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His response is swift and sharp. Prepared, and it shuts down any further talk ofHalflingsandmaybesandwhat ifs—
“I would have found you and kept you all the same, April.”
He’s not wrong. At some point, our paths would have crossed as royals from opposing lands. He might have loathed me less, knowing I was a royal Halfling, or maybe it would have all been the same at the beginning, the fight between wanting me and despising me for it.
Maybe we would have had a political marriage, somehow? Yeah, I see that. Him, worming his way in through politics. Stealing me away from the light in the end and trapping me in the dark.
So no matter what, this would have been my fate.
As Daein would say, the Universe made it so and did as it intended. And though I don’t worship the Universe myself, I must admit … maybe it did.
6
APRIL
The parlour room is a return home, an embrace from a friend, a comforting moment of caresses and kisses between the sheets. It’srelief.
At least, that’s how I feel as I beeline for the loveseat I fancy against the furthest wall and plop myself down with the exhaustion that’s already creeping into my bones. How these true fae do it—the constant, constant socialising—escapes me.
No matter my heritage, I am in a sense all things human and very little fae. I am exhausted. Mind, it doesn’t help that my rest during the Quiets are largely interrupted by Daein’s wandering hands and lips.
As I slant against the plush cushions and tuck my sandaled feet together, resisting the urge to lie down, I lazily watch as our new guests enter the parlour room. I smell Ocean before I see him stride in, deep blue suit to match his long hair that’s tied down his back in a formal rope-braid.
Ember, his concubine, is tucked at his side, wearing the same weariness as I do. I wonder what called them back from attending dinner where we were expecting them. Still, they made it for the end of the First Breeze, and that pleases Ocean’s sister, Skye.
I turn to face the fireplace as she glides over to embrace him.
Don’t need to look to know that Daein approaches to greet the prince—I can almost sense him as he does me.
Time ticks by slowly for me, and I rest alone on the loveseat for a while, just watching the flames lick up the hearth. Not a speck of soot in place. Skye keeps her slaves in line with cleanliness around here.
Escorted by Rain and Angus, Ember takes off with Callie for a wander around the gardens. Daein and Ocean have found themselves a spot at a peach-felted gambling table, and they play with onyx stones.
Little entertains me in the parlour room, and the less entertained I am, the more sleep starts to dawn on me. It creeps into the weight of my eyelids, the slack of my face, how my temple resting on my fist grows heavier.
But I’m jolted out of my calm as the loveseat shifts and I bounce a little.
Eyes alert, I swerve my attention to Skye who just sat herself primly beside me. Ever the precious royal, her hands are neatly folded on her slender lap, her ankles crossed, spine stiffer than the stick up Elden’s ass.
A wave of fluster washes over me and I fix myself upright as best as I can, as though trying to mirror her. Fleetingly, I wonder what she is to me, who she is—a cousin, asister…?
I’ll never know. And neither will she.
“You are to leave soon,” she tells me.
I blink at her, unsure of the motivation behind her comment. It’s not a lie, but it almost feels as though we’re being … kicked out? Of course she can’t actually do that. The dark fae rule here—this is Daein’s palace more than it is hers, now.
And yet, there’s an undercurrent to her stony tone that catches my attention.
“Yes.” It’s all the answer I can manage as I try to study her. Litalves are much harder to read than dokkalves, I’ve learned over the years.
“It could be a long journey,” she tells me, eyes straight ahead on the gambling table.
She watches Daein and Ocean dig deeper into a bottle of black drink, a potent and putrid beverage that affects my husband in ways that might actually give me some rest tonight, if you catch my drift. Guess that’s a good thing with how exhausted I am. Sometimes a gal needs an interrupted sleep.
“No longer than usual,” I say with a frown that betrays my confusion. And then it clicks, like fingers snapping through the fog of my sleepy mind. “Oh.”
Her smile is small, somewhat patronising. “Oh.”
