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Despite how he keeps his tone light, I see the way his lips turn down, eyes losing some of their jovial spark.
“I’m sorry, Dante,” I whisper. Before I can stop myself, I add, “I lost my mother during the war. So…so I know…” A lump sears my throat, and I swallow it down.
“That must have been hard.”
I force a smile. “It was, but enough about that. How did we get on such a dreary topic?”
He watches me in silence for a few moments, ignoring the final race between the puca, while I pretend to be engrossed in discovering the victor. Why did I have to bring up Mother? Dante doesn’t need to know about the pains in my past. He’s a temporary ally, not a friend.
Dante finally tears his gaze from me, just as another race begins. This time, moon mares race down the track. His eyes widen as the skeletal horses gallop past us. “What the hell are those?”
“Moon mares,” I say, relieved that our conversation has ebbed back into safer waters. “They reside primarily in the Lunar Court. Despite their frightening appearance, they’re rumored to be well-mannered.”
“Intriguing.” He rubs his jaw, and a curious expression crosses his face. “Is it true all fae have two different physical forms? Seelie and Unseelie?”
“It’s true, although not all fae choose to shift.”
“Can only pureblood fae shift?”
“No, but it is often easier for them to learn how to than those of us with only some fae blood.”
He looks me over. “Can you shift?”
A flutter of panic strikes me. “I never have,” I say, evading any mention that I probably could if I wanted to. It’s the same issue as my magic—part of me is afraid of my fae powers. Ashamed of them. Using the element of fire to generate creativity is a beautiful expression. Creating flame, on the other hand, comes from a much darker place inside me. I fear shifting forms would come from the same rage and hatred my flame springs from.
“My sister can shift though,” I rush to say, diverting the topic from me. “Her unseelie form is a fox.”
“A fox?”
“Yes, a little white fox covered in pink, blue, and purple flame. She’s very cute, but never say that to her face. Nor should you try to pet her. She bites.”
His chest heaves with laughter. “I’ll have to pass the warning on to Albert. He’s more likely to meet her than I am, I presume.”
My stomach drops at yet another reminder that our ruse will soon come to an end. I was so relieved when I learned Dante would only be a temporary fixture in my life, but I underestimated how comfortable I’d feel around him. I was comfortable enough to bring up my mother, after all. I’m sure most of that ease comes from the fact that Dante will undoubtedly leave. That he poses no threat to my heart. However, there’s a small part of me that recognizes the hidden lie. The truth is, I’m comfortable around Dante because…because he’shim. He’s easy to talk to. Easy to touch and be physically close to without being reminded of dark memories, of a time when touch was forced upon me under the haze of compulsory fae magic. I could tell myself I’d feel the same around any temporary ally, but I can imagine a hundred other men I’d be miserable around were I playing this charade with them.
It takes me a moment to realize Dante is still talking. I blink a few times to rid myself of my prior train of thought and focus on his words.
“He’s known for making an ass of himself around animals when deep in drink. He once got so drunk on a hunt that he wandered off and woke up in a den of wild boars.” He looks over at me, and the mirth drains from his face. “Not that your sister is an animal. That’s not what I meant.”
I realize my expression must have shifted with my thoughts, so I force a smile. “No, of course you didn’t.”
His smile returns. “Albert, though, he is an animal.”
Another moon mare race begins. The previous one must have ended while I was lost in my musings. Musings I shouldn’t have had in the first place. What’s wrong with me? Why am I suddenly acting like our companionship is real? This is all an act. His attention. Our easy touch. Even his persona. The Dante I know is entirely fabricated, and I would do well to remember that.
“So that story was true,” I say. “The one you were telling at the pub.”
His dimples deepen. “I may have exaggerated a bit, but yes. Your beloved prince is known to get himself into many a funny situation. You won’t be short on entertainment with him.”
Clenching my jaw, I focus on the track, watching the moon mares speed toward the finish line. “I don’t need entertainment. I need a husband who won’t embarrass me.”
He angles his body closer, and I can tell he wants me to look at him. But I can’t. “He won’t, Amelie. I’ve delivered your terms, your ground rules. Told him what you need from your marriage. He may be…a bit of a character, but he’s a good man. The kindest of all King Grigory’s children. He befriended me when he could have simply treated me like any other guard, spy, or royal decoy.”
I lift my chin, unimpressed with his praise.
“I apologize if I’ve made him sound foolish. That was never my intention. You’ll like him well enough.” From the corner of my eye, I catch him worrying his lower lip. Then, lowering his voice further, he adds, “Perhaps more than like.”
I scoff. “No. That’s an impossibility.”
