Chapter 4
Ceri
Cillian strode into the dress shop and plopped down on the yellow settee. I glanced at the back room, but thankfully, Siobhan didn’t emerge. The last thing she needed was to see her future husband so soon after she’d seemed so shaken.
“Godwitches, that was a rough night.” Cillian dragged a hand down his perfectly symmetrical face. “Did you know that when Fargus is irritated, his right wing begins to twitch?”
“No, because I’ve never irritated Fargus. What did you do this time?”
Cillian shrugged. “Oh, practically nothing. You know how he gets worked up over the littlest things.”
I thought of Margaret’s gossip and wished she had never told me. If Cillian didn’t divulge that information to me, that meant he didn’t want me to know what he was doing last night—and that was fine because I didn’t want to know.
Today had already been chaotic enough, and I didn’t need to go inviting more chaos. Godwitches knew Cillian invited plenty of that on his own.
“Uh-huh.” I walked to the settee and sat next to him. “What are you doing here? You do know you’re getting married today, don’t you?” I wrinkled my nose. “And you smell awful.”
He barked out a laugh. “Tell me what you really think.”
I nudged him. “I always do.”
He shoved a hand through the glossy black waves that fell right back into place. “But do you actually want to know how many times his wing twitched this morning? I counted.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, I don’t. You shouldn’t be trying to irritate your adviser. He’s there to help you.”
Something the high prince sorely needed.
I loved Cillian, but he wasn’t always the most responsible.
He’d managed to get himself into trouble more times than I could count.
Less in the decade he’d been high prince, but only because his older brother Wolfe had always kept him in line.
Wolfe had been married for four years now and no longer had time to constantly hover and protect Cillian from his own worst impulses.
Neither did I—and I had no desire to. I was already a caretaker for one person; I didn’t need to add another to my plate.
Cillian sent me a pointed stare, a thick, dark brow raised.
“What?” I tucked a stray curl behind my ear.
“You love it when I annoy Fargus.”
“No I don’t.” I adjusted the skirt of my green dress, avoiding eye contact. “What gives you that impression?”
His thumb brushed my cheek, and my head snapped up to meet his gaze, which danced with mischief. “Your dimples. One peeks out when you’re trying hard not to smile. Wanna guess how often I see that little dimple appear when I’m irritating my adviser?”
My hand went to my cheek in the spot where his thumb had just been, mystified by Cillian’s observation. He did this sometimes, out of the blue. Reminded me of how long we’d been friends. Reminded me that he knew everything about me. Even things I didn’t know about myself.
“Fine,” I admitted. “I suppose sometimes it’s funny watching you get Fargus all worked up. But I still think it’s a bad idea. He’s going to quit.”
“Perfect. Then I won’t have to deal with him anymore.”
“You need him. You need a babysitter.”
He snorted, more amusement in the sound than annoyance. “I’m a grown man and am perfectly capable of functioning on my own.”
“Really? Then why are you here and not getting ready for your wedding?”
A knock sounded on the window, and we both turned to see Fargus sitting on the sill outside, gesturing for Cillian to hurry. Cillian held up a finger, and if an owl could roll his eyes, that was what Fargus did.
“You should go,” I said. “You have a big day, and did I mention you smell atrocious?”
“Once or twice—” He stopped speaking abruptly, gaze dipping. “Where did you get that cut?”
“I—what?”
Cillian grabbed my hand, lifting the finger the scissors had sliced earlier.
I snatched my hand back. “It’s nothing.”
“Did the scissors escape again?”
“Yes.”
“And you chased them, even though your father and I have both told you not to.”
“Correct.”
He stared at me, ice blue eyes flashing with amusement. “Just like you secretly like it when I annoy Fargus, I think you also secretly like it when the scissors escape.”
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s the thrill of the chase, isn’t it?
And you call me irresponsible when you’re in here running after flying scissors.
I think you’re the one who might need an adviser, Cerriwen.
” He was the only one who ever used my full name.
Not even my papa did. “After I get Fargus to quit, maybe he can come work for you, and you two can be boring together.”
I poked him in the arm as he laughed.
“Prince Cillian, my boy.” My father appeared in the doorway, now dressed and smiling. “I told Ceri she needed to see your brother’s wife about that cut.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Cillian stood and strode toward my father, shaking his outstretched hand.
I glared at the high prince. He did this to rile me up, not because he actually agreed with my father.
“I’m fine. Will both of you stop it?” I stood and walked across the store toward the hanging dresses, fiddling with them and hoping Cillian and my father would stop talking about me like I wasn’t here, like I couldn’t take care of myself. I took care of everyone and everything.
I finally turned, and discovered all the mirth gone from Cillian’s face as he stared at me with a strange look, eyes wide.
“What?” I snapped. I didn’t even know why he was still here. He was getting married in mere hours, and he was acting like it was any other day.
“Is that new?” His gaze traveled in a slow trail from my chest down to my slippered feet.
I stretched out the skirt of my dress. It was new. I’d finished it last night and had wanted to wear it for his wedding.
A shriek rang out behind me. “Of course this is new. It’s my wedding dress. What are you doing here, my prince?”
Cillian’s gaze flicked over my shoulder to his future bride, who was currently ducking behind me and hiding.
“This dress is supposed to be a surprise! I wanted a genuine reaction from you. Everyone is going to be looking, and I want them to see the high prince stunned into silence.”
Cillian straightened. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“Where else would I be?” Siobhan asked. “Of course I’m at the dressmaker on my wedding day. And”—she poked her head up over my shoulder—“why aren’t you dressed yet?”
Cillian scratched the back of his neck, and my father sent me a “yeesh” face.
It had only been a month since the council had decided they would marry.
They’d picked Siobhan because her line had personally served Fairwitch centuries ago, and therefore, she was the most esteemed faerie they had—and she also desperately wanted to be queen, even though she and Cillian had barely said two words to each other in total.
Though Siobhan had no problem complaining about Cillian during all our sessions together. Cillian, on the other hand, had absolutely nothing to say about her, shrugging any of my questions away when I’d asked how he was feeling about all this.
“Is that a stain on your shirt?” Siobhan wrinkled her nose. “Please promise you’ll bathe before our wedding ceremony.”
“Yes, that is on my agenda,” Cillian said. His gaze flicked to me again and I raised a brow, nudging my head toward the door. “Ah. I’m due at the castle soon. I just . . .” He hesitated, rocking on his heels. “I wanted to say hi and, um, well, bye.”
He was acting so out of character. The High Prince of Fairwitch Isle was rarely at a loss for words. As I watched him struggle to leave, understanding washed over me.
This was a goodbye.
After he got married, he wouldn’t be able to visit every morning and on random evenings. He wouldn’t be able to dine with us or bring my father his favorite pastries or play cards. He would be married, having heirs, and moving on.
Like everyone in this town. Everyone except me.
“Well, I should go,” he finally managed.
“Bye,” I said softly as Cillian strode toward the door It clicked closed behind him, so much finality in it that my heart lurched..
“Well, that was odd.” Siobhan stepped in front of me. “I swear, he loves to irk me. Doesn’t he understand this is the most important day of my life? I’m about to become queen of not one nation but two, and he’s treating it like a joke.”
I sighed heavily. I wanted to tell her that that was how Cillian coped with everything—by joking about it.
That he was probably nervous and that he probably wanted to be a good husband, but that he was also self-destructive and tended to sabotage every good thing he had.
That the best way to cajole him into opening up was by making him laugh.
But I was not about to get into the middle of their betrothal.
Cillian and Siobhan would have to work that out on their own.
Instead, I turned to her, put my hands on her shoulders, and said, “Let’s finish getting you ready for your wedding.”