Ivee, Florence, and Aurelia appear on our right, too busy tittering with one another to notice Nia and me. Trevor stands in front of the library doors along with a few other staff members I recognize.
When the king stands and clears his throat, a hush falls over the crowd. “Thank you all for joining us on such short notice,” he says. “I’m afraid the news today is quite grave. It would seem as though our neighbors have been shirking their duty.”
A man in plain brown cotton trousers and a grubby tunic climbs the stairs to the platform. In his arms, he cradles a small goat with ivory fur.
The man, a farmer by the look of his mud-caked boots, gently lays the animal on the wood. Its limbs flop akimbo, its small, horned head lolling to the side, revealing crimson-stained fur across its throat and another gash across its belly.
The crowd draws in a collective gasp.
That poor, sweet creature. Who would do this sort of thing?
The queen rises to her feet, her voice ringing with finality when she speaks. “The wolves have returned to Rosehill.”
That’s impossible…isn’t it?
“Your children might not remember what it was like the last time a wolf found its way across The Divide,” she goes on, “but many of you do.”
The murmuring around us grows louder. A portly fae with crinkly lips and wild gray hair sprouting from beneath a straw sun hat mutters that she doesn’t think it was wolves at all, but the Unseelie themselves who killed the goats.
No wonder the fae are so closed-minded, with vicious slander like that swirling around.
Everett said no wolves have been spotted anywhere near the bridge. Could he be mistaken and one slipped past? Or was the goat killed by something else?
“What if it’s not the wolves?” a man to my right shouts. “What if that’s what the Unseelie want us to believe?”
The queen raises a bejeweled hand, silencing the crowd once more. “Now, now, let’s not jump to conclusions.” Although her words are meant to placate, her twisted smile incites more bellows of agreement. “I think we can all agree that we must remain vigilant until the culprit is caught. That is why the king and I are proposing a curfew. All fae must return to their homes by dusk.”
The younger fae curse and groan, no doubt more annoyed about missing out on socializing than any genuine concern for their own safety.
The king’s lips purse as he glances over at his wife. When she doesn’t meet his gaze, he turns back to the crowd. “We thank you for your cooperation and look forward to the day this beast is caught so that we might live in safety once more.”
“First, we’re not allowed out on Wednesdays, and now this?” a young man in front of Nia grumbles to the one next to him. “Fucking Unseelie. Ruining everything.”
My nails carve crescent moons into palms as I glower at them. They need to stay inside when it gets dark. So what? Ever and the rest of his men are responsible for stayingoutside, on their own, watching the bridge in exchange for bloomin’ water.
I’m sure they’d be more than happy to stay in the warm comfort of their homes instead of spending every damn night in the wretched darkness.
The king and queen step down from the platform and are quickly whisked away in their golden carriage. Ronan launches from his chair and makes a beeline to where Nia and I wait with no hopes of escape, blocked in by bodies and stone walls.
The prince’s cornflower eyes bore a hole into my forehead. “Might I have a word with you in private, Kerris?”
Nia’s fingers slip into mine, and she whispers, “You don’t have to speak with him if you don’t want to.”
As if he’s going to let me leave without talking to him. I wouldn’t put it past the man to follow me all the way home.
The sooner I deal with him, the better. “It’s all right, Nia. I’ll meet you at the cottage.”
She moves aside, and I follow Ronan to the back of the dais where only a few people linger. “Do you have anything to say to me?” he grits out.
I have plenty to say to him, but none of the words on the tip of my tongue are ones he’d be happy to hear.
“Last night you made a fool out of yourself, Kerris. What’s worse? You made a fool out of me.”
It’s good to know where I stand in his list of priorities.
Blowing out a breath, he straightens his waistcoat, threaded with gold. “You’re not from Rosehill, so your ignorance is understandable. You clearly don’t realize how dangerous that Unseelie monster is.”
In this case, not being from Rosehill feels like a blessing. Otherwise, I would probably be as prejudiced as the rest of this city. But I am not the ignorant one. “Everett isn’t a monster; he’s a man. Same as you.” Only taller, leaner, kinder, more respectful, more handsome, and more intriguing.
