“Tell me what you really think,” he said.
“I just did.” I’d already lost one brother, and I knew I wouldn’t survive losing another. I spun on my heel and continued my way down the hill, which gave view to a valley surrounded by swelling hills, the grass so tall it looked like it would reach my waist. My black cloak fluttered behind me as the gusty wind blew, cutting and biting against my skin.
I stopped as I laid eyes on a tall stone tower in the middle of it all. A tower with no doors or windows. Nothing that signaled anything was inside.
This was impossible. I squeezed my eyes shut as Cillian bumped into me. The tower was real, but it also looked far too ominous for myliking. What kind of tower had no doors or windows? What lurked inside?
“What? What is it...” He trailed off as he came to stand next to me, then let out a whoop and thumped me on the back, which only irked me further. “It’s here. It really does exist. I told you this was meant to be. As soon as I heard the prophecy, I knew this was what we were supposed to do.”
My nostrils flared. The prophecy. Which was nothing more than some riddle a fortune teller in some other small town gave Cillian the day he decided to play peasant. A riddle he became obsessed with, sure it would be the answer to Fairwitch Isle’s problems, to all our problems.
What we should’ve been doing was using strategy, putting plans in place to save our people should our walls be infiltrated. But no. Instead, we were here, where Cillian was convinced his future wife was in this tower, that we were somehow going to rescue her and that she would save us all.
Stupid. So, so stupid, and as much as I’d protested the entire thing, he was still the high prince, and I still had to listen to him.
“Let’s get this over with.” I stomped down the hill and toward the looming tower, its shadow stretching over the valley ominously, dousing us in its shade.
Cillian shivered and pulled his thick red cloak tighter over his body. “Why are you not happy about this? For months you’ve been grumbling about this tower not being real, about this being some”—he used air quotes—“‘setup’ to lure the High Prince of Fairwitch Isle into a trap. But I was right.” He tilted his head, stroking his clean-shaven jaw. “In fact, I think I want to hear you say it.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Come on.” He nudged me. “Say it.” He gestured. “You were right, Prince Cillian.” He said the words slowly, enunciating each syllable like I was a foreigner who didn’t speak our language.
I inhaled deeply through my nostrils and out through my mouth—four counts in, eight counts out, slow and steady. He wasn’t right. Hethought he was right because he didn’t take anything seriously, which was why I had to take everything too seriously for the both of us.
“That big vein above your eyebrow is bulging.” Cillian’s ice blue eyes twinkled, and he bit his bottom lip. “Based on that and the fact that your hands are clenched into fists, I’d say the deep breathing isn’t working.”
We approached the bottom of the hill and walked into the meadow.
I pushed him behind me, drawing my sword, gaze sweeping the area for any threats that might be hiding among the tall grass, tempted to throw him over my shoulder and march back home.
He clapped his hands together. “Okay, so you’re still angry at me? Even though I was right about the tower? About the woman inside?”
“You don’t know there’s a woman inside.” And if there was, getting her out would be a nightmare. The tower was impenetrable, and the longer we spent out here in the open, the more we opened ourselves up to danger. My gaze snapped to the right, where I could’ve sworn I’d heard a rustling. The glossy leaves shimmered in the breeze, and uneasiness trickled through me.
“Of course there’s a woman inside,” Cillian said. “Everything is as the seer foretold. It’s all going according to the plan, and she will be the key to saving Fairwitch, to saving our magic.”
“There’s no magic key to saving our home,” I muttered, raising my sword just as a small bunny burst from the grass. My shoulders slumped while it hopped by. “We can’t stop the brotherhood from attacking us, from trying to conquer Fairwitch and take our magic. All we can do is create a plan. A defense.”
“Wolfe.” Cillian clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’m worried about you.”
I turned my sword horizontal, then swept it over the grass in front of us, bending the blades so I could better see if anything was hiding, ready to pounce. Maybe one of the brotherhood. They lurked everywhere, pillaging magical items off anyone they came across and using it to gain power. To tear families apart and wreck lives.
I pushed that dark memory away. I couldn’t focus on the past, not when my brother needed me.
Cillian stayed close. “You have no life outside of being my guard, and really, that would be fine if you seemed happy, but you don’t. You’re actually”—he squeezed my shoulder—“and, I say this with the utmost care, a miserable bastard.”
“It’s not my job to be happy,” I said through gritted teeth and whacked my blade against the tips of the tall grass, annoyed that he was choosing this moment to have a conversation about my life. “It’s my job to protect you, and that’s it.”
“Right.” He dragged out the middle of the word. “Sure, sure. Makes sense. But, and again, I am saying this with the utmost care?—”
“Just say it.”
“Don’t you think you can do both? Have a happy life and protect me?”
Cillian didn’t understand because he was the beloved High Prince of Fairwitch Isle. He was charming and affable and everyone loved him—and what’s more, he deserved it all. He genuinely cared about his people. He even cared about me when I didn’t deserve it. That was the part he’d never get. I didn’t deserve to be happy. Not after... my jaw clenched, and I turned in a different direction, back to him.
We wove through the meadow as he chattered on, his voice fading to the background while I assessed our surroundings, mentally noting every danger that could be lurking and how I’d react should something happen.
