My lips curl in a wicked grin as I fight the urge to laugh. It’s too easy to imagine my father’s rage at such a suggestion—making it all the more amusing.
The man reaches, severing the twine tied around another stack of folded papers. He shrugs. “If you ask me, I think people are desperate to talk about anything. What better than the first female the king’s been seen with since his engagement ended?”
Distraction.
I nod, understanding the need.
“Lady Ves?” Cyran’s voice has my eyes swinging left.
He steps in beside me, peering at the headline.
Snagging a copy, I unfold it, revealing the lower half containing the full, front page article.
“Cyran, I’m the daughter of a fishmonger,” I laugh, holding the paper for both of us to see.
Reaching over the paper, Cyran hands the now wide-eyed manthe gold. His stare bounces between Cyran and I as he clamps his mouth shut.
“This way, Lady Ves,” Cyran says, his hand finding the small of my back as he ushers me away from the stand while I read.
“What I would give to be the daughter of a fishmonger,” I say mostly to myself.
“Do you like to fish?” he asks.
“Never done it.”
“Like open water?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“Then why would you want to be the daughter of a fishmonger?” he asks.
“Netharis never treated me like a daughter. Perhaps being the daughter of a fishmonger would be different,” I reply and Cyran heaves a small, regretful sigh.
He continues to steer me through the crowd. “Lady Ves, I spoke without thinking—”
“You’re fine, Cyran,” I say as my eyes continue to scan the page. “No need to apologize. What I was to my father isn’t a new revelation.” I say, exposing the long-known fact and swiftly moving past it. “Ryc’s display has bred some interesting commentary.” I lower the paper, glancing up at the fae beside me. “Ollorans are expecting a coronation soon.”
“Are they wrong?” He asks, his hand falling away.
I stammer. “No, but… this makes it sound like they’re expecting it tomorrow. It’s not happening tomorrow.” I fold the paper and tuck it under my arm.
Cyran smiles. “No, certainly not tomorrow. Coronation can’t happen until you’re married.”
Married… light take me.
As I contend with the thought, Cyran swings left, toward a bright red door.
Afamiliarbright red door.
I peer overhead at the shop sign.
Embers and Ashes.
As he climbs the steps, he says, “Coronation traditionally falls the day after the marriage.”
But my mind is past the minutiae of fae tradition and his words sit largely lost to my confusion. I stop at the bottom of the stairs, ceasing Cyran from opening the door.
“I thought we were visiting a silversmith?”
