Page 44 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

“She’s always been alone. Aoife the slave was made by Fairwitch. Aoife the Warrior Queen was made by the Fair Folk. Aoife the queen of Fairwitch was made by . . .”

“By me,” I said softly, wanting to kick myself for not understanding how that might feel.

Meera burst through the door to the parlor room, followed by Fargus, his wings flapping as he hovered over the cat.

“We have a problem, Your Majesty,” Fargus said.

“What is it?” I stiffened.

“Your wife is drunk,” Meera said.

“Why is that my problem?” I asked.

The cat jumped up onto the table. “She’s passed out in Ceri’s dress shop, and I don’t think she can walk home.”

“She’s at Best Dressed?” Cillian asked, nose wrinkling.

I rubbed my temples.

“I can get her,” Ambrose offered.

I shot to my feet. “No.” Aoife was my wife, and I would be the one to take care of her, even if she hated me for it.

CHAPTER 21

Lor

Aoife leaned on me as we walked through the dark streets of Fairwitch Isle, humming softly, not the angry, defensive queen I’d expected when I arrived at Ceri’s dress shop. I’d woken her up and led her out, and she’d let me.

Now we were nearing the castle, and I kept my arm around her waist, steadying her.

“You’re drunk,” she said, looking up at me with her golden eyes that were rimmed with green. “Wait.” She blinked. “No, I’m the one whose drunk.”

I huffed out a laugh as we approached the sweeping white stairs that led to the castle doors.

“Mr. Perfect would never get drunk,” Aoife said, words slurring as she stumbled into me, and I had to put both hands on her waist to steady her. “Not Lorcan Wolfgang.” She lowered her voice and adopted a mocking tone. “Kings must never get drunk. Kings must always be alert.”

“That’s what I sound like?” I asked. “No wonder you have a hard time listening to me speak.”

She giggled, then hiccupped. “You think I’m a terrible queen.”

I thought about what Ambrose had revealed to me, and I shook my head. “No I don’t.”

She looked up at me again, her eyelids heavy and drooping. “Yes you do,” she slurred, then tripped on the first step. “You’re just too polite to say it.”

I tightened my hold on her waist and righted her. “Okay, up you go. One at a time.”

She pushed away from me. “I know how to walk up steps. I’m not a baby. You’re a baby if anything. I’ve got thousands of years on you.”

She pointed at me while tripping again, but she caught herself and made it to the top.

“The queen is drunk.” Barty sprang to his feet, pointing a long talon at Aoife.

“Whoa,” Tal said, also standing and cocking his head. “And she’s not fighting with His Majesty.”

I came up to a stand beside Aoife right as she started tipping over, her balance completely off. I caught her, and her hands pressed to my chest, heat flickering where they lay, the pressure of her body on mine feeling so foreign and surprisingly good.

“We were just arguing,” Aoife said, directing her attention to the gargoyles.