Chapter 9
Ceri
Iheard his footsteps and smelled the scent of his cedar cologne before I ever saw him.
I sat on the roof of my dress shop, a place I often escaped to at night because it was close enough to my father that I could hear him if he awoke and called for me but far enough away that it felt like an escape.
Like it was just me and the stars, now visible through the canopies of the tall trees that surrounded Fairwitch Isle.
Cillian plopped down next to me the same way he’d been joining me on this rooftop since we were children.
“Why do you smell like Myrna’s cabbage?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
I shot him a look. “Vinegar has a lot of uses, you know. But warding off mysteriously appearing crowns isn’t one of them.”
He barked out a laugh. “You covered yourself in vinegar hoping that would scare it away?”
At least someone found it amusing.
“I was desperate.” And foolish.
He flicked the crown hovering over my head. “Doesn’t look like it worked, Cerriwen.”
The stupid thing was following me, raised a few inches above my head, its presence a heavy weight.
“Really? You mean there’s still a crown on my head? And here I thought my father’s superstitions finally paid off.”
“This was your father’s idea?” Cillian’s eyes bugged. “And you actually listened?”
“Desperate times . . .” I thought about the announcement this afternoon, how the entire town gathered in front of the castle as the council stood on a balcony, Cillian’s voice echoing while he explained everything.
“Why me?” I traced one of the delicate patterns of swirls that trailed down my dress. “I am the last person who should be competing to be your queen.”
“Why not you?” His jaw ticked. “You’re great at bossing me around. If you win, you can boss around the entire city of Fairwitch.”
“And where will that leave my father? You know he won’t come to the castle. He can barely leave our house.”
The amusement left Cillian’s eyes. “I know,” he said quietly.
“Not to mention the fact that I can’t marry you.”
He pursed his lips. “I’m not the one who smells like old cabbage.”
“No, you smell like the trees. You always have,” I said, absently, mind refusing to even wonder what it might be like to be married to Cillian Wolfgang. That was a possibility I’d closed myself off to long ago.
Cillian nudged me with his shoulder. “Aside from your father, would it actually be so bad to be married to me?”
This was exactly what I didn’t want to think about, but Cillian, as usual, was oblivious.
“Arranged marriages are all the rage, I hear,” he continued. “And most of those people don’t even like each other. At least that’s not the case for us.”
“It’s impossible.” I thought of my father, how agitated he’d been all day, so anxious he couldn’t even eat.
“I know,” Cillian finally said. “So don’t win. Purposely sabotage the whole thing.”
I pointed at my chest. “Me. Not win?”
“Oh, godwitches.” Cillian shoved a hand through his thick hair. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“You’re only saying that because you’re still upset that I beat you at Windwalker the other night.”
Our favorite card game. Last time we’d played I destroyed the high prince so thoroughly he’d sworn off the game for life.
He snorted. “Barely.”
“Barely? I won within five minutes of starting because you’re not good at strategy.”
“I’m the High Prince of Fairwitch Isle. I think I’m pretty good at strategy.”
“Not according to Windwalker.”
“Never mind. I do not want to marry you.”
“Okay,” I said, voice resolute. “I will lose. I’ll purposely do terrible at whatever the challenges are, and Castle will have no choice but to eliminate me.” At least I hoped that would be the case.
“Who are the other contestants, anyway?” I asked. I’d been so wrapped up in my own participation that I hadn’t actually stopped to think about who I’d be competing against.
“Well, I have good news and bad news,” he said in that voice I knew was meant to soften the blow he was about to deal. “Which one first?”
“Good,” I said.
“You’ll be meeting them tomorrow. Apparently it’s a tradition of the marriage trials to have a little meet and greet before the competition begins.”
I raised a brow. “And the bad news?”
“You’ll be meeting them tomorrow.”
We looked at each other and burst out laughing, even though this situation was not remotely funny.
I wiped a tear from my eye. “Siobhan must be fuming.”
“Oh, she’s furious. But she’s convinced this is just Castle’s way of making sure she’s really serious about being queen. At least that’s what Fargus told me after he visited her and her mother to see how they’re faring.”
“At least she’s committed. You know someone will be trying their best. You should be flattered.”
“I would be if I thought Siobhan actually wanted to marry me, but you and I both know she’s after the crown and nothing else.”
I gasped and put a hand to my chest. “Siobhan? After the crown? What could you possibly be talking about?”
Cillian gave me a light shove, his gaze traveling up to the stars that sprinkled the dark sky.
“Are you nervous at all?” I asked. “You’re acting very calm for someone who’s about to have seven contestants fighting over him.”
“Seven people fighting over me? Sounds like a good time.”
“Well, six,” I corrected. “I will not be one of them.”
His gaze stayed upward. “I’m hurt.”
“No you’re not.” I rolled my eyes. “And you should be nervous. For once in your life.”
He gave a quiet laugh, full of emotions I didn’t completely understand.
I reached out and put my hand over his heart, and his hand automatically covered mine, his blue eyes on me in an instant. “What are you doing?”
“Just checking,” I said airily.
“For what?”
“Your heart. Want to make sure it’s working all right.”
His hand dropped, and now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “You’re a menace.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“You shouldn’t.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder, and I thought I felt him tense before relaxing. “Tell me it’s all going to be okay.”
He was silent for a moment, long enough that I wondered if he’d fallen asleep.
“Of course it’s going to be okay, Cerriwen. Remember the promise I made to you when we were little?”
I smiled sadly. I was only ten years old, and my sister had just died—only two years after we’d lost my mother.
It had been one of the worst days of my life.
My father had completely fallen apart, couldn’t get out of bed.
I’d been grieving and also trying to care for him, to keep from losing the last family member I had in this world.
Cillian had only been eleven years old, but he’d arrived, ordered me to bed, and told me he’d take care of everything.
And he had. I’d woken up to find my father eating broth and Cillian reading a book to him.
After Father had fallen asleep, I’d broken down, and Cillian had sat next to me on the little couch in my apartment, hugging me tight and promising me we’d get through this.
“I’ll never let anything bad happen to you. It’s you and me against the world. Always.”
He’d kept that promise over the years, and even though I had the weight of the world on my shoulders, any time Cillian visited, that weight lifted just a little.
He held out his pinky, and my eyes crinkled. “What are you doing?”
“Remember?” he asked. “Oh, come on. Are you too sophisticated now?”
I scoffed and hooked my pinky with his, the way we’d done that night on the couch.
We stared at each other, faces so close I could see the little mole under his eye and the light dusting of freckles on his nose.
The moon lit the sharp angles of his face, his strong nose, and high cheekbones. And still, we didn’t let go.
It should’ve felt childish and silly to be hooking pinkies. But it didn’t. Instead, it felt like a comfort. And that was something I desperately needed if I’d be meeting my competition tomorrow.