Page 19 of How to Marry a Winged King

Yes, so practical that he gave up his leverage over you out of pure sentimentality.

That had probably been an outlier, I reasoned with myself. A carefully judged gesture. It wasn’t as if he could be in love with me. We’d known each other for less than three days, and Tāwhiri wasn’t a fool, even if he was very arrogant. He must have some idea for a back-up bride if I decided against him.

I passionately hated that thought.

Would he truly believe I’d decided against him?

What would I decide, if I wasn’t locked in this attic? I hugged my knees up to my chest, feeling strongly reluctant to think about it. What would thinking about it change? It didn’t matter. None of my decisions ever mattered.

But I couldn’t help remembering how it had felt to have Tāwhiri so tightly focused on me that he was unaware of the crowd. He’d wanted me even without the illusion, knowing exactly who and what I was. He’d kissed me hotly under cold starlight and given me my name back. I could fall in love with a man like that, given half a chance.

But it would be so much easier not to. Even if I found my way out of this attic in time, would he really choose a mere mortal girl, when it came to it? If he did, did I want to live a life in the inevitable spotlight of the fae court, with enemies on all sides? Would Tāwhiri come to regret marrying me after the novelty of my human presence wore off?

Abruptly I was angry. Two days ago, freedom from my dawn-curse had been the biggest dream I could imagine. Now, there was a tentative yearning for a nebulous more curling in my chest. Tāwhiri had made me imagine a future in which I was worth more than the sum of my debts and disappointments, and now I couldn’t forget it.

Admitting it to myself made everything worse because I was still stuck here, and Tāwhiri would still choose someone else, believing I’d gotten cold feet. Would he choose Acantha? She’d spoken out of shock earlier, but it wasn’t her whole character. Probably they’d eventually be happy together.

I didn’t want them to be happy together, eventually or otherwise.

I heard the clock downstairs strike midnight.

I rose. I beat at the windows with a boot, trying to shatter the glass. I threw myself at the door over and over, until I felt bruises forming. The house held fast. In frustration, I pleaded with the manor. “Look, I know you don’t like me! But I’m not tied to you anymore. If you let me out, I’ll go and never return.”

A shiver went through the walls as the manor considered my offer. Tempted, but it would not disobey its master’s instruction.

I began to rifle through my things, desperate for anything that might help me escape, going round and round my room like a moth in a jar with the lid screwed on tight. But no matter what I tried, I remained trapped.

The minutes ticked away at the back of my mind. How long would Tāwhiri wait? My heart squeezed, imagining how his features would tighten as the time passed and it became clear I wasn’t coming. He would believe I hadn’t wanted him enough to take the risk.

At last, exhausted, I sank down in the mess I’d made of my room, drew my knees up to my chest, and cried.

I FELT IT WHEN dawn broke. Maybe I would always be attuned to it now, after so many years of being forced to dance to its rhythm. The walls shuddered, and the door unlocked, but it was too late. The ball would be long since over. Tāwhiri would have chosen someone else, hours ago.

I ran downstairs anyway.

The white stag still waited in the little copse, its breath pluming in the chill. It turned its great head and watched me with liquid eyes as I climbed into the carriage, my chest so tight I could barely breathe. It said nothing, but after a moment, the carriage began to move.

The grey light of dawn had brightened into true daylight by the time I spilled out onto the steps of the Golden Hall, hitched up my skirts, and hurried up to the doors—only to be greeted by the crossed halberds of the guards.

“Humans,” they told me disapprovingly, “are forbidden to enter the hall.”

I didn’t have my shoes or my mask. I knew I looked terrible as well as human, with dark circles under my eyes and a nose red from crying. I tried to summon up some clever words or clever plan to get me past the guards, but nothing came to me.

I had to try nonetheless, so I straightened, willing myself to believe I was still every bit as important as the illusion had made me seem. “I’m—”

“—invited,” a familiar voice said from just inside. Acantha stepped into the light. In her hand was the feathered silver mask. “She’s invited, as a Daughter of Bloodthorn.”

I stared dumbly at her.

Acantha impatiently gestured for me to follow her in. The guards frowned, but they didn’t try to stop me this time.

“What’s going on?” I asked, half-jogging to match her pace. There were still a surprising number of partygoers lounging drearily about in the hallway, and they goggled at me as we passed. “Are you—” I wanted to ask who Tāwhiri had chosen but couldn’t quite make myself. I assumed not Acantha, if she was hovering around the entrance hall alone. Why had she been hovering about the entrance hall, as if waiting for me?

Acantha stopped abruptly just before the main hall.

She handed me the mask. “Put that on.”

“What?”