Royal Courting.
I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t growing fond of life on the Isle.
For the past two days, Fitzroy, Regina, and her advisers had spent their daylight hours discussing war tactics, while I practiced incantations.
After sunset, I joined the other courtiers for feasting, singing, and dancing.
Spellcasting had almost surpassed forging as my favorite pastime, and I hadn’t missed the smithy once.
Yet, in the quiet of the night, when I was alone with my thoughts, part of me missed Bash.
This evening, Bronwyn dressed me in an opulent emerald gown, and I fitted the hennin—a cone-shaped headdress with a dramatic black veil flowing from its pointed peak.
Just days ago, I would’ve thought this outfit was an ostentatious display of wealth; now, I found myself growing fond of the lavish lifestyle.
As I waited for Fitzroy to accompany me to the Great Hall, I thumbed through the spellbook Regina had generously gifted.
This was not only the first book I’d ever owned but also the first I could read without my mother’s help.
My fingers traced the elegant Yfelle script, and I felt an overwhelming gratitude for being born a witch.
Before my arrival at Annwn, I’d never regarded my magical abilities as a gift.
Now, I treasured my witchhood and prayed never to return to Lyonesse—there was nothing left for me in that rainy realm.
A knock at the door distracted me from my reading.
“Come in,” I called.
Fitzroy strode into my chamber with an air of confidence. “Good eve,” he said—and it certainly was now he’d arrived.
“I’ve reached an agreement with Regina—she’s consented to my plan to siege the Walled City,” Fitzroy said, letting out a satisfied sigh. “And she’s even promised us positions in her royal court if the invasion succeeds.”
If their plan came to fruition, Fitzroy and I would be spending a lot more time together. I was surprised at how much I liked the thought of that.
“That’s good news,” I said, relieved our trip was successful.
With a proud grin lighting up his handsome face, Fitzroy asked, “How have you spent your day?”
“Practicing spells,” I replied, pointing to Greenhorn’s Grimoire.
Fitzroy picked up the book and flipped through its pages. “Regina must be very fond of you,” he remarked. “She seldom shares her spells with anyone. ”
I suppressed a small, smug smile. I liked the notion of Regina favoring me.
“Can I show you what I’ve learned?” I asked, finding myself seeking Fitzroy’s praise.
After he nodded, I pushed open the window to let the evening chill into my toasty chamber.
“Dael’th wolcn oeniht’n schew thou leoht monan.” Part the clouds tonight and show me moonlight, I incanted.
Like soft, wispy curtains, the clouds parted to reveal a silver crescent.
Fitzroy’s approving nod was cut short by the rumble of my own growling stomach.
With a chuckle, he said, “I think you need to eat. Come, let’s feast.”
He offered his arm, and I took it.
Though holding Fitzroy felt strange, I couldn’t deny how much I enjoyed it. I liked his musky scent and the nearness of his face each time he turned to speak.
Arm in arm, we entered the Great Hall, where Regina and her courtiers were already platefuls into the feast.
Wolver was devouring a pile of meat, poultry, and fish; Mabina plucked berries delicately from a bowl; Elizebeth sipped from a steaming chalice of soup; and Slaugh sat as motionless as the dead.
“Welcome,” Billy announced as we approached the banqueting table, while Isobel mumbled a “good eve” through a mouthful of frumenty.
“Excuse our lateness,” Fitzroy apologized, as we took our designated seats.
Regina shook her head, her jewel-encrusted crown catching the light and scattering sparkles through the chamber.
“You’re not late—we began early. I had matters to discuss with my courtiers that I doubted would interest either of you.”
My mind, fogged by hunger, left me unable to speculate what was discussed without us present.
Instead, I placed a few chunks of cheese on my plate and reached for a tray of meat pies. At that moment, Slaugh shifted in his seat, and his dark hand emerged from the sleeve of his cloak to nudge the tray toward me.
“Thank you,” I murmured, ignoring the unease I felt in his presence. “Are you not eating?” I asked, offering him a pie.
“No,” Slaugh said. “This morning, I consumed a few hundred souls of the dead and damned—my appetite’s been satiated.”
“Oh, right,” I mumbled, glancing away uncomfortably.
“I wish someone would satiate my appetite,” Elizebeth groaned, making Isobel giggle into her goblet. “That’s what the Isle’s lacking—eligible suitors!”
“I cannot agree,” Mabina declared, reaching over a bowl of fresh fruit to briefly touch her wife’s hand.
As the conversation around me turned to matters of courtship, Elizebeth looked my way.
“Are you married or engaged to be wed?” she asked, sweeping her auburn locks over one shoulder so she could meet my eye.
A soft laugh escaped me at the thought. “No,” I replied.
“Why not?” Mabina asked, crunching into an apple.
“If I marry, I won’t be able to be a blacksmith anymore,” I said, imagining a realm where I’d never forge again—never feel the satisfaction of completing a task that once seemed impossibly daunting.
Never hear praise for my skill in ironwork.
“I know I cannot avoid it forever—I’m just biding my time,” I muttered, picking up the pie and passing it between my hands.
I could never return to the Wetlands, and that meant never relying on my family for lodgings again. More than ever, I needed to marry—or risk being shunned from society, like the beggars outside the Walled City or the witches working in the brothel.
Sinking in my chair, I felt deflated at the thought.
“I’m sure I’ll end up marrying a villager—neither disappointed nor satisfied in my life, like most people,” I mumbled into a mouthful of pie, sounding just like my mother. “But for now, I remain a maid.”
Isobel gasped, her pointed ears pricking. “You still have your maidenhood?”
Wiping the crumbs from my lips, I nodded, unsure why that surprised her.
Unless she truly meant it when she claimed one could be whoever they wished on the Isle—unshackled from expectations, unafraid of the gods’ wrath.
“That’s all a woman is valued for in Lyonesse,” Elizebeth added, turning her button nose up and into the air.
“Really!” Isobel exclaimed, eyes wide. “Why?”
I shrugged, picking up a piece of cheese.
“That’s just the order of things,” I said, popping the chunk into my mouth while reflecting on how expectations differed greatly between women and men.
Growing up with Finn made those differences all the more evident—he was raised for independence, while I was taught to be the dutiful wife.
“Besides,” I continued, “I’m already my father’s property—I’m in no hurry to be handed over and owned by a different man.”
From the far end of the table, Regina cleared her throat. Instantly, all eyes were drawn to her.
“We are very alike, Niamh,” she said, her violet irises shining with sympathy.
“That’s why I’ll never wed—I have my own lover to satisfy me, just as any man would.” She placed her hand on Wolver’s paw. “But until a queen outranks a king, I’ll never marry a man.”
A gentle kick tapped my shin and snatched my attention. I looked ahead to see Fitzroy staring at me.
“If you’re uninterested in marriage, why protect your chastity?” he mused, arching a skeptical brow. “I thought you were the rebel.”
I shook my head—he didn’t understand—how could he? He was a man.
Fitzroy took a moment, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth as he studied me.
“I never took you for someone who’d simply accept things. In Cambas, I don’t think you did much else but fight for what you believed to be right—even when you were wrong,” he muttered into his goblet. “And usually, you were wrong.”
His head shook, as if my submission to womanhood was disappointing.
It had been a while since Fitzroy had truly irritated me, but it was easy to slip back into old habits.
“That was Smith,” I bit back. “A soldier and craftsman whose only role was to defend the kingdom. This is Niamh—just a woman, destined to become a wife, upholding her values and virtues because that’s what’s expected,” I said with a reverent glance upward.
For a fleeting moment, I thought Fitzroy might understand. After all, he had been arranged to wed a woman he didn’t wish to marry.
But then, he chuckled.
“The gods are too busy sorting the saints from the sinners to care whether your legs have been parted or not,” he quipped, tapping a finger against the stem of his goblet in an irritating rhythm.
Of course he didn’t understand. Even if he’d married Avice, their union wouldn’t have changed his life. He still could have been a commander with a condescending tongue, free to bed whoever he pleased.
Mabina caught my eye from the far side of the table, concern pinching her brow.
“You don’t wish to share your life with someone?” she asked, glancing to Isobel, then back to me.
Though she was a woman, she couldn’t understand either.
Here on the Isle, they were free.
I shrugged. “I know no man I’d wish to marry—”
“What if the carpenter sought to make an honest woman of you?” Fitzroy cut in.
I reached for my necklace—the gift from Bash.
“He’s uninterested,” I muttered, clutching the locket as if it held my aching heart.
“Then he’s a fool,” Fitzroy said. “If he saw you tonight, he’d mistake you for the fairest of all.” His voice was low, almost lost in the clanging of cutlery as Wolver devoured another plateful of meat.
I held Fitzroy’s smoldering gaze, feeling a spark—like little embers in the pit of my stomach, pulsing brighter with each breath.
But before the flame could bloom, he opened his mouth again.
“Of all the commoners, obviously,” he added, smirking like my lowly status was humorous.
“Obviously,” I parroted, inwardly wishing he could say something kind without following it with a gibe.
Eager to steer the conversation away from Bash, I turned to Elizebeth.