’t you have more time?”
He scoffed as we wound around the bend, passing my cottage. “Have you met my brother?”
“Prince Cillian?” I asked.
He nodded, his apple about a quarter of the way gone. Mine was over halfway. Eating it was bittersweet. A reminder of the past and the present . . . and maybe the future somehow.
“He wants me doing house calls now. That’s going to take up nearly all my time.”
“So say no,” I said, and he laughed.
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is.” I couldn’t count the number of times I’d said no.
No, I wouldn’t stop using my magic.
No, I wouldn’t leave my bog.
No, I wouldn’t destroy my plants.
No, I wouldn’t change. Not for anyone.
“You’re so courageous,” he said, looking at me, those blue-gray eyes always so intense when they were on me.
My cheeks flushed, and I quickly looked away, pretending like I was admiring Ceri’s stand, full of colorful fabrics and clothing. “I don’t know that anyone has ever called me courageous.”
“I have,” he said with a shrug. “You are. You stand your ground and fight for what matters to you.”
“Maybe.”
I wasn’t courageous. I was hiding from everyone.
I’d been hiding my entire life. I pushed everyone away, and I’d specifically chosen this bog because of how isolated it was.
This was another reminder that Nevan didn’t truly know me.
If he did, he’d want nothing to do with me.
Admiring my bog was one thing, but knowing everything about my history, about me, was another.
“What do you plan to do with all these potions you’re creating, anyway?” I asked, wanting to turn the attention from myself, but also genuinely curious.
We’d stopped in front of my cottage, and Nevan stared at it.
“I want to open my own apothecary shop, a place where I can sell all my potions. But I doubt Cillian would approve.”
“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t he approve of that?”
Nevan laughed quietly. “I guess I like the mundane. I made a cleaning potion a few months ago. Just a simple potion that you can put onto a mop, and it’ll automatically make dirt and grime disappear. Cillian thought it was a waste of time.”
“He said that?” I asked, wanting to find the prince and give him a piece of my mind.
“Not exactly. He just asked why I wasn’t making potions that could save the world. Told me I was too brilliant to waste my time on silly things. Sometimes I wonder if he’d put more effort into finding a replacement healer if I was making those kinds of potions. Maybe then he’d see my value.”
I turned to fully face Nevan. “You have value. Your value doesn’t lie in what you do or what you create. It’s there because you exist.”
Those were the words I’d needed to hear growing up, and I hoped Nevan believed me.
“It doesn’t always feel that way.” He swallowed. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I thought I’d found the perfect place for my apothecary until someone stole it.” He tipped his head toward my cottage with a mischievous smile.
“There?” I pointed. “You wanted your apothecary shop to be where my cottage is?”
“Afraid so. Then this mysterious woman with a mysterious cottage had to go and take it from me.”
I snorted. “Sounds like a woman I’d like.”
“I like her too,” he said quietly, and my head snapped in his direction, but he was gazing forward. He held out his hand. “Come on, let’s go see more of the festival.”
I twined my fingers through his, not able to think of a better way to spend my day than by Nevan Wolfgang’s side.