“No!” She shook her head vehemently, even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t even touch anything. I gave a girl in the market this little figurine as a trade, but I never touched it barehanded. It didn’t even have my fingerprints on it. Winter . . . she didn’t give me a choice, Tate. Shemademe eat. She said the baby was going to die. She told me she couldn’t allow that because the punishment for death—”
“—is death.” Another long, pregnant pause set between them. “Where is this key now? You have to get rid of it as quickly as you can.”
“I did that already,” Silva assured him. She’d at least done something right. “As soon as the Winter Queen let me go.” Silva chewed her lip, thinking through all that she knew, all that she’d learned, the cost of her key. “Are you a prince?”
Tate almost choked. His laugh was a low rumble, tempered to prevent jostling the little body tucked beneath his arm. “Hardly. Wouldn’t that be the irony, dove? Too afraid to bring me home, and all this time I was royalty.”
Silva sputtered, her cheeks heating, but he didn’t give her a chance to dispute his words.
“My grandmother was sent to a wishing well after her marriage. You know the tradition.”
Think baby thoughts. Large golden coins that elves still minted exclusively for the wishing well tradition.
“Well, there happened to be someone there to receive her coin. Andhehappened to be in the market for an heir, as it were. Consort to the Queen. He took me from my family as payment for services rendered because of that coin. And because he held the debt, I was tethered to him. He could always find me. And he would have carved you into pieces as an amusement, just to keep me in line. Do you understandwhyI couldn’t make promises to you, Silva? There’s nothing I wanted more than to give you everything you were asking of me. D’you see why I couldn’t?”
“What’s stopping you now?” He craned over his shoulder once more, and Silva decided to put him out of his misery, pushing away from the desk to walk around the sofa where he and Aelin sat. “You said he’s dead. So if they can’t collect you anymore . . . what’s stopping you now?”
The look of disdain he gave her was one she was treated to from her daughter several times a week. “I’ve just fucking comehome, haven’t I? You want me to put a ring on your finger tomorrow, Silva? I will. But you’re still technically married, aren’t you?”
“I am,” she confirmed. “So I guess we have until summer to figure out if you like the new me.”
“I’m glad we have time to get past this day, because my current answer is ‘Not very much.’ I can’tbelieveyou risked your life and hers so foolishly.”
“I can’tbelieveyou’re pretending not to be a prince.”
They glared at each other across the room for several silent heartbeats, until she could hold in her laughter no longer. Silva pushed up, carefully relocating to the sofa, folding her legs beneath as she settled beside the sleeping little elf.
“Therapy,” he muttered, “D’you mean telling a random stranger all of my innermost thoughts and fears?”
Silva rolled her eyes with a smile, slipping her fingers through those on his free hand, resting their joined fingers lightly on Aelin’s side. “It wouldn’t be arandomstranger. It would beonestranger we pick together.”
“Grand. That sounds loads better. Can’t wait to unpack all my daddy issues with a minotaur.”
She buried her laughter in the sofa cushion, imagining how long an appointment like that might take. “Well, since you’re compiling your topic list, your mom made her this sweater. Aelin loves talking to her.” She looked up in time to see his brow furrow, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. “Your phone,” she clarified. “I answered it one day . . . we’ve kept in touch since.”
He snorted, fingering the fine edge of a pink tulip. “I should have known this was a Caoimhe special. Careful. You’ll have to rent space to store the wee one’s wardrobe if she’s left unchecked.”
“Kweeva?” Silva narrowed her eyes, repeating the name, shaking her head. “Are you sure that’s right?”
The look with which he pinned her was one Aelin delivered every time Silva suggested she put away her toys to get ready for bed. “It’s my mother, Silva. I’m pretty sure I know.”
She sat back with a huff. “I’ve been saying it wrong this whole time.”
It was Tate’s turn to turn his face into the cushion, shaking in silent laughter.
“We went to see her a few months ago. Just the once. She was so happy to meet Aelin. And she’s already over-exceeded the closet.”
Tate was gazing down, transfixed, and she understood his wonder. She had spent that whole first year in the same trance, unable to look away from Aelin’s face.
“She’s so beautiful . . .” His eyes were glossy with unshed tears, unblinking in his stare. “Three years . . . and you named her Aelin. Family name, Silva?”
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s beautiful.”
She blew out a breath, already feeling a bit miffed atthisTate, who told her what he thought instead of holding back.Did he always do that andyouwere the one not listening?
“I wanted something with an A to honor both our grandmothers. I couldn't find anything I liked . . . then she was born and it was like the name came with her.”
