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“And what’s the truth?”
She bats her eyelashes at me. “That you’re in love with her.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” she says primly, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I can tell.”
“How?”
“Just can.”
I let out a slow breath. “All right, I’ll humor you. Say you’re correct and I tell her. What if she doesn’t feel the same?”
“She does.”
“Let me guess,” I say dryly, “you just know that too?”
She pops a piece of fruit into her mouth and nods. “If you were listening to literally anything I said this morning, you would’ve heard that I spent an entire summer studying the Heart of the Forest’s method of matchmaking and the couples she’s matched. I picked up on a few obvious tells.”
Avaline Skov’s reputation precedes her.
I sip my Wyldeberry tea. “You’re going to have to elaborate.”
“Stolen glances. Flushed cheeks. Eyes that shine when the other walks into the room.” She ticks each off on her fingers. “You’re both guilty of those. But you—” Her smile deepens. “You made it so painfully obvious.”
“Painfully obvious to everyone but her,” I mutter.
Daphne slides out of her seat, brushing crumbs from her gown. “Shall I send her in?”
“No,” I say, rising to my feet. “I’ll go to her.” I’m halfway to the garden doors when I halt and turn back to the nymph. “Daphne?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” I place a hand against my chest. “For your understanding and your insight.”
“Anytime.” She grins. “Good luck, Your Majesty.”
When I enter the gardens, butterflies flutter like mad in my chest, their wings beating in time with my pulse.
“Gwyn?” Her name is simultaneously a sugared treat and a desperate plea.
She stiffens at the sound of my voice. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
I offer her my hand. “Walk with me?”
Gwyn hesitates before placing her palm against mine, gaze flicking toward the brides. Lyrielle’s glare could curdle milk, but Miriya gently waves her on, smiling in encouragement.
My witch was right. Miriya would make a wonderful bride.
Just not for me.
I lead us toward a grove where a light breeze rustles through ancient trees and the scent of honey and citrus lingers in the air.
“I’m glad you sought me out,” Gwyn says once we’re out of earshot. “I’ve been thinking about your question from last night.”
Why would it be absurd for me to send the brides home?
I do not dare to hope she’s ready to answer it, and yet I ask, “And?”
