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I always see her. In my dreams. In crowded rooms. In the quiet unfurling of morning petals.

Everywhere I look, Gwyn is there. Etched into my mind.

My body.

My soul.

Chapter 28

GWYN

I’m ill-tempered from the moment I wake up.

The sun is too bright. The birds are too loud.

I try on four different gowns and hate the way each of them fits. Either I look like I’m trying too hard or not trying at all. I pick a dress that falls somewhere in the middle and then battle with my hair. I’m rough as I drag a brush through it, frustrated at the pricks of pain when it snags on the knots the softening cream didn’t untangle. Lettie is quick to intervene, gently working through the tangles and braiding my hair down my back.

I pick at my breakfast—oats with fruit, nuts, and seeds—but it tastes oddly bland in my mouth.

The morning drags on as I keep to myself, idly flipping through my compendium. By afternoon, I’m among the brides again for another etiquette lesson, listening as they gush over tonight’s ball, their gowns, and Riven.

How handsome he is. How powerful.

My throat tightens.

I tune them out, withdrawing into myself, until we’re sent back to our suites to get ready.

By the time I stumble through the staff corridors, I’m resigned to steal at least an hour of sleep before the ball. Pressure builds behind my eyes the moment I’m hit with silence that is broken by Achlys’s delighted bark. I barely greet him as I crawl into bed. He leaps up after me, nudging my cheek with his cold, little nose, and curls up beside me.

I bury my face into his fur, inhaling his familiar scent, and cry.

Clearly, I’m exhausted.

Two late nights back-to-back after countless nights tossing and turning would make anyone irritable. At least… that’s what I tell myself as I swipe at my tear-streaked cheeks and snuggle under the covers.

My foul mood has nothing to do with how Riven and I left things last night.

Nothing.

Deep down, I can’t help but wonder if that’s just another lie.

Sunlight slants through the windows when I wake from my nap. I’m groggy but rested, feeling more like myself as I stretch and climb out of bed.

Achlys leaps after me, shifting from hound to kitten. He races across the room and paws at the terrace door.

“All right, all right,” I say, opening it for him.

I follow him onto the terrace. The blight has receded even further from the castle and Eleutheria’s city proper. Not a single glittering patch in sight. Riven must be thrilled. Whatever he’s doing with these potential brides… It’s working.

And yet, the sight twists something in my chest. I shouldn’t feel this tug, this pull toward Riven. I can’t get involved with him—not for myself, not for him, and not for the Fae Isles. I remind myself of that, forcing my gaze away and keeping my heart in check, even as every part of me aches to go to him.

Wrapping my arms around my middle, I take a deep breath, holding the sweetened faerie air in my lungs, then letting it out slowly as I head back inside, needing to get ready for the ball.

At the vanity, I fix my hair, pinning half of it back and out of my face, save for a few wavy strands. I’m applying some cosmetics to hide the faint purple half-moons under my eyes when the door to my suite swings open. Lettie sweeps in carrying a wide, cream-colored box with a matching note, both embossed with a golden lily.

“A gift has arrived for you,” she announces.

“A gift?” I ask, spinning around on the little stool in front of the vanity. “From Riven?”