“I never thought I’d see you so smitten. And the fact that he forced himself to eat that pie means he must be smitten as well.”
“What do you mean?” I had a piece myself earlier in the night and it tasted like blackberry bliss.
She flops back on her bed, her arms splayed across her quilt. “For a woman on the verge of bedding an Unseelie, you certainly don’t know very much about them.”
“I’m not on the verge of bedding him,” I choke. Visions of those illustrations in Trevor’s book dance through my mind. I wouldn’t even know what to do if he were todisrobein my presence.
I bet Ever would know…
Her only answer is a shrill, slightly maniacal cackle.
I swat her leg. “The pie?”
She toes off her slippers and then works her stockings down her thighs, adding them to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. “The Unseelie don’t enjoy sweet things.”
“How do you know?”
“Do us both a favor and read your damn book. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of things that’ll keep you up at night. I think you’ll find chapter seventeen particularly interesting.”
I leave Nia to her giggling and cross to my own room to retrieve the book from beneath my bed. First, I flip through the table of contents to the chapter about the Unseelie diet. Sure enough, they prefer savory food to sweet. If this author is to be believed, the sugar irritates their throats.
Out of curiosity, I flip to chapter seventeen next.
The Unseelie Tongue.
Nia was right.
This isriveting.
* * *
The next morning, my aunt remains quiet over breakfast, eating her porridge without attempting to engage in conversation with either of us. Twice, Nia asks if she’s all right and twice her mother claims that she is only tired after the festival. When a heavy knock rattles the front door, Aunt Cordelia slips from her chair while Nia and I follow her out into the foyer to where a young man waits with an armful of fliers clutched to his chest.
He hands my aunt a page from the top of the stack, and then retreats down the steps, through the gate, and over to the neighbor’s house.
Nia leans over her mother’s shoulder for a peek. “What does it say?”
“The king has called a meeting today at noon. All households are required to attend.”
“Does this happen often?” I ask.
Both Nia and her mother shake their heads.
A niggling feeling grows in my stomach. Something must be wrong. Why else would the king want to speak to us?
By the time we arrive to the meeting, the city square is already filled with whispering fae, all of them speculating over the reason for us being called together. Some think the king is going to announce a new holiday. Others believe this has to do with last night’s unexpected guests.
“Do you think this has to do with the Unseelie?” I whisper to Nia.
She nods. “Definitely.”
What could the king say? The Unseelie arrived on a Wednesday, as was their right. It wasn’t their fault that we happened to be holding a festival at the same time.
Speaking of the festival, the decorations have yet to be removed. Colorful ribbons still dance in the air, clinging to the forgotten Maypoles.
A wooden platform has been erected in front of the library, where the king and queen sit on their thrones. Ronan has a chair to his mother’s right. The golden crown on his head gleams in the sunlight. When our gazes meet, his eyes narrow and his hands ball into fists in his lap.
I curse the moment I met the man. If not for him, my time here in Rosehill would’ve gone very differently.
