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Even if he had not meant it, disgust twisted in my stomach at the thought of wedding the sheriff, at the thought of spending the rest of my life beneath him, bearing his children and his expectation that I would be an obedient wife.
Stranger still that he thought I would be what he wanted.
“I fell down a well,” I said.
“Is that how my brother died?”
“I wish it were that simple,” I said. If it were, I would not feel so guilty for what I did.
“What did you do?” he asked, his words whispered in the space between us.
“He guided me from the well, and I thought he would leave once he was free, but instead, he raced back toward it. I fought him, and in the struggle…he died.”
I left out the part where I bashed his brains in, though I had no doubt Casamir knew.
“I was told I had to kill the toad in the well. It never occurred to me I could do anything else.”
“Who told you to kill him?”
When I did not speak, he prompted, “Was it the man who threw you down the well?”
I met his gaze, and neither of us spoke.
“I will learn his name,” Casamir promised. “And when I speak it, I will curse him to die a terrible death.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked, confused by his concern.
“Because he hurt you,” the prince said simply. Then he extended his hand. “Come.”
I hesitated, my hunger hardly sated. Still, I pressed my fingers into his, and he guided me from my seat toward another door on the opposite side of the dining room.
“Do you blame me?” I asked, unable to keep from doing so. “For your brother’s death?”
“Yes,” he said, and in the silence that followed, I felt guilt wash over me. “But you are asking the wrong question.”
I eyed him. “What question should I ask?”
“If I care.”
“Do your brothers care?”
“I imagine they do, or you would not be here.”
He spoke apathetically, and rather than putting me at ease, it only made me angry. It would be easier to accept that I was a prisoner of someone who deeply loved the one they lost.
“Have you ever cared for anyone?”
I did not intend to sound so derisive, but I couldn’t help it. If he could not stand up for those he loved, what did he stand for?
“I care for myself,” he said. “I am all I need.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I muttered.
If Casamir heard me, he did not speak. Instead, the doors before us opened to reveal his court and their unabashed revelry. The ballroom—at least I assumed that was where we were—looked more like a grove, ringed with trees, laden with glowing will-o’-the-wisps that cast a pale light on the crowd below. The number of fae in the room surprised me, considering I had seen so few through the day. But fae thrive beneath the stars, their antics fueled by the dark, and that was true of Casamir’s court.
A cacophony of singing, deep laughter, and snickering jammed my ears, but the smell of fresh blossoms and sweet water was pleasant enough.
Fae of all types danced and drummed, dressed in the vibrant colors of new spring. My eyes moved from face to face, attempting to identify their kind, though my gaze caught on those who looked most like Casamir—tall, willowy elves who stared at me with contempt. They were all beautiful like him, cold like him, and they hated me…like him.
