Page 25 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

I choked on my water, banging my chest until I cleared it from my throat. That would certainly be an image, watching Wolfe’s sweet-tempered librarian wife, who also happened to be pregnant, “kicking his ass.” Before Arthon, Wolfe had been the one instilling my morals in me. Wolfe had never been as extreme as Arthon in his methods, but like Arthon, he was principled, and I’d always strived to be as good as him.

Wolfe wiped sweat from his brow. “Look, Lor, Aoife is clearly taking Castle’s edict seriously. She’s going to do everything she can to get you to give up the crown.”

I heaved a sigh as a bead of sweat dripped from my chin to the grass. “I know, but I won’t stoop to her level. I refuse.”

The gargoyles both leapt to a stand, opening the castle’s back doors, and Fargus flew out, a scroll clutched in his talons.

“Your Majesty, a message from the queen.”

I straightened. Aoife never sent me messages and ignored most of mine.

She was up to something, as usual. I stretched out a hand as Fargus dropped the scroll so I could catch it. He landed in front of me, blinking, head tilting.

“Oh, is that a love note from the queen?” Barty asked from his position next to the door. The gargoyle was sitting again, hunched over, wings spread out behind him.

Tal looked over at his twin from the other side of the door. “Have you been living under a rock?”

Barty’s mouth turned down into a frown, sharp incisors peeking out. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Tal crossed his arms. “They hate each other.”

I winced. Even the gargoyle statues knew of the problems between me and my wife.

“They do?” Barty asked, shooting me a look.

“They argue worse than we do. Makes our arguments look like child’s play.”

My jaw clenched at that description, though I couldn’t even defend myself. The gargoyles bickered all the time, but at the end of the day, it was nothing like the heated fights Aoife and I got into.

“How do you know this?” Barty asked.

“Because unlike someone I know, I actually pay attention. You’re always daydreaming or dozing off. Plus I like to eavesdrop,” Tal said. “Breaks up the monotony of this job.”

“Okay.” Wolfe stood. “Off with you two.” He shooed the gargoyles away.

“Hey,” Barty said, gesturing to where he sat. “This is our stoop.”

“And now I’m telling you to go make somewhere else your stoop.”

The gargoyles huffed but listened, spreading their stone wings wide and flying up and over the castle out of view.

I looked at my advisor. “Do you know what this message is all about?”

“When Meera handed it to me she mentioned something about an invitation? That’s all I know, Your Majesty.”

An invitation? Knowing Aoife it would be an invitation to throw myself off the mountain. I unrolled the parchment, staring at the message.

“Well?” Wolfe asked. “What does it say?”

My brows furrowed as I studied the scroll. “She wants me to make bread with her.”

“What?” Fargus squeaked.

Wolfe’s lips twitched. “If Cillian were here, he’d ask if that’s a euphemism.”

“It’s not,” I said, sharper than I intended. Aoife had absolutely no interest in exploring that part of our relationship.

“Okay,” Wolfe said, instantly sobering. “So . . . she wants to make bread? That doesn’t sound like the worst thing.”