Chapter 10
Maddox
“Sometimes three legs are better than four.”
— Maddox Finch, An Observation
“This was the best of days, Biscuits.” My goat rolls his eyes at me from where he chews on an old boot that he found on one of our walks. He loves walks almost as much as he loves that boot.
“Nia Quill asked me to join her for pie. Me. Maddox Finch.”
Yes, this was a glorious day, indeed. The only thing that would have made it better would be if she had baked the pie herself and offered it to me as a proposal of mating.
Not that she would do such a thing when I am supposed to be enamored with a false female and she is determined to wed the short Nolan. Even so, this day brought us closer. I may win her over yet.
I take out the list she gave me to study.
1. Tell her she is beautiful (and mean it)
I have told females they are beautiful before, but this has never seemed to make a difference.
Perhaps the secret is not in the telling but in the combination with the other items on this magical list.
Biscuits raises his head for a sniff of the paper, and I have never moved as fast as I do when stuffing the list back into my trouser pocket. “That is not food. If you eat it, then I shall never find a mate.”
I do not wish to be wrinkled and gray and alone.
A swift meeting of a fist on wood shakes my wagon’s door. I roll off my bed to answer, finding Ever waiting on the other side, the sun at his back blinding.
“You have finished your meetings?” I assume. These days are very long without him. If I did not have Nia’s Quill’s company, I would have gone out of my mind by now.
“If only I was finished being king,” he says with a groan. “All the Seelie want to do is talk. There are too many words and not enough actions.”
They do speak a lot, but when one’s voice is as sweet as Nia Quill’s, I do not mind listening. I could sit and listen to her all day. She could be counting the threads on her beautiful gowns, and I would hang on every number.
He jabs my arm with his finger. “Why do you make this face?”
What is it with my friends commenting on my face? “Am I not allowed to be happy?”
“Gryffin said you were sad.”
“When did you speak with Gryffin?” Does this mean he told Ever the secret of my lie? Ever would disapprove even more than Gryff, and then he would tell his mate, and she would tell Nia Quill, and I would have ruined my one chance to grow closer with the only fae who has ever truly held my heart.
I capture a breath behind my lips, holding it hostage while I await his response.
“He and I went for a hunt at dawn. I find myself needing to kill more often than before.”
My stomach sinks even lower. “You went hunting without me?”
“You said you had a meeting at noon, and I was not certain we would return in time.” He lowers his head to study my floor. “Did you get your boot sorted?”
“My boot?”
“Yes. Your boot that needed mending.”
That is correct. I did offer this as an excuse to cover up the real reason for my absence in case he called.
He pokes my arm once more. “Well? Did you?”
“Being king has made you impatient.”
“Waiting for you to answer my questions is what makes me impatient.”
I am not sure this is true; having to wait never seemed to bother him before.
Being told another lie would surely tip my friend over the edge. Given Nia and I were not alone at the café, there is no point in continuing the farce. “I did not fix my boot. I had pie with Nia Quill.”
His hand tightens on the door frame, as if he is strangling the wood. “Nia Quill gave you pie?”
If only. “She asked me to a café. Where we ate pie.”
“She asked you?”
“Is there something wrong with your ears?” Normally, I am the one asking others to repeat themselves.
“My ears are fine. It is my mind that is having difficulty comprehending this tale.” He drops his hand with a huffed laugh. “This is another one of your ‘stories,’ isn’t it? Like the time you claimed to have eaten a goat.”
Thankfully, Biscuits is too busy gnawing to hear these terrible words.
“This is not a tale. It is the truth.” We ate pie and traded details about our lives and our knees met beneath the table and she has such beautiful eyes. I would happily drown in their honeyed pools.
“Of course, it is.” He winks, pushes away from the door, and descends the stairs to the grass, where an ivory chair has been left beside the fountain.
I have seen this chair before. Its match is inside my wagon as we speak, stuffed next to my small woodstove, which has remained unused since relocating to the warmer Seelie lands.
I follow him down, but Biscuits decides to keep chewing his boot. “I did have pie with Nia Quill.”
Ever braces a hand atop the chair. “If you say it is so, then it must be so.”
Clearly, he does not believe me. But I do not need his belief. This was not a dream. To continue arguing would only be wasting our breath. “Why have you brought a chair?”
“Kerris asked me to deliver this to you. Apparently, you stole its match.”
I may be many things, but a thief is not one of them.
“I did not steal it. Your mate told me the chair was to be burned.” A chair that fine deserved to be more than fuel for a fire. Instead of bringing it to the rubbish pile as she requested, I adopted it as my own.
“Because it only had three legs.”
“I fixed it.” Thanks to the empty coffee can I found on my way back from the canyon, there are now four working legs.
There is a bit of a lean to the seat now, but I do not mind.
“Thank your mate for me, but I do not need this chair. Mine is the perfect seat.” This one, with its four legs, is sure to be used for many years to come.
He folds his arms across his chest, his face settling into a scowl. “Our gardener is also missing a boot.”
Oh no . . .
“Do you know anything about this?”
If I tell him, he will surely be angry. In our defense, Biscuits and I did not know the boot had an owner. This is one truth I might keep to myself. “What need would I have for only one boot when I have two feet?”
Biscuits chooses this moment to trot down my wagon steps with what remains of his favorite boot hanging from his mouth.
Ever does not look pleased by this.
My Biscuits and I will need to have a talk about how to keep secrets. “I am afraid that my goat may have eaten the gardener’s boot.”
“Why does this not surprise me? The Seelie already believe us uncouth and without manners.” He tugs the boot free, holding it out toward me just as a large string of drool plops on his own boots. “This does not help.”
“Biscuits will not borrow any more boots. I promise.”
“You must also promise to stop washing in the fountain. There are many bathing rooms inside the castle for you to use. The guards know to allow you entry at all times.”
“The water in Seelie bathing rooms is too warm.” I tried to bathe in a Seelie’s porcelain tub once, and it felt like I was being boiled alive. A Maddox Finch stew.
“Maddox . . .”
He knows I despise that haughty tone. Still, I have not a leg to stand on in this argument. This is his castle and his kingdom that he has graciously shared with me. I do not wish for Ever to rescind his invitation. “Fine. I will only use the fountain for laundry.”
“You will not. There are Seelie in the castle responsible for the washing.”
If I let others do my washing, then what is to occupy my time on Wednesdays?
My friend sure knows how to ruin a perfectly good day.
He leaves me with an offer to join him for dinner. He and Gryff took down a boar on their morning hunt that I was not invited on.
My belly is still full of pie, so I decline.
He does not seem to mind as he hoists the ivory chair over his head and carries it back toward the castle.