Page 29 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

His voice had an edge to it, an air of impatience that I’d fully expected.

“No,” I said. “This couldn’t wait.”

I gestured to the mound of dough sitting in front of him. “Start kneading.”

His jaw locked. “I don’t know how.”

“Then watch and learn.”

His dark eyes traveled down to my hands, and he stepped forward, actually doing what I’d told him to. “You do know we have cooks, chefs, who we pay to do this.” His strong hands pushed and pulled the dough, exactly in time with mine as he watched studiously.

“That’s right.” I tapped my chin. “I forgot how beneath you this is.”

“That’s not what I meant then, and it’s not what I mean now. I . . . I misspoke all those years ago, and I’m sorry for what I said. But that wasn’t my point.”

“Then what was your point?”

“We have schedules, roles for a reason. It’s what keeps order. It’s how we ensure things get done. Those road repairs are important. The harsh mountain weather has created holes, bumps, fissures. Just the other day, a child broke her ankle running through our streets. It’s unacceptable, and it’s our job to fix it, to make sure it’s being done correctly. Not to mention⁠—”

“Being a ruler isn’t all rules and schedules and meetings,” I said, my tone sharper than I meant. It was always sharp when I spoke with Lor, and I had a fine line to walk. Yes, I liked irritating the king, but I did genuinely want to show him that I was a capable queen, that if I could bring back the traditions of my people, show them their identity, use those traditions to bring everyone together, that I was the superior person for this job. “Do you ever just interact with your people? Get to know them? To understand their history?”

“No,” he said with a heavy sigh. “That’s not who I am. I like rules. I like schedules. I like efficiency. This feels like a waste of time.”

He didn’t say it with any malice, just like it was some unobstructed truth.

“Which is exactly why you need to do it.” I lifted the dough and stretched it as far as I could, peering at Lor through it.

He watched me so intently, so seriously, and I shifted, not knowing what to do when he wasn’t scowling at me.

I pushed the dough back into a ball. “It’s ready.”

A wooden board floated over to me, and I plopped the dough onto it, then shoved the board into the stone oven.

His hands pushed harder against the dough. Sunlight shone through the window, washing over his pale skin. “I don’t think this is beneath us,” he said after a short silence. “I just believe we all have a place in society.”

Except for me. I was queen of a world I didn’t understand. Playing by rules that made no sense. Trying to rule over a society that I no longer recognized. “So that’s it?” I asked, anger flaring at that answer, which sounded so similar to something Fairwitch would’ve said to justify their use of slaves. Like everyone was stuck in their position and couldn’t ever rise above it. “We’re just what society tells us we are.” I was what Lor told me I was. “We can’t change anything.”

“No.” He stopped kneading and turned to face me. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t mean that no one can rise above their station or change their life, and I certainly don’t mean to say I wouldn’t want them to. I just mean that we as leaders, as rulers, have our place. Not above our people, or any better than them, but as examples for them. If we don’t do our jobs, how can we expect anyone else to? Which is why I don’t understand the purpose of this.”

I put my hands over his on instinct, and he stiffened. We rarely touched, and I snatched my hands away as an unexpected bolt shot through me like I’d been struck by a spark of . . . something. Lor just stared at me, his hands flexing and clenching. “You’re going to overwork that dough,” I said. “It’s time to put it in the oven, and then I’ll show you exactly what we’re doing.”

I’d show him, show everyone, who the Fair Folk were, and maybe, I’d reclaim part of myself, my people, in the process.

CHAPTER 14

Lor

I’d come to the castle kitchens, ready to get into yet another argument with my wife, let her know I didn’t appreciate these games she was playing. Then I’d overheard her speaking with Elowyn, opening up to our castle chef more than she’d ever opened up to me.

Aoife never spoke about her time as a slave, not with me anyway, and I’d leaned against the outside of the door, soaking up the simple story she told about how she delivered bread to the other slaves in secret. It was brave and fearless. Something she no doubt would have been punished for by Fairwitch had the godwitch found out. But there was something else, a longing in her voice, a sadness, almost, that I didn’t understand. But I found myself wanting to. The only emotion I ever got from Aoife was scorn or anger, never anything else.

That story had melted my ire enough that I’d walked into the kitchen with my defenses down, having learned just a little more about my wife, tucking the piece of information away, holding onto it like a rare stone.

She’d given me instructions and let me help.

We’d spent hours baking, barely talking. I was afraid if we spoke any more it would only lead to another argument, and then I’d never get the chance to tell Aoife I’d play her game, but only if she played mine.

Finally we were done. A large woven basket sat on the floor, full of small loaves of bread. All different kinds: sweet bread, rosemary, sesame, and even a bread with chocolate swirls. We’d spent nearly the entire day doing this, and I was feeling on edge, itching to get back to the real world, to my real duties.