Page 59 of A Match Made in Error

Angora gasps when a stranger steps in front of her and tries to steal her purse, yanking it back and forth and yelling. Erik eventually steps in, threatening to call the sheriff on the man if he doesn’t stop and earns a score of 16 for doing so.

Focusing on anything besides Riven is hard enough, but it’s especially challenging with how boring this trial is.

We sit together as the remaining matches compete, other couples rising and falling in the pit below, but I barely see any of it. I should be watching the spectacle. I should be relieved our turn is over. Instead, I’m hyperaware of him beside me—the steady warmth of his thigh when his knee brushes mine, the way his laugh settles low in my stomach now instead of bouncing off me like it used to.

This was a bad idea. It was terrible from the start. Fake dating always is when your heart wants something real.

I’m not falling in love.

I’m just…noticing him too much.

My stomach twists like I’m lying.

And that unsettles me more than any trial ever could.

Chapter Twenty-One

RIVEN

We step out of the cave into the open air. The other contestants are lingering in the arena, gushing over the couple who scored a nineteen and their prize of a private dinner in the clouds tonight. Reversely, Poppy and I both jumped from our seats the moment the Moirai dismissed us.

The roar of the crowd dulls behind us, sound falling away almost too fast as we splash through the same waters that brought us here a few hours ago. I inhale deeply, scenting the smoke from the simulation that still clings to my clothes long after the magic is gone. My muscles ache, adrenaline long gone, and yet my body still craves movement. Like it is anticipating the next threat, which my mind knows won’t come. Not here. Not in paradise.

This is when people make mistakes. The battle-tired part of my brain mocks me. But I haven’t been at war in a long time. I know that letting myself loosen up today won’t cost anyone their life. I suck another breath in, and as I blow it out, I deliberately release all the muscles I’m holding tense.

Poppy walks a step ahead of me, instead of beside me like we usually do. Her shoulders are tense, and I can see the subtle twist of her fingers and the erratic, unfocused magical reactions it’s causing. A branch breaks nearby. The water shudders around us. Her hair snaps into a messy knot on the top of her head.

She isn’t near me—no longer pushing into my space like she was in the arena. It almost feels like her magic is creating gravity between us. But instead of pulling us together, it’s keeping us apart. No accidental brushes. No hand-holding. No room for my arm to sling over her shoulder as we walk.

Distance: registered.

Change in patterns long held: noted.

And I know the cause.

She’s embarrassed by how I acted in the simulation. I was too loud, too much, and overdid it. Again.

In an instant, a vision of my mother’s face flashes in my mind. She’s poised at the end of the pitch after one of my matches in grade school. I know she’s angry from the tight-lipped scowl on her magically stiffened face. She always hid disappointment so well behind her disguised calm. I remember the day I tackled another player with my shadows. It was allowed in the game rules, but she would hear none of it.

“Composure matters,” she’d said, finishing with, “People are watching. Do you know how this looks?” I’d later come to understand. Shadow fae were feared, and I’d made us look bad to the people from whom my parents were desperate for approval.

She would have hated the loss of control I displayed today. Not necessarily that I was violent, Fate knows she was too from time to time, but she would have hated that I made the mistake of making myself into a display.

Mistakes at home meant silence.

Mistakes at war meant friends leaving in body bags.

Strong emotion always led to mistakes for me, which is why I learned not to care. My persona of carefree ease was the perfect distraction. I strategize before reacting. I flirt, not love. It was haphazard swagger, but it was polished and controlled.

What happened in the cave was none of that.

Plants stir beside us as we walk, churned up by Poppy’s magic. I watch her with a vigilant eye as the simulation plays in my mind. The creature, the perceived threat, and what I could have done differently. I recall Poppy’s face when I snapped and wince. She looked…not scared. Shocked? Hurt? Surely not in awe, is all I know. And why would she look at me the way she had? Why had she said my name like that?

I deliberately speed up my pace to match hers. My hands fist in my pockets, a forced stillness that sends my insides wild. Midnight Tongue rolls off my lips in a whisper, leashing my shadows tightly.

No more theatrics for today, lads.

I will be the version of myself that doesn’t make Poppy uncomfortable. I will lock it down and protect her. Even from me, if I must.