But is it a myth?I wondered.
Leaving an entire planet behind, as we believed our Christian deity had, was one thing. But the Irish Bears—and, apparently, the Irish Wolves, too—had actual leftover technology they could still use, even if they didn’t fully understand it.
The foundation of everything I’d been brought up to believe was beginning to shift like a house built on sand. Maybe that was why I found myself asking, “Is it hard... having two husbands?”
“It’s extremely hard carrying their heavy babies, I’ll tell you that.” Brigid rolled her eyes in the mirror. “Thank the gods a bear’s gestation period is only six months. I hear the poor she-wolves have to suffer through a human nine.”
Brigid visibly shuddered, but then a smile tipped up her wide mouth.
“Nothing about my marriage is hard, though. Even when I’m heaving around this stomach of mine, I feel like the luckiest bear above or below the earth. I’m married to the High Prince, y’know—the High King’s younger brother. Not sure if Tadhg told ye.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” I said. “I only found out about the High King earlier this morning. I still haven’t met him. Have you and the High Prince been together since you grew up down here?”
“Actually, we didn’t connect until university. And I was already several years deep into a relationship with my other now-husband, who was just an outsider boyfriend back then—with no idea he was dating a bear shifter.”
Brigid shook her head. “If it had been any other lad besides a bear prince vying for my heart, the two of them would’ve come to blows and made me choose. Which is why I’m always telling anyone who’ll listen that my life’s a pile of four-leaf clovers.”
I couldn’t get over how happy she looked as she moved on to the second-to-last braid above my left ear.
None of the she-wolf wives had glowed like this when talking about their marriage.
Not even Naomi’s parents—and they were the happiest couple I knew.
Though now that I thought about it, when Tara was barking out orders, she sometimes looked upon her one husband, the Scottish King, with a similarly soft expression.
“Are all she-bears as happy as you, or do you think it’s because you married a prince?”
“We just call ourselves bears. Or female bears, if you truly need to make the distinction,” Brigid gently corrected. Then she smiled to herself.
“And you could have a point there. I love both my husbands ‘equal but different,’ as we say here in the Secret Kingdom.
"But the High Prince is so feckin’ devastating. He’s got this cool white streak running through his hair and these amazing gray eyes—makes you want to dive into them like a lake. And can you believe he’s also a great listener, on top of being dead sexy? Feels like I can tell him anything. I always say he would’ve made a crack therapist if his brother hadn’t made him major in Business Administration.
She paused, the smile turning rueful.
“The only thing I regret is how long it took me to realize he wasn’t a complete wanker like his High King older brother.”
I had no idea whatwankermeant, but it didn’t sound good.
“So you like the High King?” I guessed again, moving down to the second-to-last braid on my side.
“Actually, no. I honestly mean he’s a wanker.” Brigid wrinkled her nose, like she’d smelled something foul. “When the High Prince told him he’d decided to come back down here to be with me, instead of making Declan and his company more moneythey don’t even need up in The Above, Declan—that’s his given name for the human world—completely lost it.”
She started untightening the last braid on her side.
“Told his brother he was wasting his life. Said he’d regret it. Slipped the business card of a wolf shifter divorce lawyer into the flowers he sent in lieu of attending our wedding. I’ll never forgive him for that. Joke’s on him, though. Almost seven years later, we’re all still together, happy as could be.”
In the mirror, Brigid’s bitter look shifted to something softer. “You’ll probably see my forever prince lumbering about the grounds. Can’t miss him. He smells like an entire basket of juicy plums.”
“I’ve never had a plum before,” I admitted.
“Well, I’ll tell you—it’s my absolute favorite fruit now.” Brigid waggled her eyebrows.
I could only imagine my mother’s face ifshewere the one participating in this conversation. But for whatever reason, my so-called puritan sensibilities had completely abandoned me.
I felt nothing but fascinated—by Brigid’s unorthodox relationship, and by this secret world—as I wondered out loud, “Do all bears smell like food?”
“You could say that.” Brigid shrugged as she finished unweaving her last cornrow. “All bears love food, so we often perceive people as smelling like foods we like. What do I smell like to you?”
