Page 12 of A Fragile Enchantment

His eyes glittered with cold amusement. “Go on, then.”

“I understand that you have complicated feelings and that you are under a lot of pressure, but—” He scoffed. Ignoring his flagrant contempt, she barreled onward. “Butthis process will go much smoother if you cooperate. Your brother—”

“You don’t know the first thing about my brother.”

Just like that, all of his walls slammed down, every weapon onhis battlements trained on her. If she were less angry, if she had not read that Lovelace column, if two people had not already made her feel small for being Machlish, she might have cowered. But within her burned a resentment that refused to stay quiet a moment longer.

How could he possibly believe himself so persecuted? He was a prince, the son of the most powerful man in the world, a resident of the most glorious house she’d ever seen. He’d never known a moment of suffering in his life, and the one time he was asked to do something that did not please him,thiswas how he behaved. He could and would make her dreams into nothing but collateral damage. That bitter realization chased away all good sense.

“Maybe not,” she protested, “but I know you, sir. If you have no regard for anyone but yourself, then it is no wonder you’re so miserable—so much so that you are determined to make everyone else as miserable as you are!”

His lips parted in surprise, and he looked genuinely stung. That glimpse of terrible, hard-won vulnerability made her stomach twist sharply with regret. She felt no better for indulging her anger. She’d only succeeding in digging her fingers into a wound.

But after a moment, the hurt vanished from his expression, replaced with a now-familiar disdain. “That kind of naivete will bite you in the end. In the Avlish court, it’s far better to only care about yourself. You’d be wise to understand that now, before you’re thrown into that pit of vipers.”

You’re a smart girl, Niamh, but you have your head in the clouds,Gran had said on the night her invitation arrived.You don’t know yet that the world is cruel.

The reminder hit like a sucker punch.

Her family had given her a happy life. Niamh had never endured war or starvation. As a girl, she spent carefree days tearing through the village and rolling down the sidthe, tempting the Fair Ones to steal her away. But she’d seen darkness lurking like a wraith over every adult in Caterlow. She’d seen the churn of theirtempers and the unpredictable waves of their grief. She’d seen the way the mood changed come harvest season—how it swelled, dark and oppressive as the sea in a storm—and broke only when the first potato was pulled clean from the earth. Perhaps she didn’t know the bite of cruelty herself, but she recognized the shape of the scars it left behind. She very well might be silly and absentminded, but she was not a fool.

“I am from Machland, in case you’ve forgotten. I know firsthand how terrible the nobility can be. The people you disdain so much—you are one of them. In fact, you are among the worst of them! Your family’s magic caused the Blight, and your father didnothingwhile my kinsmen starved to death.” She took a step toward him, until they stood nearly flush together. “And now your brother continues to do nothing for their suffering! All I have seen you do is brood and complain. If you truly think the nobility is so horrid, why haven’t you done something about it?”

The air between them felt primed to ignite. They both breathed heavily, and she swore her pulse was roaring loud enough for him to hear it. When she met his eyes again, they were blazing bright with anger. And far beneath it, hazy and faint, was something that stole away her breath.

Shame?

“We’re done here,” he said.

“Wait! I—”

The door slammed shut.

“I’m sorry.”

The tension holding her up evaporated, and she all but collapsed onto the ottoman. She buried her face in her hands and groaned aloud, just to release some of her pent-up energy. Whatwasthat? How could she have been so stupid as to pick a fight with the Prince of Avaland?

A fight, she realized, he’d fled from.

She’d chased off aprince. She felt oddly jittery, as though she’ddiscovered some strange new magic of her own. She’d hardly recognized herself just now: brash and confrontational. But the heat of their argument had transfigured her. She never picked fights, never chose her words to hurt. But something about Kit Carmine made her forget herself and every ounce of self-preservation she had.

If he told Jack how she’d behaved today, he could very well have her dismissed. The thought made her blood rush hot all over again. There was no choice, then. She would have to prove herself to him, once and for all.

She would make him a coat he could not help loving.

Which meant she must resist the temptation to make it magenta or marigold out of spite. She had already earned his hatred, anyway. There was no need to be excessive. Still, something brightwouldcontrast fetchingly against his hair, and yellow might draw out the gold in his eyes…

Focus, Niamh.As she took in her surroundings, she blinked hard to help her vision adjust. It had gotten strangely dark in here.

She noticed at last that the window was half obscured by nettle. It clung stubbornly to the glass, its tendrils grasping like fingers trying to claw their way inside. Its flowers, however, bloomed golden instead of pink. Numbly, she crossed the room and worked open the casement. She pried some of the nettle loose, watching the leaves flutter to the ground far below her.

Kit’s handiwork, as lovely as it was thorny.

5

Despite the noise rumbling through the palace’s crowded reception hall, Niamh worried she might fall asleep on her feet.

It had been a long time since she’d stayed up all night to finish a garment. In the week since she’d met with Kit, she’d designed a coat that her assistants had helped her assemble with painstaking care. Even so, it’d taken her until the last minute to finish embroidering the enchantments into the fabric. She’d dragged herself to bed only when she could no longer keep her eyes open—and had pricked herself with a needle for the third time. She’d gotten no more than three hours of sleep, but anticipation dulled the sharpest edges of her exhaustion.