Chapter 17
“Fae do not grow up. They only grow older.”
— Seelie Proverb
The prospect of going out used to excite me. Meeting new people, making friends, chatting and laughing until all hours about everything and nothing at all.
The magic of all those things is lost on me today.
Thank goodness Kerris agreed to accompany me to The Black Rose. Otherwise, I’d be a right sourpuss.
Four guards march behind us, hands on their swords and eyes alert, making a private conversation on the way impossible.
I desperately want to tell Kerris about this new development with Maddox, but not in front of an audience. It’s early enough, so we should be able to find a nice, quiet corner to discuss my many woes, including the fact that Nolan and I are no longer together.
We could’ve stayed at the castle for all of this, but there’s a third reason I want to go out. Tonight, I am going to flirt with someone—anyone. Who knows? I might even kiss him. The night is young, and I’m finished hiding and licking my wounds.
It’s time for someone else to do that.
We round the corner only to come to a halt outside my favorite pub. Fae spill from within, drinks clutched in their hands as they enjoy the afternoon sun.
Why are there so many people? Sure, it’s half-drink specials until nine o’clock, but the Rose is never busy this early. Do fae not work anymore?
Catching the barmaid’s attention in this crowd is going to be a nightmare.
I take Kerris by the hand, leading her through the throng, the guards like black flags waving at our backs. By the time we reach the bar, I’m drenched in sweat and this close to committing murder.
Kerris steps onto the bar rail to rest her elbows on the polished wooden counter while I wave at one of the women pulling pints. When she sees us, she slams the drink onto the counter and rushes straight over.
Bringing the queen has some distinct advantages.
“We’d like two pints of cider, please,” I shout over the roar of conversation and din of music from a minstrel playing a fiddle somewhere in the square.
“Only one pint,” Kerris says. “I’ll have a glass of tonic with lime.”
How am I supposed to confess everything to a completely sober Kerris? That wasn’t the plan. “I thought we were drinking?”
“If I have a pint, I’m going to be asleep before the sun falls.”
Fine. Fair enough. I’ll just drink alone. Might as well get used to it since I’m never going to get married.
The barmaid hurries to fill our orders. Maybe the garden out back won’t be as busy. If it is, we can finish this drink and go somewhere else.
Two glasses land in front of us, but the woman refuses to take any coins.
Another perk of bringing the queen.
I tuck my coins back into my purse and clutch the cold pint like a lifeline. “You’re very busy this afternoon.”
The barmaid’s shell-pink hair bobbles where it’s twisted atop her head. “Ivee is throwing a party.”
Oh, heavens, no. “Ivee Lynch?”
Another nod confirms my fear.
Bollocks. This day is already bad enough. The last thing I need is a run-in with my nemesis.
Her birthday was earlier in July. What does she have to celebrate besides being awful? Maybe she won another blue ribbon with someone else’s pie.
Still perched on the rail, Kerris shuffles down the bar toward me. “What’s happening?”
“My favorite fae in the world is throwing a party.”
Her eyes widen. “Ivee is here?”
“Unfortunately. Let’s finish these and then go somewhere else.” Anywhere else. At this stage, I’d take a bottle of wine on the roof of the tallest turret over being near that wretched woman.
“Sounds good to . . .”
The crowd parts, and Kerris’s words vanish into the buzzing conversations.
Across the bar, a man with dark brown curls stands next to a yellow-haired woman swathed in pink.
Nolan is here.
Not only is he here, he’s with Ivee. Why is he at Ivee’s party?
He doesn’t even like her.
A tall fae in a bowler cap steps into the gap, blocking my view.
I push to my tippy toes but still cannot see properly, so I squeeze between two men in time to watch my archenemy pull something from her flouncy skirts.
A small velvet box.
I know what that box represents, what it likely holds within, but this doesn’t make a lick of sense.
Especially not when she looks into my former lover’s eyes with a coy smile and I hear his name on her lips followed by a question she has no business asking Nolan Graham.
The box is open and there’s something inside, but I cannot bring myself to look for fear of seeing what I know she’s about to give him.
Is this some sort of twisted prank?
He can’t marry Ivee Lynch.
He just . . . he can’t.
Suddenly, I’m back at a pond drenched in moonlight, watching my first love press his mouth to hers. Only Nolan wasn’t some summer fling. He was the person I was meant to marry.
The pint slips from my fingers, crashing to the ground, spraying cider and glass all over my slippers and the floor and—
I need to get the hell out of here.
I whirl, finding the color drained from Kerris’s face as she clutches her glass to her chest, a look of sheer horror in her eyes. Behind her, the guards’ heads swing from me to them and back again.
The man I once loved twists toward the piercing sound. His gaze finds mine, and even with all these people stuffed into this pub, I swear I can read my name on his lips. But I can’t be here. Not anymore.
Numb limbs carry me out the door to the beat of my shattering heart.
Someone shouts for me. Kerris. She’s jogging to catch up while I’m struggling to catch my breath in the middle of the bloody street.
I slink into the nearest alley, clutching the rough stones as I fight for air. “Did Ivee just . . . ?”
Kerris’s response is swift. The slam of an executioner’s axe. “Yes.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
“And Nolan said . . . ?”
“Yes.”
Oh no. Oh, God.
Nolan did want to get married after all.
Just not to me.
Tomorrow, this is all everyone will be talking about.
Ivee and Nolan.
The scandal I’ve been desperate to avoid has found me anyway.
When people see me, they’re going to want to know what happened. Why he didn’t wait for me. Why he said yes. Why four years of learning how to bend and meld with each other hasn’t ended with happily-ever-after.
Kerris combs my hair back with her fingers, her beautiful face a mixture of confusion and concern. “Tell me what happened.”
There’s no denying it now. No dodging questions or pretending the world isn’t falling apart.
“Nolan and I . . .” He ditched me on a public bench. “We broke up last week.”
Her hand stills. “Oh, Nia. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because then she would’ve looked at me with the same sympathy that is overflowing in her eyes right now, and I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together.
I don’t miss Nolan. Clearly, the two of us weren’t meant to end up together.
What I miss is the security of having a partner. The confidence of knowing you’ve found the person you’re meant to be with. The joy of being chosen.
But I wasn’t chosen. Not in the end.
I was left behind for someone else.
I scrub my hands down my wet cheeks. When did I start crying? “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re not. And that’s all right.”
“No, seriously. I hardly even care.” If only my eyes understood exactly how little I care.
Good bloody riddance. Nolan is Ivee’s problem now.
They can both be awful together. They can fill their kitchen with stolen pies and wear stolen blue ribbons like sashes and have terrible children together and . . . and . . .
Kerris’s hand falls away, her voice soft with something that sounds an awful lot like regret. “Does this have anything to do with what happened with the prince?”
“No.” I’ll not have her taking any of the blame for the hate in Nolan’s heart. The truth is, Nolan isn’t the man I always thought he was, and I’m better off without him.
It just hurts.
It hurts so much.
I shake my head. “He and I wanted different things.” I wanted to be loved, and he wanted to love someone else.
“That’s all. I guess I didn’t expect him to move on so quickly.
” Or move on at all. I was the one meant to find my mate and live happily ever after while he grew old and frail and withered into dust all alone.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not. I’m fine. Honestly. It was just a shock. Anyway.” I try to fix my smile, but my lips refuse to cooperate. “I’m not really feeling up for drinks anymore. Would you mind terribly if I went home?”
“Of course not. Do you want me to come with you?”
Yes, please. Come with me and tell me I’m worth loving. That Nolan just made the biggest mistake of his life. That I’m better off alone than with him.
“Your husband would never forgive me if he had to spend another night without you.”
“He will survive.”
“Kerris? I’m fine.” I pull her in for a tight hug before she catches a glimpse of the cracks in my armor. “I love you. I’ll call by the castle later this week.”
“I love you too.”
At least someone does.
I leave before she has a chance to sic a guard on me. The last thing I need is an audience to watch me fall apart.
The walk back home is fueled by rage and regret. So many years wasted on Nolan bloody Graham.
Applewood is looking better and better.
By the time I reach my parents’ cottage, my tears are under control, and I can inhale without trembling.
Then I see Maddox standing by the gate with a butterfly perched on the tip of his finger, and all the emotions I’ve managed to stuff down spill out with a vengeance.
The butterfly lifts on pale yellow wings, dancing around his head as he turns toward me. He smooths his palms down his trousers, his chest expanding with his inhale. “Nia Quill.”
Warring emotions whirl like a cyclone inside my chest, the chaos widening the cracks in what little control I still have.
“I’m not in the mood for whatever this is, Maddox.
” Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like talking, but right now, I’m this close to exploding, and if he doesn’t move the hell out of my way, he’s going to regret it.
His brow furrows, and he has the audacity to ask what is wrong.
The concern in his voice tips me over the edge.
I don’t need him to comfort me. I don’t want anything from him. He’s a liar just like Nolan, and if he’s willing to lie about something so asinine as courting a fake Unseelie, then how could anyone trust him to tell the truth about anything that really matters?
My hands bunch into fists, squeezing tighter. Tighter. “You want to know what’s wrong? Everything, Maddox. Everything is bloody wrong.”
“What can I do?” He holds out his hand like he’s about to reach for me.
Not if I can help it. “You can leave me the hell alone. I’m not yours to worry about.” I’m not anyone’s. I stomp past him, my rage boiling over, scalding everything in its path.
Do I escape into the cottage and disappear?
Of course not.
I’m hurting and I want to take all this hurt and fling it at Nolan and Ivee, but neither are here. Maddox is, though. Maddox is right here, and heaven help me, he’s about to get an earful.
What is wrong?
He’s what’s wrong. His unnerving smile and his kindness and his butterflies and that damn goat that looks at him as if it worships the ground he walks on.
I whirl back toward the Unseelie and spit every bit of venom I have in his direction. I’m a match, and he’s my tinder, my anger like a forest fire consuming everything in its wake.
“I know she isn’t real.”
Maddox blinks at me, his expression as confused as the one his goat always wears.
“Gia Gill? You must think me a fool. I bet you were laughing at me this whole time.” No doubt Nolan and Ivee and everyone else in that damn pub are doing the exact same thing. Laughing at poor Nia, who cannot convince even a bloody palace guard to stick around.
“I would never—”
“Get off my lawn. I never want to see you again.”
I stalk into my parents’ cottage and slam the door. And because I have the worst luck, I run straight into my mother.
Her hands fly to her chest, clutching the top of her apron. “Heavens, Nia, you look awful.”
Just once can she pretend she cares about something besides my bloody looks? It doesn’t matter how awful I look; what matters is how awful I feel.
I drag my fist under my eyes, hating the wetness there. “Ivee proposed to Nolan.”
Does she comfort me? No. That would be too motherly.
Cordelia folds her arms across her chest and raises her chin so she can look down her nose at me.
“I told you not to invest your foolish heart in that boy, didn’t I?
He was beneath you,” she adds, her favorite argument about everyone and everything she deems not good enough.
Beneath me. Does she even hear the words that come out of her mouth? “I’m the daughter of a bloody accountant! I’m not exactly a bloomin’ prize.”
“Your cousin is the Queen of Willowhaven—”
“That has nothing to do with me!” Men aren’t lining up at the door to court me simply because of who my relations happen to be—and I wouldn’t want anyone only interested in my familial connections.
I want a husband who loves me for who I am. Is that so wrong?
She snaps her fingers, a gesture that might’ve cowed me when I was twelve. Now, all it does is make me want to scream in her face. “Do not raise your voice at me. You’re acting like a child.”
Who bloody well cares?
“Oh, Mother, would you just shove off?” I leave her gaping like a fish and stomp up the stairs like a child.
Then I slam my door like one too.