Page 37 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

“We lost a lot of Fair Folk during our uprising against the godwitches,” I said. “I mourned every one of them, but they understood what they were signing up for. They understood that they were putting their lives at risk. Ronan knew that too. You can’t be responsible for everyone’s life, Lor. You’re not the godwitch of death. You’re just a man, and you’re doing your best.”

His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome. But you have to do something about this.” I gestured toward Ronan. “If you don’t, I will.”

He blew out a breath.

“Tell the council. Let them decide his fate.”

His jaw locked. Lor didn’t like anyone making decisions for him, but this was one decision that had to be made.

I expected him to argue like he always did. I expected this to turn into a fight. But Lor just gave a slight shake of his head before saying, “Okay,” defeat filling his voice.

We sat side by side like that for a long time, legs barely touching, silence stretching between us with all the things unsaid. I’d learned something about Lor today that I hadn’t known. I’d seen this vulnerable side of him that somehow made him more human. It should’ve delighted me knowing this man I’d hated for so long had a weakness after all, one I could use against him. Instead, it just made me doubt my plans, and that was something I couldn’t afford to do.

CHAPTER 18

Lor

Istood in the dungeon with Wolfe, Fargus, Meera, Aoife, and the rest of the council.

Somehow Sir Arthur had also gotten involved. “Scum!” the suit of armor bellowed as he jabbed his wooden sword through the bars at Ronan. “Scoundrel! Ballywagger!”

Wolfe’s brows furrowed as someone murmured, “Ballywagger? That’s a new one.”

Ronan just stepped back, unimpressed by the sentient knight and everyone else standing in front of his cell staring at him.

Wolfe rubbed his bearded jaw as he shot me a look. “You said you killed him.”

“I know.”

It had been a relief when Aoife had followed me, when someone had finally discovered this secret that had been weighing me down. I simply couldn’t make a choice. On the one hand, letting him live put Fairwitch Isle at risk, but on the other, killing him in cold blood . . . it felt wrong. I’d already spilled so much blood as the Butcher of the Brotherhood. I couldn’t stand the thought of any more crimson staining my hands.

Arthon would’ve known what to do. He would’ve made the hard choice and killed Ronan. This was just another way I’d disappoint my mentor.

No excuses. Be better. Do better.

When Aoife had said I needed to tell the council, I finally felt like I could breathe again, and now here they were.

Wolfe swore softly and other council members that surrounded us spoke in hushed whispers.

Ambrose stroked his clean-shaven jaw, his blue hair so bright in this dark, dimly lit dungeon. “Is it not obvious to anyone else that we should just kill him?” He looked around at all the faces of the council members in the dungeon. “Why is this even something we have to discuss?”

“I’ll do it.” Sir Arthur raised his wooden sword into the air. “In the name of their majesties. I’ll get the guillotine ready.”

“Sir Arthur.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “We do not use guillotines any longer.”

“We can’t just kill a man in cold blood,” Fargus said from where he perched on Wolfe’s shoulder.

Ambrose’s face twisted into a confused expression. “It’s not cold blood. He’s the enemy. He’d destroy us if he could.”

“I agree.” Aoife stepped forward, not even bothering to look at me. “We shouldn’t risk it.”

My hands balled into fists. Of course she wanted to kill him. She was temperamental and part of this was probably her way of getting under my skin. I’d sat next to her yesterday in this dungeon, and I’d revealed more about myself than I meant to, things I hadn’t told anyone. I’d been too tired, too emotionally drained to care. I’d shown her this vulnerability, and she was going to use it against me.

Ronan didn’t move, just stared at the ground. His curly black hair, unkempt, hung over his eyes.

“No,” I said, voice hard. “We keep him here for just a little longer.”