Chapter 7 #2
I want to cry for him, but I don’t know how. Instead, I squeeze his hand, and we sit like that, holding on to each other. He doesn’t look at me, but I see the shine in his eyes, even in the dark.
After a while, the silence grows comfortable again, and he laughs. “Gods, I didn’t mean to unload all of that. You must think I’m pathetic.”
I shake my head. “No. I think you’re… brave.” The word feels too big, but also not big enough.
He lets out a slow breath. “You’re the first person I’ve told in a hundred years. With everyone else, it's simply known, never talked about, as dark secrets often aren't.”
I lean against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him. “So that was your experience with humans?”
He smiles, then turns serious. “There was another one. A long time ago. She was clever, and stubborn, and she laughed at my jokes even when they were bad. I loved her, more than I ever loved anything.” He goes quiet. “But it didn’t last. Nothing in the fae world does.”
“What happened?” I ask, already afraid I know.
He looks down, voice hollow. “My father found out. He said it would ruin our bloodline, that I would never be a king if I married her. So he…” He chokes off, then starts again. “He made her disappear. I never saw her again.”
My stomach twists. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He shrugs, but his hand is cold in mine. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve known better.”
I shake my head. “No one should have to choose like that.”
He gives a sad smile. “That’s the thing about the fae. They always make you choose.”
We sit for a while, saying nothing. I realize how close we’re sitting, knees and arms pressed together, but it feels right. Like maybe the party has slowed just for us.
He breaks the silence first. “What about you, Alette? Ever been in love?”
I almost laugh, but it catches in my throat.
“No,” I say. “The closest I came to any relationships outside of my family were the people in my village.” I frown, my thoughts strange.
“But I'm not sure I even knew them that well.
I mean, I think I've spent more time with you four than them, which is unbelievably sad to say out loud.”
He looks genuinely surprised. “Really? I know you spoke about your grandparents…”
I shrug, picking at the moss. “My father died when I was young, my mother was killed, and the people who raised me only cared that I did my work and didn’t cause trouble.
I was just… background noise. Not a person.
And maybe I built up the villagers in my mind.
Maybe I was always just a friendly face they pitied. ”
They certainly hadn't fought to save my life.
“I'm sure you were more than that to them.”
I think hard, comparing my relationships with the fae kings to my relationship with the villagers. “And yet they all knew how much I was suffering, and no one stepped in. Not that I blame them. I'm too different. Too awkward. Too desperate.”
He frowns. “You’re not too anything.”
I roll my eyes. “You haven’t seen me in a mirror lately.”
He laughs, soft and true. “I don’t need to. You’re the most incredible person I know.”
It sounds like a line, but it doesn’t feel like one.
He asks, “If you could choose anyone to really marry, what would they be like?”
The question floors me. I’ve never thought about it before. “I don’t know. Someone kind, maybe. Someone who actually wants to hear me talk. Someone who… sees me.”
He grins. “That’s a pretty low bar.”
I consider, then add, “Funny helps. Or at least someone who laughs at my jokes.”
He leans in, his face inches from mine. “What about looks?”
I think about it, honest for the first time. “I don’t care what they look like. As long as they’re kind. I could live a happy life with someone who just treated me like I mattered.”
He’s quiet, and when he finally speaks, it’s soft. “You’re not alone in that.”
Something sharp and sad moves between us, but I don’t know what to do about it.
At that moment, a nymph staggers over, glass in hand, and yells, “Kiss! Kiss!” The whole clearing erupts, the fae pounding the ground and chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
I flush, but Ashton looks at me with a raised eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. “Your call,” he says, voice warm.
I can’t back down, not in front of the entire party. So I lean in, careful and slow, and kiss him.
It’s not like the wedding kiss. That one was desperate, frantic, fake. This one is real, and gentle, and I don’t want to stop. The crowd roars approval, then moves on to the next distraction.
Ashton pulls away, eyes shining, and whispers, “You taste like honey and danger.”
I snort. “You taste like trouble.”
We laugh, and for the first time in years I don’t feel invisible.
The party whirls around us. Every few minutes a fae throws something our way, like a goblet, a petal, or a handful of moss.
The “Kiss!” chant comes back in waves, and every time we oblige, the crowd cheers louder.
After the fifth or sixth kiss, Ashton dips me back on the moss and kisses me so hard my body tingles.
When he brings me back up, I’m breathless, laughing, and more alive than I’ve ever been.
For a long moment we just look at each other, then collapse together onto the moss, giggling like idiots.
We look up at the stars. The rings on our fingers gleam, real and impossible.
He says, “I liked tonight. I liked pretending we were something other than two puppets to the goddess.”
I nod, then laugh. “It’s the best pretending I’ve ever done.”
He rolls onto his side, face close to mine. “Maybe it’s not pretending,” he whispers, and kisses me again, softer this time.
I’m so lost in the feeling that it takes a minute to notice the hush that falls over the clearing. I look away from Ashton, and Zomas is standing at the edge of the clearing, hooves planted, arms wide, face split in a devilish smile.
He raises his goblet. “The wedding is over, my children! Now the honeymoon begins! Let us help the bride and groom find their bed, and may they beget a thousand heirs before morning!”
The crowd erupts in wild applause.
I freeze, blood running cold.
Ashton meets my eyes, then shrugs. “They’re not going to let us sleep alone.” Then he whispers in my ear. “But they could never make me hurt you.”
At least that’s something.
A nymph grabs my hand, a satyr grabs Ashton’s, and we’re led through the crowd, past the ruins of the wedding and under the drooping arch of white roses.
The guests shower us with petals, chanting “Bride and groom! Bride and groom!” And all the while, I wonder where they’re taking us. And how this will all end.