Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EMYR
“Another round!” I shout.
The elderly men at the bar all cheer. It’s the third round of drinks I’ve paid for, and it may not be the last.
I should be in the library. I certainly shouldn’t be surrounded by drunken locals who pretend not to recognize me.
Tibalt looms nearby. Some nights, I wish he would leave me alone, but I find comfort in having him by my side tonight.
At least he smells better than the rest—the tavern reeks of sickness, sweat, and ale.
Once I drink enough, I won’t care, nor will I care about the sticky bar beneath my shaking hands.
Yes, keeping Tibalt close is for the best. I can’t lose another friend. Not now.
Not ever.
“Will you tell me why you’re drinking yourself sick?” Tibalt asks, quiet enough that no one else can hear, though there’s no disguising the edge of disappointment in his voice.
“I’d rather not speak of it.” I lift the glass and drain it in one swoop, savoring the burn sliding down my throat. “And, before you ask, it’s not from superstition that I remain silent. I simply don’t wish to speak. Not at all.”
“For a man who doesn’t wish to speak, you certainly talk a lot.” He sweeps the tavern once, twice, and turns back to me. “It’s about the curse, then? About Spark?”
I turn my head and shoot him a glare. “You already know? Does everyone in the blasted palace know?”
His lip turns up at the corner. “Yes.”
“Curse it all. I can’t get any bloody privacy.”
“Of course, you can’t. You’re part of the royal family. When have you ever been afforded privacy?”
“Never. Gods damn never. If not my sick companion, it’s my wedding they’re prying their noses into—”
“The wedding you sound so thrilled about. Why don’t you complain a bit louder? You may start a scandal bigger than that of a corrupt beast.”
For the first time in days, I laugh. It’s a sad sound, bitter even to my ear, but at least I have one friend who can turn my mood upside down—even if he does so in the strangest of ways.
“You think you’re so humorous,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Why wouldn’t I? You’re laughing, are you not?”
One more thing—perhaps just the one—can lift my mood on such a gloomy night.
A new patron waltzes in. Two patrons, I suppose, but only one captures my attention.
Her strawberry hair and soft lavender wings always catch my eye.
Sprigs of lavender are woven into her hair on this night, which curls around her face in soft tendrils, and she’s no longer wearing the uniform I’ve grown used to seeing her in.
Instead, a gingham blue dress clings to her ample form, flaring down at the waist. The bodice pushes her breasts up until they’re spilling over.
I force myself to avert my gaze.
I hold back a longing sigh and prop my elbow on the bar, resting my cheek on my hand. “What are the odds?”
“Ah. The woman from the tavern. I would imagine the odds are quite low.” He squints. “What’s she doing here?”
“She’s more than that.”
He lifts a brow. “What else could she possibly be, Your Highness?”
Nothing.
I’ve said too much. It’s the drink causing me to say things I haven’t even dared to say in my head, much less to Tibalt. Then again, he’s the only one who can know how I feel for her—how I floated out of the room after touching her hands just once.
I shake my head. “Why, she’s my friend—and she works at the palace now.”
“I s’pose I’ve seen her around, though she usually looks less remarkable when she’s dressed the same as the other maids. And her friend…”
Tibalt doesn’t hide how his attention falls to the woman at her side, but I have other matters to concern myself with.
“I must speak with her,” I mutter.
Tibalt grunts. I know he’ll remain nearby, even without saying it.
I float across the room until I reach her. She removes her fichu, fanning herself in the warm bar, and I could faint as her aroma drifts to me.
Her scent always hits me hard. She’s made of sea salt and fresh flowers. I gaze down at her through heavy lids, and when she turns to face me, she stands closer than she’s supposed to.
Or perhaps I’m the one who’s too close, desperate for the proximity.
“You should announce yourself,” she says, with surprising calm. “No one likes being sneaked up on.”
“I did not mean to sneak.” I lean onto the bar. “It is only that—I was not expecting to see you, and what a pleasure your appearance is. A sight for sore eyes, really. May I offer you a drink?”
She lifts her glass. “I already have a drink, and it seems you’ve had plenty too.”
“Ah… I will take another, if you insist.”
“I’m not insisting upon anything.”
I turn to the barkeeper, ordering myself another strong one. Nerves dance in my stomach, and while the liquor may not be enough to stomp the feeling out, it will give me something to do with my hands.
Maybe it will mend the wound in my heart as well.
I lift the glass to my lips and watch her as I sip, delicately this time.
The last thing I want is to make a fool of myself in front of her—no more than I already have, considering that she’s already seen me cry.
To my great surprise, she touches my arm.
Her hand lingers there, and even with the stiff fabric between us, I’m warm wherever she touches.
“I heard,” she says.
Two words, and they’re so simple, yet they soothe me more than anyone else has. My parents, my betrothed, even my dear friend Tibalt—none of them could comfort me as she does with a look and two damn words.
It’s clear she has heard what happened to Spark—everyone has—but admitting it feels like a weakness.
I smile wryly. “Shall I pretend I don’t know what you are talking about?”
“No. You mustn’t pretend for me. I want you as you are, in honesty.”
Dammit all. Why must she make me feel this way? Affection twists in the pit of my stomach, light and fluttering, like the wings that flap behind her.
“Enough.” I groan and set my glass down. “You’ve not had so much to drink that you should be this candid. I don’t wish to speak about it tonight, if that’s all right.”
“It is.” She leans in, peering at me earnestly. “I know people don’t talk about the curse, but—”
“That’s not what has rendered me silent.
” I chuckle and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
“And you already know, and as my friends constantly complain, I am rarely a silent man. I’ve no issue speaking of the curse.
Others think it adds power to the thing, but I think it takes it away.
I’ve spent much of my life studying it, you know. I’m not afraid.”
“Oh?” She raises a brow. “You’re different than the rest.”
“I try to be.” I lift a shoulder. “I don’t wish to speak of it, not out of fear, but because I wish to forget about the blasted thing. I wish for all to be well, and I wish for my friend to—”
“Shh. That’s enough.” She rubs my arm, and her hand remains there.
Perhaps it’s scandalous to receive her touch, lean into it, and crave it. I no longer care. The world fades away, and I’m sucked into her soul. I can only hope the others in the room are as drunk as I am.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asks.
“You can dance with me, little halfling.” I lean down, desperate for another whiff of her perfume. “Please? I think that would be the ideal distraction.”
“Ah…” She looks away, likely searching for her friend, but the other maid has already busied herself with someone else. “Yes. We shall have one dance and not speak of the horrors.”
I swallow the last of the liquor. “An excellent plan.”
“Are you sure you can be steady on your feet?”
“I can try. You won’t hate me if I dance horribly, will you?”
“I could never hate you, Emyr.”
Not prince. Not Your Highness. Emyr. That’s who I am to her.
Her hand slips into mine, and we float through the room.
A dance is perfectly acceptable. The cheery tune makes it all too easy to spin her, laugh, and dance around as though all is well. This is our first time dancing together, but there’s something familiar about it…
About her hand in mine, our bodies so close, and the laughter falling past her lips.
Try as I might—and I certainly do try—I’m unable to pinpoint what it is.
Life goes on, but the next morning, I’m still spinning in that dance with her. No amount of headache or stomachache can keep me from thinking of how comforting her soft touch and voice are.
It’s the same comfort I should receive from Minetta, but as she and I stroll through the garden, I’m more ill at ease than before. This is a waste of my time. Last night was, too, but I was too drunk to care.
If it were possible, I would insist we marry today. Just to save Spark. Anything for Spark. The dreaded moon rules marriage, and we can only be married when it is full—still so far away.
We’re running out of time. With the bit of sun shining on our faces, every second feels poorly spent.
Spark should be here.
The clock is ticking.
I need to go to the library.
Minetta’s fingers brushing against mine hardly rouse anything in me.
It’s so unlike that first night at the ball, and I can’t shake off the difference.
Perhaps I make her nervous now. I want to give our courtship a chance, to see if there’s any way it can work, but…
can I truly fathom having a relationship like my parents?
They’re companions and friends now, but they’re not in love. They both take other lovers—frequently.
Is that how Minetta and I will be?
“You’re lost in thought,” she says. “Care to share a single one with your betrothed?”
I look at her from the corner of my eye and smile sadly. “They’re not the sort of thoughts one shares, I’m afraid.”
“Is it about your beast?”
My beast. That is the technical name for the type of fae Spark is, but referring to him as such feels wrong. Cold, like if Minetta were to refer to me as her Sun Fae. He’s my friend and companion. He has a name.
My lips twist as I hold back the lecture I’ve given to others who make the same mistake.
I fear Minetta may not understand the loss. She and Spark never had a chance to bond.
“Yes,” I say. “He has been a good friend of mine for years, and it is harrowing to see him in such a state. Be grateful you did not have to witness it.”
“I am sorry. I would have joined you if I knew you needed me there.”
Do I need her there? No. Her presence would have reminded me of everything there is to lose.
“No, no. It is better that I was alone. That is a place no one should have to go. It was not only Spark—it was the rest. The other fae were in such horrid states.”
She shudders. “I can only imagine. There was nothing like it in my palace.”
“Good. If we can keep this curse from spreading, that offers me some comfort.”
Misery may love company, but I don’t wish to drag others into our despair. My father earned the curse—whether or not he deserves it is another story, but it’s his burden. It’s one I’m forced to carry, but no one else should. Not even my future wife.
“I wish to comfort you, you know,” Minetta murmurs.
I turn to face her, and the slightest spark of warmth lights up my chest. It’s not a blazing fire, but it’s there. She’s offering me something, and I would be cruel if I didn’t attempt to meet her in the middle.
Just as my father made his curse my burden, I’m making it hers. She deserves better than I can give.
“Your presence is a comfort.” Why does it feel as though I’m lying? “Thank you for spending the morning with me. Some would not wish to be around me in such a mood. I usually lock myself in a tower—”
“That is no good.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps this is better.”
It feels no better. Being locked up with Spark was more soothing than being with my betrothed, and I don’t know why that is. On the night of a ball, an event that left me reeling with a different sort of stress, Minetta was able to comfort me. She can no longer do it.
There was one other who could lift my spirits, but I don’t dare linger on the thought any longer. I’ve already run over it too often, and if I continue, it will create a path in my mind.
Ophelia’s hand on mine is a touch I should not grow accustomed to, and one I can only have during stolen dances.
Minetta glances around the empty courtyard. Her hand moves to the back of my neck, and she floats up to my height, meeting my gaze with her violet eyes.
The flutter of her lashes rouses nothing in me. She only reminds me of—
Her lips press to mine. It’s a soft kiss, over in a moment, and... there is nothing. No fire, no desire to pull her close and kiss her again. I’ve kissed many before, though I should not admit it to such a lady, and there is usually… more.
Perhaps my low energy is to blame, but there may be a bigger problem.
Is this truly how she chooses to comfort me? With kisses, rather than with words?
My chest twinges.
I force on a soft smile as she lowers herself to her feet. My hands clench into fists, not from an urge to touch her, but with frustration at myself. Kissing is not loving. I’ve kissed people for less, people I cared about less. It should be easy. I should want to try again, but I don’t.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “You didn’t have to—”
“But I want to. You are my betrothed. All I have ever wanted is to be close to you, and I know there is still a wall between us. Don’t fret. It will drop with time.”
Will it?
There is nothing more to say. I break away from her gaze. More and more, when I look into her eyes, I see Ophelia. More and more, when I think of our future marriage, I’m reminded of my parents.
Minetta allows me to remain silent on the walk. It’s an uncomfortable silence, and I long for banter to fill the space. I still yearn for someone else, always wanting exactly what I cannot have.
This must come to an end.