I almost laugh, but it catches in my throat. “No,” I say. “The closest I came to any relationships outside of my family were the people in my village.” I frown, my thoughts strange. “But I'm not sure I even knew them that well. I mean, I think I've spent more time with you four than them, which is unbelievably sad to say out loud.”
He looks genuinely surprised. “Really? I know you spoke about your grandparents…”
I shrug, picking at the moss. “My father died when I was young, my mother was killed, and the people who raised me only cared that I did my work and didn’t cause trouble. I was just… background noise. Not a person. And maybe I built up the villagers in my mind. Maybe I was always just a friendly face they pitied.”
They certainly hadn't fought to save my life.
“I'm sure you were more than that to them.”
I think hard, comparing my relationships with the fae kings to my relationship with the villagers. “And yet they all knew how much I was suffering, and no one stepped in. Not that I blame them. I'm too different. Too awkward. Too desperate.”
He frowns. “You’re not too anything.”
I roll my eyes. “You haven’t seen me in a mirror lately.”
He laughs, soft and true. “I don’t need to. You’re the most incredible person I know.”
It sounds like a line, but it doesn’t feel like one.
He asks, “If you could choose anyone to really marry, what would they be like?”
The question floors me. I’ve never thought about it before. “I don’t know. Someone kind, maybe. Someone who actually wants to hear me talk. Someone who… sees me.”
He grins. “That’s a pretty low bar.”
I consider, then add, “Funny helps. Or at least someone who laughs at my jokes.”
He leans in, his face inches from mine. “What about looks?”
I think about it, honest for the first time. “I don’t care what they look like. As long as they’re kind. I could live a happy life with someone who just treated me like I mattered.”
He’s quiet, and when he finally speaks, it’s soft. “You’re not alone in that.”
Something sharp and sad moves between us, but I don’t know what to do about it.
At that moment, a nymph staggers over, glass in hand, and yells, “Kiss! Kiss!” The whole clearing erupts, the fae pounding the ground and chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
I flush, but Ashton looks at me with a raised eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. “Your call,” he says, voice warm.
I can’t back down, not in front of the entire party. So I lean in, careful and slow, and kiss him.
It’s not like the wedding kiss. That one was desperate, frantic, fake. This one is real, and gentle, and I don’t want to stop. The crowd roars approval, then moves on to the next distraction.
Ashton pulls away, eyes shining, and whispers, “You taste like honey and danger.”
I snort. “You taste like trouble.”
We laugh, and for the first time in years I don’t feel invisible.
The party whirls around us. Every few minutes a fae throws something our way, like a goblet, a petal, or a handful of moss. The “Kiss!” chant comes back in waves, and every time we oblige, the crowd cheers louder. After the fifth or sixth kiss, Ashton dips me back on the moss and kisses me so hard my body tingles.
When he brings me back up, I’m breathless, laughing, and more alive than I’ve ever been.
For a long moment we just look at each other, then collapse together onto the moss, giggling like idiots.
We look up at the stars. The rings on our fingers gleam, real and impossible.
He says, “I liked tonight. I liked pretending we were something other than two puppets to the goddess.”
