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Brittle Spear slipped my hand into the crook of his arm. “You’ll find, my lady, that you could ask any Fae here what color the weaver wisps are and they will tell you a different color each time they view them. They are born of the Well of Magic. Each Fae will see a different color for each flower, changing each time they blink. They can be quite disorientating if you stare at them too long.”

“It’s impolite to stare,” I murmured, doing just that, trying to blink enough to make the flowers change color.

They never did.

They remained a soft, radiant blue color that reminded me of the sky after rain, crisp and pillowy pale blue.

He led me to a blanket he had laid out beneath one of the dark oaks and let me crumple my aching body into it. No one tells you how exhausting it is to ride a horse. Every single muscle from my shoulders to my toes ached. I was not built for riding; I was built for shuffling between stop lights. “And what color do you see?”

He smirked and tucked a lock of my golden hair behind my tipped ear. “A pale ghostly blue. The color of autumn mist over a lake.”

I tilted my head, watching him. It was the same color that I saw. The similarity and the tenderness burning in his gaze reminded me of the conversation that had been bubbling in my stomach for the last few days.

“Will you sit?” I asked when he turned away. “I . . . I’d like to talk to you.”

He gave a soft, reluctant smile and joined me on the blanket, leaning into me. Warmth radiated from his skin and pierced my layers of dress. “Of course, my Pearl. What would you like to talk about? The way my new hair glitters in starlight? The sound of my name on your lips?”

I snorted and swatted at him playfully. “Yes, but also no. I . . . well, I’d like to talk about us.”

“Oh, is there an us now? How formal. I accept your suit, my lady.” A rogue’s grin played on the dark features of his assumed identity.

“Dammit! No. That’s what I’m trying to say!” I sighed and took his hand, hoping he’d calm down and drop the rake act. “Look, I . . . I’m not good at this, okay? My shoes are usually already on before this conversation has to happen. But . . . I . . . I can’t do this anymore.”

Rule #16: Keep your shoes on. Always keep them on. You never know when you’ll have to run . . . or in this case, walk, away from someone. It was a rule that had kept me from being familiar with healthy breakups. If I didn’t drive them away, I was walking away before they could leave me.

I was the ghost that inspired the term.

“This?” he asked, tilting his head. His starlight eyes connected with mine and searched the depths. I wondered what he saw there. Did he see the way I was so scared to tell him I didn’t feel comfortable with our games any longer? Did he see the way this had been eating me up? Did he see that I had been forcing myself down this path even though it was devouring me, and how scared I was for what came next?

“This . . . our games. Brittle Spear, I thought I could. Genuinely and truly, I did. I thought I could have him ripped out of me and keep walking. Thought that I could plug the hole with a new dick and it’d be fine. That’s how it’s always been before. Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. But it feels wrong. It feels like I’m cheating on him, and it feels like I’m using you.” He opened his mouth to say something, and I glared at him. He abandoned his thought. “I’m sure you don’t mind being used, but I mind. I mind a lot. Under that joking laugh is actually a really sweet man. You care, you care a lot, and you deserve someone who can care about you, too. I want to be that person. I wanted to do that for you and for me too, but . . . every time you touch me, it feels wrong.”

He smiled tenderly and cupped my cheek in his. “Oh, my sweet little Pearl. I do not mind being used, no. I have watched legendary loves bloom and reach for the stars, only to watch them crumble into dust and ashes. I have myself seen more loves and lovers come in and out of my heart than any one creature has the right to have known. I am a patient beast. I have lived an aching vast ocean of time. And I will still yet live another ocean of time before I lay down for the last time. I can wait three hundred years for you to beg for my touch. I can wait for another five hundred if needs be. Or I can be satisfied with the eventuality that never happens.”

Nervous hands found the edge of the down-filled vest that covered my kirtle and began twisting it. “I’m truly sorry, Brittle Spear. I wish I could do more. I wish I could be that for you . . . I . . . I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.”

“We have spoken of this before. I told you then he will always be in your heart. Has the road not brought you clarity and assurance that I spoke true?” We had agreed somewhere along the road not to speak his name directly. Never to say who he was. It didn’t make it any easier, but I tried to convince myself that it did. “If it is truly as simple as he is not here, I can merely snap my fingers, and he will be with us again.”

“That was different!”

He tutted and smirked devilishly, leaning in so none of the others could hear us, even if they hadn’t been making an abject point of ignoring us. I hated that the sparkle in his eyes told me he was baiting me. “How was it different, my Pearl? Say it. Stop running from it and say it.”

“It was . . .”

“Say it.”

“It was different because we were there. It was different because we were different.” I finally spat the truth that had been slicing at my tongue, trying to scratch and claw its way out. The truth I didn’t want to admit. The truth I only half admitted when last we had this same conversation.

“Mmm-hmm . . .”

“It was different because even when . . . even when I didn’t want to, I felt him there. I . . .” Brittle Spear took my chin and pulled my attention back to him when I tried to jerk away. “It was different because we were tethered together. It was different because I felt secure in our bond even though I didn’t know it was there. Even though I didn’t even acknowledge that I liked him, let alone what he truly was to me.”

Tears burned in my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to shed tears in my homeland that I barely even knew. I just wanted to ignore the ache. His thumb brushed away a phantom tear, expecting there would be one, but I refused to allow them to fall.

“I have been waiting for you to break. I’ve been waiting for you to acknowledge what you have lost, my Pearl. Fully. Truly. Without dodging the brutality of it. I’ve known all along what you have been suffering with. Did you think I did not? Did you think I would not know the pain you would be running from? I knew exactly the terror, the anguish, the emptiness you were running away from. Or at least trying to run from. I let you. I knew you would eventually tire; your legs are not so long as to be able to outrun the very threads of magic unweaving themselves around you. And you are not so new a Fae to be able to ignore it for long. I knew this conversation would return; it was inevitable.” A kiss was pressed into the part of my hair just behind the pair of braids wrapped around my head. “I appreciate that you held out so long on my account, my Pearl. It speaks volumes to your power that you would be able to hold this suffering so long without caving beneath its weight. But I told you the day I pulled you from the mine that you could be soft, you could break with me, and I would hold your pieces for you. You do not need to bear this burden alone. And I will not let you. Though it pains me to lose the hope of tasting your flesh again, I would rather taste your power and glory than your flesh at the expense of your victory.”

The edge of fear eased itself from between my ribs. I had been so scared he would not bring me home. That he would leave me in the middle of the woods, lost and without escort. I was so scared he would abandon me, my only Fae ally, and I would once again be left with my back against a wall and just a shard of iron to protect those I love.

“You’re . . . you’re not mad?” I felt small and raw asking him that.