“What is going on?” Morton asked, slithering up my arm as I snapped the book closed.
“That’s what I would like to know.” I came to a stop outside the cluster of rocks as both men turned to face me, the hulking man glaring while the other one smiled gently.
The bigger man shoved a hand through his thick mop of brown hair, disheveled and tousled. “You were trapped in a tower. We rescued you from the tower. You’re coming home with us.”
“What?” That made no sense, and that word, home, struck me right in the heart. I had no idea where their home was, why they wanted me, or if it was a dangerous place.
Morton blinked a few times as he processed Wolfe’s words.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” The other man stepped forward, holding out an arm across his companion’s broad chest. “Why don’t we sit? Can I offer you some hard, stale bread?” He gestured to one of the leather sacks. “Some stinky cheese? Smells terrible but tastes great. How about some water?” He leaned down and grabbed a canteen, holding it out to me.
I crossed my arms. I might’ve been desperate for help navigating this situation, but I also wasn’t an idiot. I couldn’t trust total strangers if they weren’t willing to provide any information about where they’d come from, why they’d rescued me, or what they wanted with me. The only thing keeping me here was my complete fear at running away and being alone and helpless.
I tried to summon an air of authority. “What I want is answers, and someone better give them to me.”
The nicer man heaved a sigh and looked at the other one. “You know, manners and hospitality could get us a long way.” He looked back at me. “Hi, I’m Cillian Wolfgang, and this here is Wolfe.”
“I’m Niamh,” I said. “Why did you come to my tower? How did you even find it? And what do you mean I’m coming with you? I don’t want to come with you. I want to go back into my tower.”
“Good luck with that,” Wolfe said, earning a glare from Cillian.
“Let’s all sit, shall we?” Cillian said, gesturing to the ground.
I eyed them warily but sat down, fluffing out my blue skirt so it flowed around me as I settled, legs tucked under my bottom. “Well?” I asked, and the two men looked at each other.
“We told you,” Wolfe said in his gruff, curt voice, “we want you to come back to our castle with us.”
“But why?” I asked, studying the pair. I hadn’t interacted with actual people in over three years, and it was a strange, out-of-body experience. If it had been under better circumstances, I might have been delighted to be able to have a conversation, to learn their stories, but given what had happened to my tower, I couldn’t muster anything other than a wary curiosity.
Wolfe’s jaw ticked. “We’re wasting time,” he said. “Can we have this conversation on the road?”
Cillian cleared his throat. “Excuse his rudeness. He’s a bit of a brute.” He took a sip from his canteen. “The thing is, you’re to be the high prince’s bride, the Queen of Fairwitch Isle, mistress of Fairwitch Castle.”
I blinked a few times, understanding his words but unable to actually process them.
“Did he just say . . .” Morton started.
“Bride?” I asked, feeling faint at the thought of marrying a complete stranger. I was thirty-five years old, and I’d had many relationships but never contemplated marriage. My life had been so happy and full of love that I’d never felt the need to get married. Also, a tiny part of me had known that getting married meant leaving my home, my parents, Ashami. Obviously, none of that was a problem anymore, but it was still such a jarring proposal.
Then the other part hit me. Queen. He’d said I was to become Queen of Fairwitch, a place I’d never even heard of.
“I hear he’s very handsome,” Cillian said with a grin, his high cheekbones and flashing blue eyes making me forget my next question.
I shook my head, all of this is so disorienting. This morning I’d been in my cozy tower, curled up with a book, and now I was sittingwith two strange men, being told I was to marry some prince. I studied Cillian, his perfectly coiffed black hair falling in waves and framing his symmetrical face. I imagined before the tower collapsed, his clothes were impeccable—a golden silk shirt with brass buttons and black trousers tucked into black boots, dust covering it all.
A realization hit me. “Wait a minute... you’re the prince? I’m going to marry you?”
Cillian’s brows furrowed. “I thought that was obvious. Please tell me you didn’t think it was him.” He jabbed a thumb at Wolfe, who scowled at us, lips flattening underneath his bushy beard.
“No, I didn’t—” I took a deep breath. “I haven’t had a chance to think through any of this because it makes no sense.”
Cillian was handsome. Gorgeous, actually. And he seemed pleasant enough, but that didn’t mean I actually believed any of this. He had to be messing with me or something.
“Careful, you’re drooling,” Morton mumbled, and I cleared my throat, ignoring the bookwyrm.
“Why would I marry you? Why would you want me as your queen?” I worried at my bottom lip. They didn’t know what a coward I was, that when danger had come to my kingdom, I’d fled. That wasn’t what queens did. Queens didn’t abandon their homes. If they knew everything that had happened to me, they wouldn’t want me at all.
Wolfe had picked up a rock and was sliding it along the edge of his blade, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
