Chapter 5
Castle
In the thousands of years since Fairwitch left for the Otherworld, Castle had only chosen wrong a handful of times.
There was the high prince who’d tried to break Castle apart to steal some of its magic for himself.
Castle had thrown him out a window. There was the queen who’d broken from the pressure of ruling Fairwitch Isle, and she’d thrown herself out a window.
And now, now there was Aoife the Warrior Queen and Lorcan Wolfgang, who hated each other so much they couldn’t agree on a single thing. Castle had been so sure Lor was the right man to lead Fairwitch Isle, that Aoife the Warrior queen was the right woman.
But they weren’t right together.
A crash sounded in the room they’d been trapped in, raised voices arguing, a door slamming that rattled Castle’s walls.
Castle was tired.
It hadn’t just chosen its rulers over the years, but it had also brought people together, helped them find love.
Each of the Wolfgang brothers had been stubborn in their own way, resistant to fall for the women Castle knew they needed, but there had at least been a spark, something for Castle to work with.
There was no such spark between Lor and Aoife, only hate. Castle did not know how to work with hate.
“Well, that was a complete failure,” Cillian Wolfgang said as he strode into Castle’s great hall, followed by his two brothers, Wolfe and Nevan.
The queen’s former lover, Ambrose, looked up from where he sat at the long table, raising a goblet of wine. “Come to commiserate?”
Castle had been surprised by Ambrose’s willingness to participate in the brothers’ matchmaking scheme. Castle still hadn’t quite figured the faerie out.
The Wolfgang brothers dropped into chairs, and Castle made a goblet of wine appear in front of each of them. It seemed as though they needed it.
“That was a disaster.” Cillian leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.
“I could’ve told you what a stupid idea it was. If you’d bothered to ask.” Wolfe crossed his arms over his chest.
Nevan was polishing his spectacles on the end of his shirt. “It definitely wasn’t your brightest idea, Cillian.”
“Well at least I’m doing something.”
Ambrose cleared his throat. “We. We are doing something.”
Castle rumbled.
Ambrose’s eyes rolled upward. “Yes, Castle, you helped too.”
“You need to stop meddling.” Wolfe pounded his fist on the table, making the goblets quiver. “Let them figure it out.”
Cillian snorted into his drink. “Because that’s worked so well. They’ve had two years to figure it out, and things only seem to be getting worse between them.”
“Have we considered the fact that they just might not ever get along?” Nevan put his spectacles back on his nose.
Castle wondered the very same thing, and it weighed heavily on it.
“Maybe just one of them needs to rule,” Ambrose suggested, wincing as another door slammed somewhere in Castle’s depths. “We can’t keep going on like this. Their hatred is going to fracture this kingdom.”
It was true. Castle felt the growing tension, small fights breaking out over silly things.
Castle itself was starting to feel fractured, like it wanted to split apart just to keep the two separate.
Maybe they were right. Maybe there could only be one ruler of Fairwitch Isle.
But then, who would it be? Neither Lorcan nor Aoife would give up the crown, and Castle didn’t have the heart to choose.
They both had such immense strengths; they both also had weaknesses.
“Maybe we should just let them fight it out,” Ambrose said, sending a look toward Wolfe. “Didn’t that work for you and your wife?”
“That’s right.” Cillian leaned back in his chair. “You were training Niamh every day, fighting with her, sparring, getting all sweaty and hot.” He waggled his brows.
Wolfe held up his hand. “Lor and Aoife are nothing like Niamh and me.”
Nevan leaned forward. “Still, maybe that’s not a bad idea.”
Ambrose took a drink of his wine and snorted. “What? Throw them in a ring together and let them fight with actual weapons? Then we’ll lose both our king and queen. It was just a joke, Nevan.”
“No.” Cillian straightened, and Castle knew that look on his face, his blue eyes glinting. He had an idea. “But what if instead of trying to matchmake them, we do the opposite?”
“Stop?” Wolfe asked in his growly low tone. “Exactly what I’ve been suggesting?”
Cillian waved away his older brother’s words. “No, I mean . . . what if we encourage them to hate each other?”
Nevan shot his brother an amused look. “How much have you had to drink, Cillian?”
Cillian rolled his eyes. “Didn’t that work for you and Enid?”
“I never hated Enid,” Nevan said quickly.
Cillian dragged a hand down his face, and Castle decided to stay in this room, listening, waiting to hear what its former high prince had to say. “No, I mean you both started falling for each other when you let go of that expectation, when you both decided it was fake and fun and nothing more.”
Nevan straightened. “So we remove the expectation? We stop trying to get them to like each other, and . . .”
“I don’t know,” Cillian said, frustration lacing his tone, and Castle felt that frustration down to its very foundation.
Ambrose leaned forward. “They’re so convinced Fairwitch Isle would be better off with just one of them. Lor thinks Aoife is too impulsive and temperamental, and Aoife thinks Lor is too rigid, too stubborn.”
“They’re both stubborn asses,” Wolfe murmured.
Nevan snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Maybe they need to see what it would be like without the other person; maybe then they can start to appreciate each other’s strengths.”
Ambrose stroked his clean-shaven jaw. “But how do we isolate them? How do we get rid of just one?”
“Let them do it,” Wolfe said and Cillian snorted, but everyone paused, his words hanging in the air.
Ambrose raised a brow. “I thought we already established we can’t let them kill each other.”
Wolfe slowly shook his head. “No. Lor would never kill Aoife. He might not like his wife, but he’s too good. Too principled.”
Ambrose sighed. “I don’t know that I can say the same for Aoife.”
“If they want just one ruler, they’ll have to convince the other person to give up the crown. That will be the only way,” Wolfe said. “One person voluntarily ceding their power.”
“Would Castle allow that?” Cillian asked.
There had always been two rulers of Fairwitch Isle with the exception of High Prince Cillian.
But Castle had its reasons for not giving Cillian a queen.
His heart had always belonged to his best friend, Ceri, and Castle knew Ceri couldn’t be his queen.
But Castle had eventually found a way to bring them together, to show them how the impossible could be possible.
It had cost Castle to do such a thing. It had fought against its instincts to name the queen Cillian deserved, and Castle’s magic had suffered as a result.
Parts of Castle had begun to disappear, its border growing weak.
But that had been because Cillian was never supposed to rule in the first place.
It had always been Lorcan Wolfgang who was supposed to be king, and Aoife his queen.
Cillian was temporary until Castle could find a way to pull Lor back to his rightful place, to get Lor to break Aoife’s curse.
Now that Castle had both of them, if one decided to walk away, the other could rule and Castle’s magic wouldn’t suffer.
But could Castle do such a thing? Could giving Lorcan and Aoife permission to drive the other out actually bring them together, make them see why Castle had chosen them as king and queen?
All these years watching them, listening to them, and Castle did not understand these human emotions, but surely if anyone did, it would be the Wolfgang brothers, who had all been through so much over the years.
Maybe it was time for Castle to trust them. It rumbled, a scroll appearing in the middle of the table as Castle’s golden magic swirled around it.
Cillian gasped and reached out to grab the scroll, unrolling it as he read. Nevan leaned over, and Cillian elbowed him.
“Do you mind?” the youngest Wolfgang brother asked. “You’re breathing on me.”
Nevan pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Because you’re reading so slowly. At least tell us what it says.”
Wolfe reached over and snatched the scroll from Cillian.
“Hey!” he said as Wolfe’s gaze scanned the document, a slow smile coming to his lips under his full beard.
“One month,” the oldest Wolfgang brother said.
“Castle is giving Lor and Aoife one month to decide who the ruler of Fairwitch Isle should be. The only way the crown can belong to just one is if one of them cedes it. They cannot be coerced or forced or killed. They can only give up their crown if they truly believe it’s what’s best for Fairwitch Isle. ”
Cillian looked up at my vaulted ceiling. “Genius, Castle. This is genius.”
Ambrose frowned. “Are we sure about this? It’s going to be an all-out war, both of them trying to convince the other why they’re not good for this job.”
Cillian spread out his arms. “Nothing else has worked. Maybe it’s kind of like . . . tricking them into appreciating each other. Reverse . . .” He trailed off.
“Psychology?” Nevan asked, wrinkling his nose. “How do you know about reverse psychology?”
“My therapist mentioned it in one of our sessions,” Cillian said, tapping his brain.
Wolfe shook his head, handing the parchment to Ambrose, who stared at it for a long minute, reading the words Castle had created.
“This is so crazy maybe it just might work,” Ambrose said slowly. “Now who’s going to tell them?”