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He studies my face, blue eyes turning down at the corners. “Why? Why are you so certain you won’t love him?”
“Because,” I say, keeping my voice level, “I don’t want to love him. Or anyone else.”
“Why?”
“Love has never been kind to me.” I try to keep my voice firm, but it comes out with a tremor. “And I have been far too kind to it, much to my detriment. I will not play that game again.”
“Who hurt you?” His voice is shockingly cold, a quaver of restraint rippling through it.
I can’t bear to look at him, unsure if I’ll find pity or rage in his eyes. I need neither sentiment from him. From anyone.
He angles closer until I can’t help but feel the heat of his gaze boring into the side of my face.
I know I don’t have to answer him. My past is none of his business. But the way he grips the top of the fence as if he might snap it in two makes me think he might not take my silence for an answer.
“My first love,” I finally admit. “Prince Cobalt.”
“What did he do?” His voice is flat but edged with deadly calm.
“He manipulated me,” I say as emotionlessly as I can. “Tricked me into giving him the power of my true name. He used fae magic to compel me to do terrible things. To hurt people. To…more than hurt them. And he hurt me too, simply by stripping me of control. But fret not,” I say, my lips curling into a mirthless grin, “he’s dead now. I watched the life fade from his eyes while I held his dying corpse.”
A shudder crawls down my spine as I realize I uttered the last part out loud.
I’m about to cast a worried glance around, seeking anyone who might have overheard my violent confession, when something warm lands on my shoulder. Dante releases a slow and tremulous sigh, and gently turns me to face him. I tilt my chin, intending to give him a look of defiance, but my expression goes blank as I meet the intensity in his eyes. My breath catches at his proximity, at the spare inches that separate the fronts of our bodies, at the steady warmth of his palm on my shoulder.
“Albert wouldneverhurt you,” he says, each word punctuated. “Nor will I.”
A flash of light sparks in my periphery. The photographer! How could I forget? He’s too far to hear us from where he stands, but he can certainly see us. As can everyone in the queen’s tent. My pulse kicks up, a thundering beat upon my already racing heart. Thank the All of All Dante and I probably look like a besotted couple, too entranced in each other’s eyes to pay mind to the races, rather than two charlatans discussing my refusal to fall in love with my husband.
For appearances’ sake, I force an adoring smile and place a hand on his chest. If my heart wasn’t already raging, it would be now. Especially with the feel of his echoing beat hammering beneath my palm. “You, Your Highness, have a way of bringing up bleak subjects. Why should we speak of past pains and heartache when we could be discussing how dashing you look in that suit?”
He blinks at me a few times. After a dazed moment, his smile mirrors my own. He takes my hand from his chest and lifts the back of it to his lips. Closing his eyes, he presses his mouth to my silk glove. There he holds it in place, long enough to attract yet another flash of the camera. “My dearest Amelie, you are so right. I’m in a mood, aren’t I?”
“You are.” I tilt my head at the track. “Let us pay attention to the races.”
Despite my outer composure, my heart continues to riot. It might be my imagination, but I feel as if the air around me and Dante has grown taut, buzzing with a strange energy. It has my every muscle coiled, aware of exactly how close Dante stands to me, attuned to his every breath, every shift in his stance. I can hardly pay attention to the derby. My eyes witness the competitors—kelpies, satyrs, fawns, and now centaurs—but my mind is elsewhere. Where it currently resides, I know not, for I don’t want to investigate. It feels like it’s wandering into dangerous territories I might not make it back from.
“Is it true centaurs have two penises?” Dante’s jovial voice startles me. His light mood and crooked grin are so disarming, it makes me wonder if I imagined the thick tension I sensed.
Mirth bubbles in my chest as his ridiculous question echoes in my ears. Finally, a bark of laughter escapes my lips, far too loud than I intend. I cover my mouth with my hand, but not before a stuffy-looking matron in a dour gray gown gives me a disapproving look.
Trying my best to keep a giggle from overriding my words, I ask, “Why would you ask that?”
He shrugs, but the set of his shoulders reveals the pride he must feel at having amused me. “I heard a rumor. Besides, it wouldn’t surprise me. Half man, half horse. Horse penis. Man penis. No?”
I have to cover my mouth again to smother my merriment. “No, Your Majesty, they do not have two penises.”
He rubs his jaw, as if deep in serious thought, but his dimples give his levity away. His gaze follows the centaurs currently on the track. “Ah, you’re right. I see only one, and I daresay they don’t require more in that department. However, is this their seelie or unseelie form? Can they fully shift between man and horse but simply choose to remain somewhere in the middle?”
I tilt my head, realizing I don’t know the answer. Even after over twenty years living amongst the fae, many mysteries remain to me.
He continues. “And if they can shift between the two forms, wouldn’t I be right, then? They technicallywouldhave two kinds of penises.”
Another bark of laughter emerges from my lips, despite the hand still clamped over my mouth.
The old harpy of a woman gives me another glower, and I force myself to sober. I turn a far more subdued expression to Dante. “Perhaps you should ask one of the centaurs after the race. They are rumored to be rather virile creatures. I’m sure they’d be glad to talk about their…lower bits.”
He leans closer to the fence and props an elbow upon it. The winner crosses the finish line, but Dante keeps his eyes on me. “That laugh is a lovely sound.”
