Certainly not a grumpy guard who wanted to be left alone.
“Why aren’t you in armor like the rest of the royal guard?” Her gaze dipped to my chest, to my tunic plastered to it with sweat, and her eyes widened before snapping back up.
She cleared her throat, a slight blush on her cheeks. “You’re very... underdressed compared to them.”
“That’s because I’m not part of the royal guard. I’m the bodyguard. My job is to protect Cillian, not Fairwitch Isle.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “But why aren’t you in the royal guard?”
Mother of witches, this woman asked so many fucking questions. I just wanted to chop some wood.
“Is there something you needed?” I asked again.
“Well, I found a library in the castle.” Excitement lit her green eyes. “And I wanted to get some cleaning supplies and fix it up a bit, so I left the library and was opening a random door?—”
“You shouldn’t do that,” I interrupted.
“What?” she asked.
“Open random doors. You can get lost if you’re not careful.”
Her eyes widened to saucers, her eyelashes so long and curled. “That’s actually happened?”
I sighed and shoved a hand through my hair. “There was a healer who opened a door and was never seen again. She was one of only two healers, and once she disappeared, Nevan was forced to start training to take over once the other one couldn’t do his job any longer.”
I thought about my brother, how obsessive he’d already been with his alchemy. Adding the workload of a second job had only made things worse.
Her gaze shifted back and forth, and I could tell the wheels in her mind were turning, spinning ideas. She shook her head. “Well, anyway, I opened a door, hoping it might be a closet with some cleaning supplies, but instead it led outside. I almost fell right out of the castle, but I caught myself in the doorway, and in the distance, I saw you at your lonely little cabin at the top of a hill. I thought about going back inside but realized it could take forever to find the supply closet or a person who could help me, so I decided to come here and see you.”
“Lucky me,” I said, cursing the stupid castle for bringing Niamh here. I thought now that our journey was over, I wouldn’t have to see her anymore.
“Oh, cheer up, sunshine.” She winked. “You must get lonely out here with no visitors.”
“I don’t. And stop calling me that.”
“I can’t. It just keeps slipping out,” she said with an innocent look on her face.
I grabbed my axe and once again slung it over my shoulder. “Well,I can’t help you. I don’t know where the cleaning supplies are. I suggest you ask a servant or Cillian, though I doubt he’d know.”
Her lips flattened into a thin line. “I’m not currently speaking to Cillian.”
The longer she didn’t speak to my brother, the more she’d keep bothering me. A voice whispered that maybe I wanted her to keep bothering me, but I instantly shoved that into a deep, dark place.
I was going to regret this, but I gestured to a stone bench I’d carved that sat next to my cabin. We walked toward it and sat down. “Cillian has a good heart, and it was in the right place.”
“You’re just saying that because he’s your brother,” she said. “It was wrong to keep all of that from me. To bring me here under false pretense.”
“Yes, well, as high prince, Cillian is under a lot of pressure. Fairwitch Isle’s magic is weakening, and he doesn’t know why. None of us do. Rooms in the castle we used to have access to are disappearing. We’re worried our armory is next, and we don’t have answers, other than that this all started when Cillian was chosen as high prince, but no queen was chosen. It’s not like he can step down. The castle decides. No one else.”
“So other than during Cillian’s reign, you’ve always had a queen?” Niamh tucked a strand of long red hair behind her ear.
I nodded.
“How is the ruler chosen?” She wrinkled her nose. “And how long do they rule? If the castle is unhappy with them, do they get disappeared?”
My fingers itched to grab my axe and keep chopping my wood, but maybe if I took the time to explain this to her, to make her see why she needed to forgive Cillian, then I’d be free of her incessant questions. “The ruler is chosen when a crown appears on their head.”
I still remembered the day Cillian had gotten his crown. It had been five long years after Lor died. I’d been drinking myself silly in the tavern when my stepfather had burst in, grabbed me by the collar, and told me to sober up. When I finally had, I’d found my family, all surrounding Cillian, the crown gleaming over his head as he lookedabsolutely petrified. I vowed that day that I’d protect him in a way I hadn’t protected Lor. That I’d stop drinking, stop feeling sorry for myself, and keep Cillian safe.
