So instead of saying something, I gritted my teeth and stood by while she fawned over jewelry and charms and clothes. Not even buying anything—just looking. I itched to find my brother and ensure he was okay. There hadn’t been any attacks today, but what if one happened before I got to him? A pounding hit my ears at the thought of Cillian being alone, helpless, unguarded during an attack.
Niamh whipped around, draping a pink scarf across her neck, and the pounding lessened. “What do you think? Do I look queenly?”
I stared at her, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m Wolfe.” She adopted a mocking tone. “I’m a big, strong man. Must never talk. Must never show emotion.” She moved forward and draped the scarf around my neck.
“What are you doing?” I asked, irritated. She fluffed the scarf out, and I swatted her hand away. “Stop it.”
She frowned. “I don’t know if pink is your color.”
“I thought you wanted to find the prince.”
“Oh, I do, but this is way too much fun to stop.” She reached out to adjust the scarf, and I grabbed her wrist.
She met my gaze, eyes dancing with mischief. “Not a fan of the pink, then?”
“No.”
“Shame. I’m starting to think maybe this is your color after all. Now can you let go of my hand, sunshine?”
“Can we leave?” I gritted out.
“Let’s just try one more scarf.” She reached out with her free hand and grabbed a green-striped one, attempting to drape it over the pink one.
I let go of her hand and snatched the green scarf. “Don’t you dare.”
Her smile grew wider. “But I really think green might be the one.” She tugged on the scarf, and I tugged back.
“Put it back.”
She raised her chin. “Do you wear anything other than...that?” Her gaze lowered, roving over my tan shirt, down to my plaited leather trousers and my thick black boots.
“No.” I glanced at her green dress, cloak, and gloves. “And do you always wear so many... layers?”
Her eyes flashed with an emotion I didn’t recognize, something like shame, maybe, and she tugged on the green scarf again. “Well, you should wear more variety. Those are boring colors that do nothing for your complexion, and if you actually ventured to wear something new, it might improve your mood.”
I noticed she didn’t answer my question, and part of me wanted to know the answer, but I didn’t want to pry, mainly because I was afraid it would lead to more conversation.
If we didn’t find Cillian soon, I was going to take this stupid pink scarf and shove it in her mouth. Fuck, that was an image I hadn’t expected to pop into my mind and be so... erotic. “My mood doesn’t need improving,” I snapped.
She snorted right as the shopkeeper swept out of the back room through a curtain. “Can I help you two...” His green eyes flicked to me and widened as he ran a hand over his thinning white hair. “Oh. It’s you. In my store.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling wholly unwanted. But that was how I felt most places I went. The gazes of those who knew how my brother had died, who knew that I was responsible, were heavy.
The shopkeeper crossed his arms and glared at me, but his gaze softened when it landed on Niamh, whose green eyes bounced between us in fascination.
“A scarf is a good idea, my dear,” he said, arching his neck to look out the windows. “You don’t want to be catching a cold out there.”
“We were just leaving,” I said, grabbing Niamh’s arm and yanking her out the door as she dropped the scarf, protesting the entire way.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone glare so hard, especially not a sweet old man,” Niamh said once we were outside. “He must really hate you.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “He doesn’t hate me. He... well, maybe he hates me.”
Niamh gasped. “Did you yell at him?”
I glowered at Niamh, whose eyes were dancing with glee.
“Not... at him.” Just around him—when I’d been looking for Cillian and was convinced my brother had been hiding in his shop.
Niamh stopped in the middle of the street, making passersby go around us. “Why would he have reason to hate you, then?”
