“Gypsy and the Night Kingis not crap,” I counter, leading him to shake his head.
“Itiscrap, Orlaith.Matesare a pretty lie that farmers tell their daughters so they won’t settle for the local bard.”
“The local bard?” I scoff, wondering how the tables flipped so quickly. “Right.”
“Yes,” he snarls, stepping closer, making my skin smart from the crush of his frosty aura. “A bard who may know how to sing a charming tale and lather you up with the promise of love, but in the end, will shred your virtue before staking your heart on a metaphorical spike.”
I frown. “I thought we were talking about farmers’ daughters ...”
“Mates,” he snarls with a flash of his teeth, “is the tale they spin so an adolescent female will wait fortrue loveto come along. So she’ll accept a cupla before spreading her thighs and letting her maidenhood get torn apart.” He offers me a wicked smile that sculpts his face into something I don’t like.
Not one bit.
Well-trimmed branches jab me in the back with each labored breath, and I have nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide from that sharp smile that’s carving me up.
“Mates, Orlaith, are a fairy tale. A tragedy painted with the pretty face of a happily ever after, but at its core, it’s still a fucking tragedy. If you believe everything you read, you’ll be disappointed when you finally step into the real world.”
All the blood drains from my face.
When you finally step into the real world ...
I turn my head to the side, desperate to avoid facing the truth laid out before me. I dug into the soil, made myself a home, and now I’m one wrong move away from being ripped out at the roots.
A hot tear slips free, carving a path down my cheek and smacking the air with the briny taint of my unrequited emotions.
Firm fingers pinch my chin, forcing me to face him again.
“You’re better than this.”
The hollow statement guts me, and when paired with those tombstone eyes ... I’m six feet under, pushing daisies from my rotting corpse.
Because I’mnotbetter than this. Once again, he’s setting me a challenge, one I’d already failed the moment he led me to the starting line.
His gaze darts down, and I can almost feel his featherlight perusal of my lips before he spins, whipping away like a sail snapping with a push of wind.
“Dinner tonight, Orlaith. All four of us,” he bellows over his shoulder. “Bring your appetite and don’t be late.”
His words fan my grief into red-hot flames of fury.
He’s tellingmeto be punctual when I’ve stared at his empty place setting three times a day for the past nineteen years?
My lips peel back, and I stalk in the direction of the stables, deciding Baze can spend the morning icing his kneecap rather than training me. I’m going to go shovel some horse shit, seeing as that seems to be the winning theme for the day.
Isaunter into the dining hall, littering the floor with muddy footprints, hips flicking with each swaying step.
The servants, backed against the walls like potted plants, somehow maintain their straight-spine posture. None of them evenglanceat me, though I do notice a few begin to breathe through their mouths.
The room is empty of furniture other than the long dining table, its left end boasting a hearty spread. But it’s hard to fully appreciate the smell of roasted game and herb-encrusted root vegetables with this pungent, sour-smelling waft clinging to me like a cloak.
Most of the chairs have been removed from the room, leaving four packed at the end like this is some sort ofintimategathering ...
A decision Rhordyn will no doubt live to regret once I take my seat.
I focus on the empty chair on the far side, avoiding eye contact with the man sitting at an ornate place setting he’s never bothered to eat at.
Zali hasn’t even received his cupla yet, and she’s already got him joining our ...dysfunctionalfamily dinners. The thought leaves me wishing I’d rolled in horse shit a few more times.
I settle into my seat and assess the spread that does nothing to stimulate my hunger. In fact, all it does is knot my insides further.
