Page 41 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

So much for not thinking about Lor. It seemed my drunken mind only wanted to think about him.

Marsten and Ceri shot each other a look I didn’t understand, then Marsten leaned forward, propping his chin in his hands.

I sighed, the alcohol making my brain fuzzy but good. “Lor just wants a queen to bow to his will. He doesn’t want a partner. He makes the rules, and I follow them.”

Meera gave me a pointed look. “You do not follow them.”

Ronan snorted. “Sounds about right.”

I was getting tired of this prisoner and his commentary, but I also couldn’t help the curiosity that rose in me at his words. He’d known Lor in a capacity none of us had. He’d known Lor the butcher. Not Lor the good king.

“What does that mean?” I asked the prisoner.

He tugged on one of his tight curls, and it bounced like a spring. “He was the same way in the brotherhood is all I meant.” He held up his hands as if to tell me he meant no harm. “He was never much of a team player.”

“I wonder why.” Ceri tapped her chin. “All the Wolfgangs work so well together. They love community. Well, except Wolfe, but that’s mainly because he’s a huge grump.”

Ronan leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Lor was always different. He never celebrated raids or killings like we did. He took everything so seriously. I think a lot of it weighed on him. I always respected him for it. Respected how regimented and controlled he was. Now I know it was because he was just playing a role. He never wanted to help the brotherhood or further our goals. He was just trying to destroy us the whole time.”

“He was trying to save you,” Marsten said gently before I could snap at the man again. “That’s what he’s always trying to do.”

Ronan nodded. “Yes, well, either way, Lor’s always been controlling. Not surprising when his mentor was Arthon.”

“Who’s Arthon?”

Ronan shook his head. “Another traitor. He was the butcher before Lor. He was also the leader of the rebels. He recruited Lor to take his place. All things I’ve found out from Lor while I’ve been stuck here. Arthon was . . . a difficult man. He wasn’t easy on Lor. He held him to a higher standard than everyone else, and we all thought it was because he wanted Lor to continue to build the fearsome reputation he’d built as the Butcher of the Brotherhood. I guess the real truth wasn’t much different: Arthon wanted Lor to be the best he could as the rebel leader. Either way, Arthon was cold, rigid, and he punished Lor often for not meeting his standards.”

“What did he do?” I asked, a pit forming in my stomach. Arthon sounded so familiar to Fairwitch.

Ronan’s face paled. “Not my story to tell. But it’s amazing Lor survived all that. Arthon built him to be an arbitrator of justice, put a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, and constantly made him feel not good enough. Lor is who he is because of that man.”

Sympathy filled me. I’d never actually stopped to think why Lor felt the need to control everything and everyone. I’d lumped him in the same class as the godwitches—a dictator who just wanted everyone to bend to his will. I’d always known that wasn’t fair, but hearing Ronan’s side of it made me regret thinking of Lor that way.

“It sounds like he has what all of us have,” Ceri said.

“What’s that” I asked softly.

She bit her bottom lip. “Baggage.”

“I don’t think His Majesty just wants a queen to bow to his will,” Marsten said as if he’d just read my thoughts. “I think you both have different ideas about how to run Fairwitch Isle, and I think we could use both your strengths. Besides, I’ve seen the way the king looks at you.” Marsten shot me a suggestive look.

I stiffened. “With hatred in his eyes? With a fiery rage? With impatience and exasperation?”

All things I’d experienced with Lorcan Wolfgang.

Marsten tilted his head. “Mm, no not quite. More like with . . . longing.”

I jerked like he’d slapped me. “No, whatever you saw, you saw wrong. I’m a thorn in Lor’s side. He’d be far happier if he’d never broken my curse.”

Ronan had slumped back in his chair, quiet again.

“That’s not true.” Ceri grabbed a piece of cheese and chewed on it, face thoughtful. “Lor is . . . well he’s always been impatient, sort of. Like he’s frustrated that he clearly knows the right way to do things, and he’s waiting for everyone else to catch up. But he normally is right.”

That was what irked me the most about him. That as much as I disliked his ideas, they were good ideas.

“My point is,” Ceri continued, “Lor would never wish he hadn’t broken your curse.”

Hope flickered in my heart, a quiet voice whispering that maybe Ceri was right, which was ridiculous because I didn’t care if Lor regretted breaking my curse.