Page 12 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

“That was a disaster.” Cillian leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

“I could’ve told you what a stupid idea it was. If you’d bothered to ask.” Wolfe crossed his arms over his chest.

Nevan was polishing his spectacles on the end of his shirt. “It definitely wasn’t your brightest idea, Cillian.”

“Well at least I’m doing something.”

Ambrose cleared his throat. “We. We are doing something.”

Castle rumbled.

Ambrose’s eyes rolled upward. “Yes, Castle, you helped too.”

“You need to stop meddling.” Wolfe pounded his fist on the table, making the goblets quiver. “Let them figure it out.”

Cillian snorted into his drink. “Because that’s worked so well. They’ve had two years to figure it out, and things only seem to be getting worse between them.”

“Have we considered the fact that they just might not ever get along?” Nevan put his spectacles back on his nose.

Castle wondered the very same thing, and it weighed heavily on it.

“Maybe just one of them needs to rule,” Ambrose suggested, wincing as another door slammed somewhere in Castle’s depths. “We can’t keep going on like this. Their hatred is going to fracture this kingdom.”

It was true. Castle felt the growing tension, small fights breaking out over silly things. Castle itself was starting to feel fractured, like it wanted to split apart just to keep the two separate. Maybe they were right. Maybe there could only be one ruler of Fairwitch Isle. But then, who would it be? Neither Lorcan nor Aoife would give up the crown, and Castle didn’t have the heart to choose. They both had such immense strengths; they both also had weaknesses.

“Maybe we should just let them fight it out,” Ambrose said, sending a look toward Wolfe. “Didn’t that work for you and your wife?”

“That’s right.” Cillian leaned back in his chair. “You were training Niamh every day, fighting with her, sparring, getting all sweaty and hot.” He waggled his brows.

Wolfe held up his hand. “Lor and Aoife are nothing like Niamh and me.”

Nevan leaned forward. “Still, maybe that’s not a bad idea.”

Ambrose took a drink of his wine and snorted. “What? Throw them in a ring together and let them fight with actual weapons? Then we’ll lose both our king and queen. It was just a joke, Nevan.”

“No.” Cillian straightened, and Castle knew that look on his face, his blue eyes glinting. He had an idea. “But what if instead of trying to matchmake them, we do the opposite?”

“Stop?” Wolfe asked in his growly low tone. “Exactly what I’ve been suggesting?”

Cillian waved away his older brother’s words. “No, I mean . . . what if we encourage them to hate each other?”

Nevan shot his brother an amused look. “How much have you had to drink, Cillian?”

Cillian rolled his eyes. “Didn’t that work for you and Enid?”

“I never hated Enid,” Nevan said quickly.

Cillian dragged a hand down his face, and Castle decided to stay in this room, listening, waiting to hear what its former high prince had to say. “No, I mean you both started falling for each other when you let go of that expectation, when you both decided it was fake and fun and nothing more.”

Nevan straightened. “So we remove the expectation? We stop trying to get them to like each other, and . . .”

“I don’t know,” Cillian said, frustration lacing his tone, and Castle felt that frustration down to its very foundation.

Ambrose leaned forward. “They’re so convinced Fairwitch Isle would be better off with just one of them. Lor thinks Aoife is too impulsive and temperamental, and Aoife thinks Lor is too rigid, too stubborn.”

“They’re both stubborn asses,” Wolfe murmured.

Nevan snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Maybe they need to see what it would be like without the other person; maybe then they can start to appreciate each other’s strengths.”