Autumn Celebration #3
Aries thought her parents might be behind it—that maybe a steady teacher with no scandals and a decent wage looked like a solid investment. If Collin still had parents, maybe they would’ve been approached by now. But those kinds of matches weren’t arranged much anymore. Stella was free to choose.
And, unfortunately, she had chosen him.
Whatever her reason, Collin didn’t return the interest. He didn’t find her fluttering lashes charming, didn’t like how she always touched his arm when she spoke, didn’t want what she was so clearly offering. The more distant he became, the more determined she seemed to be.
He knew it might not be fair, but every time she sidled up to him, he thought of the street vendors with gold rings and oily smiles—trying to sell him clutter he’d never asked for.
Stella’s wandering fingers drifted down the inside of his arm, her nails grazing his skin with theatrical delicacy. She traced his wrist like it held the secrets of his soul, then glided back up to the crook of his elbow.
“The weather is just lovely today!” she chirped. “I was so worried rain would spoil the celebration, but the gods are smiling on us.”
If they were truly smiling, they’d strike him down where he stood.
He stifled a shudder. At least she hadn’t taken his hand yet—some vague notion of propriety seemed to be holding her back. Still, the performance was unsettling. And public. He could feel people’s glances: warm, approving, assuming. Like this was something mutual.
He resisted the urge to yank his arm away and flee screaming into the crowd.
Then his heart kicked against his ribs. A young woman with golden hair was approaching, weaving through stalls, pausing at a display of colorful shawls. His stomach dropped. Was that—?
No. Just her sister.
Relief hit like cool water. The pressure in his chest eased. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been bracing for that moment—how unready he was to be seen like this.
Unfortunately, Stella noticed the shift. Mistaking it for interest, perhaps even flattery, she leaned in closer, eyes alight. “What are you thinking about?”
Escape, he wanted to say. Ladders, tunnels, divine intervention.
Instead, he spotted a nearby stone bench and lunged toward it like it was a life raft.
“Shall we sit for a while?” he asked, a little too brightly. “I’m getting tired of walking.”
She blinked at the sudden movement, and for one blissful second, his arm was free.
He dropped onto the center of the bench and left a deliberate, just-barely-polite amount of space on one side. Predictably, Stella plopped down right next to him, hips aligned, perfume reclaiming the air between them.
Collin immediately shifted left and wedged his shopping bag between them like a makeshift barricade. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
He stared straight ahead, mind racing. Surely there was a way out of this. A clever excuse, a fake emergency, a collapsing tent. Anything. But his brain offered him nothing.
A cheerful luthier strolled past, plucking out a lively tune for nearby shoppers. The notes skipped along the path like they hadn’t a care in the world.
Stella smoothed the folds of her bright dancing skirt, tapping one dainty foot in time. Then, with great ceremony, she removed her flower crown, adjusted the blossoms and ribbons just so, and perched it back on her head—all without taking her eyes off him.
Collin cleared his throat. Still nothing to say. Must she look at him like he was about to declare his love? He shifted his gaze, pretending to follow the luthier’s song. A boy ran past, clutching a bleating goat to his chest.
“I have a friend entered in the livestock show,” he blurted, louder than he meant to.
“Oh? What’s he showing? I love the livestock competitions. My father’s a judge this year.”
“I’m not sure what she’s showing. I’m supposed to meet her by the rings.” The lie dropped like a stone, clumsy and transparent, but it was the best he could manage.
Stella, of course, was friends with Hadria and Helen—if anyone knew whether Collin was seeing someone, it was probably her. Still, he’d reached the point of desperation where logic bowed to survival instinct.
Hadria had once mentioned that Stella was growing impatient with his indifference. He wasn’t sure if that meant she’d finally give up—or double down. Maybe this lie would drive her off. Or maybe it would make him more appealing. At this point, he didn’t really care. He just wanted out.
Stella tilted her head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. The practiced pout of her lips suggested a slow internal calculation. She was suspicious. Possibly entertained. Definitely not deterred.
“So,” she said sweetly, “I heard Dragonfly moved to White Wood... Do you know anything about that?”
And there it was.
Collin’s stomach sank, ears going hot. Of course she’d seen through him. Maybe she even knew everything. Who had told her? Hadria? No—surely not.
“Dragonfly is working at my friend’s father’s farm,” he said evenly.
“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Stella replied, syrupy as ever. “Do you know if she came up for the fair? I haven’t seen her in ages. I’d love to say hello.”
“I really have no idea,” he lied, the words clipped and dull.
“Your friend’s father is Constantine, right? My father says he always brings a huge entry. Do you think Dragonfly came to help with the animals?”
Collin shrugged, careful not to speak. Whatever she was angling for, he wasn’t going to help her build the stage. What was this—interrogation about?
Then her eyes lit up.
“Shall we go see if she’s here? We can cheer her on. Maybe she’ll even win a ribbon! We should get good seats so she can see that you and I are rooting for her.”
Collin’s gut twisted. That was it. That was the goal. She wanted Dragonfly to see them together—to look like a couple. Parade him around like a prize goose and see what kind of reaction it stirred.
Before he could backpedal, Stella sprang to her feet and grabbed his hand. Her grip was firmer than expected, her expression bright with resolve. Whatever she was after, she wasn’t letting go.
Even if she had to drag him, she’d have her way.
Some merciful god must’ve finally heard his silent pleading—because salvation appeared.
Collin’s face lit with a genuine smile for the first time all morning.
Stella, mistaking it for joy at her company, visibly swelled. She gave his hand an eager squeeze and tugged him forward like a girl about to waltz off with the man of her dreams.
But Collin didn’t budge. He pulled his hand free with a little more force than necessary and waved high above his head. “Logan! Over here!”
Logan spotted him and cut a winding path through the crowd. “Oh, Collin, thank the gods. I’ve been wandering around forever. You wouldn’t believe—someone actually tried to sell me a—”
Collin stepped in before Logan could ruin the moment.
“Logan, welcome to our glorious autumn celebration. You’re in luck.
” He turned toward Stella, radiant with mock sincerity.
“Let me introduce you to one of our finest Daughters of Venus—Stella. Dancer, goddess-in-training, inspiration to artists.”
Stella crossed her arms. Her expression was ice wrapped in velvet. If looks could immolate, Collin would already be ash.
Unbothered, he summoned his most dazzling smile. “Stella, it’s been a delight—but I’m afraid I must leave you in excellent company. Logan here would be thrilled to accompany you through the fair.”
Before either of them could protest, Collin gave Logan a firm nudge in her direction and took a decisive step back. Go, go, please be charming, Logan. Use your face and your voice. Say something poetic about shoes.
To his relief, Logan rose like a prince from a storybook. He offered a fluid bow, then extended his arm with a polished grace that made Collin want to laugh.
“So lovely to meet you, Stella,” Logan said smoothly. “The Daughters of Venus—I’ve heard of them, of course, but never had the honor. You must train constantly to move so effortlessly. Do tell me more.”
Collin nearly laughed out loud. Stella didn’t look thrilled, but she also didn’t stab him—too busy answering Logan’s rapid, admiring questions to glare daggers his way.
As he slipped into the crowd, free at last, Collin glanced over his shoulder and tossed Logan a grateful wink.
Maybe they’d hit it off. Or maybe Logan would end up cursed. Either way, he owed Logan a drink.
Collin made his way to the livestock rings, which were already packed with eager onlookers. There were several rings in operation—he’d need to check them all.
He shoved his way to the front of the nearest ring, pressing up against the rail. He quickly scanned the lineup of entries.
Montigo, the chief steward, along with two other judges, walked slowly around a row of yearling calves in the center of the ring.
They carefully examined each animal, running their hands over ribs, legs, and spines.
At the end of the line, they paused, whispered amongst themselves, and marked their verdicts in the catalog.
Neither Arion nor Dragonfly were in the ring. Collin’s stomach twisted.
He turned to an old farmer nearby. “How much judging have I missed?”
“This ring just started. They were running behind...” The rest of the man’s reply was swallowed by the crowd’s cheer as Montigo awarded a prize to a young man holding the lead rope of a red-and-white calf.
As the calves were led out, a row of sheep entered from the opposite side, each guided by a young handler. Collin clapped as Arion appeared, leading his sheep into the ring. He waved, but Arion was too busy trying to keep his sheep from stopping to graze on the hay.
The judges examined the sheep carefully, deliberated in private, then awarded the prize to another entry. Collin groaned.
Next came the goats—large and small—followed by horses, ponies, ducks, and finally an assortment of pigs.
Arion’s big white sow lumbered into the ring and easily won first prize. Collin laughed as the massive pig dragged Arion right back out of the ring.
But where was Dragonfly? He strained to see the other rings but was blocked by the crowd. He could hear distant applause—other competitions were underway. Maybe she was helping behind the scenes.
Arion’s hen took first prize amongst the chickens. Still, Dragonfly didn’t appear.
As the chickens were led out and the crowd began to disperse, Collin’s heart pounded in his ears, loud enough to deafen.
But he refused to give in to disappointment.
She had to be here. She wouldn’t miss the fair.
She’d told him herself—she loved the Autumn Celebration.
In all the years he’d known her, she’d never skipped it unless she was sick.
Last year, when illness kept her home, she’d begged him to describe every detail of the festivities.
“It’s the gateway to snow and winter,” she’d said, “my favorite season.”
Collin pushed out of the crowd, breathing harder than he should. His palms were damp, his heart hammering. His sharp eyes swept the pens, the throngs of people, searching for the glint of long golden hair—the one thing his heart yearned for.
He called out to Arion as he approached the animal pens. His eyes flicked desperately across every face, every shadow, every movement. She had to be nearby—he could feel it.
Arion grinned, waving his ribbons in the air. “Look what I got!”
Collin stopped at the white pig’s pen, gripping the top rail tightly. “Where’s Dragonfly? Is she here? I really need to speak with her.”
Arion’s smile faltered. He wouldn’t quite meet Collin’s eyes. He cradled his prize hen closer, stroking her head nervously. “She decided not to come. Said she still wasn’t feeling up to the trip—she had a cold last week.”
No. That couldn’t be true. Collin’s gut twisted, his mind spinning with confusion. Arion was lying! But why? Had Dragonfly asked him to make her excuses? Was she so desperate to avoid him?
The hope that had carried him all day drained into bitter disappointment, longing replaced by acid. The words he’d rehearsed would remain unspoken.
He shoved away waves of anguish and forced a smile. “That’s too bad. Please tell her I hope she feels better soon.”
“I’m sure she really wanted to come. You know how much she loves the fair,” Arion said.
Collin congratulated Arion on his wins and pretended to admire his prize stock, but his heart wasn’t in it. After a few minutes, he excused himself, claiming hunger. He wished Arion a safe trip back to White Wood and a peaceful winter.
As he shoved through the crowds of happy fair-goers, his heart echoed the bleakness of his steps. It was as if he’d plunged into a frozen lake—the cold gripped him, his pulse slowing, his vision blurring. The joyful chatter around him became a hideous buzzing in his ears.
He sped up his steps. Heat, bitter and angry, flooded his veins as he shoved past startled vendors and spectators.
Their joy sickened him. When he sprinted past the clock tower, he heard Stella call his name, but he didn’t stop.
He didn’t care if he offended her. All he wanted was to escape this place, to be alone, to drown in his misery.
When Collin slammed his bedroom door shut, the walls rattled. A glass jar on the sitting room shelf fell and shattered on the floor.
He threw himself onto the bed, staring at the dusty rafters. A storm of emotions churned inside him, too tangled to unravel.
Disappointment and pain cut deep into his heart. Bitterness and anger flared hot through his soul. Was he furious with himself—for daring to hope when he should have known better? Or was he angry with Dragonfly—for loving her—when she clearly didn’t feel the same?
The world outside his room continued to spin, but he was trapped in his own orbit, spiraling through unhappiness.