Page 22 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

So many nights of me using my own hand for relief, so many nights spent alone in my bed, missing the warmth of bodies, of people. We didn’t get our own fancy private chambers as slaves, and it wasn’t even necessarily sex that I missed—though I did miss that too—but just the sensation of sleeping next to someone, hearing their breath, feeling their heartbeat. All the Fair Folk now slept in their own homes, their own beds. Just another thing that had changed.

“Do you remember our last time?” I asked.

His jaw tightened.

Before Lor and I were betrothed—when I was still in denial over everything, convinced I could fight my fate. Little had I known that I’d met my match, someone who was possibly more stubborn than I was.

“Lor wouldn’t care.” My voice took on a whining tone as I could feel Ambrose distancing himself, his grip on me loosening, his gaze continually darting over my shoulder. “He’s made it clear this is an arranged marriage, nothing else. He doesn’t want me.”

I was so sick of having no choice in anything, and I was so very lonely. Lor barely even paid attention to me, so why shouldn’t I give into this?

Ambrose’s shoulders drooped. “I’ll always have feelings for you, lovely, but I suspect that’s the problem. I keep falling for the wrong women.” Now his gaze drifted to the healer, Enid, who danced with her husband, Nevan Wolfgang.

They gazed at each other like there was no one else in the room. Ambrose had told me about his affair with the demi-godwitch, which had ended abruptly when she started falling for Nevan.

“That’s not going to happen.” I gave his shoulders a shake. “Lor and I hate each other.” I thought of his antics from a few days ago. “That’s why you were involved in that ridiculous scheme the other day, the one trapping us together in that room.”

He gave a curt nod. “I can’t keep holding out hope, lovely. You might hate your husband, but he doesn’t hate you.”

“Yes he does,” I said.

“No.” He shook his head. “And believe it or not, I respect him. I respect what he’s trying to do.” I opened my mouth to argue more, but Ambrose held up a hand. “If, after a month, nothing has changed, then we can revisit this. We can talk about rekindling what we once had. For now, focus on this edict, on your husband.”

I flinched at the word. Husband. Master. Captor. All the same.

I swallowed my disappointment, but he was right. I had a job to do over the next month, and in order to do that job, I needed to focus all my energy on it, on getting my people to remember who we were, who their queen was.

The music changed, one of our old folk songs ringing out.

I smiled despite the sadness unfurling in me. “Do you remember the steps?”

Ambrose’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s been a long time, but I’m willing to try.”

We broke apart, both of us taking three steps backward, hands on our hips. We twirled around, and I threw my head back and laughed.

A few mortals stepped up, looking at our movements and copying them as Fair Folk joined in as well, remembering the steps to our beloved dance, one we’d made in defiance of the godwitches, to show them that they could force us to be their minions, but that didn’t mean they owned us. They’d never own certain parts of us. Just like Lor would never own certain parts of me, parts that I’d forgotten about myself. But I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

I nodded at the musicians on the stage, some of the Fair Folk who I’d asked to come and play. They upped the tempo, and I kicked out my feet before joining arms with Ambrose as he swung me round.

Several of the Fair Folk were teaching the mortals the steps, and some mortals had already picked up the dance, laughing and joining in, sharing in our culture, in our beliefs.

There was only one person I didn’t see anywhere on the dance floor. My gaze swiveled around the room as I searched for Lor, who was no doubt brooding somewhere. But even he wouldn’t be able to deny that this was what our people needed. Not some meeting that would go nowhere.

Ambrose swept me up in his arms, his golden eyes shining, flashing with a desire that, for all his words about letting me go, he couldn’t hide. Soon. Soon I’d give in to all my desires. I’d been so busy fighting Lor, so busy trying to convince him to do things my way that I hadn’t even realized I could just do these things myself, without his permission. Without following his rules.

A hand grabbed my arm, and Ambrose stiffened as he bowed his head. I already knew who it was without having to turn, could smell his musky scent, could feel the anger washing over me, though when I turned to face him, his expression was a mask of stone.

“Can I have this dance?” he asked, voice hard.

CHAPTER 10

Lor

Aoife stared at me, her golden eyes fiery as she raised her chin. “No. I already have a dance partner . . .” She trailed off as she turned to see Ambrose already walking away. “Bloody coward,” she muttered.

The music slowed, everyone cheering as they found partners and began swaying. I raised my eyebrows and lifted my hand in a gesture for Aoife to take it. As usual she wore no shoes, her feet bare. I didn’t care, necessarily, but to me it just showed a lack of control, a lack of propriety of any kind from this woman.

Arthon had berated me for much lesser crimes.