Page 7 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

He and Ambrose had become good friends over the last few years, both of them no doubt bonding over the fact that they didn’t take anything seriously enough.

“He won’t throw you over a cliff,” I said. “Let’s take a minute to⁠—”

Before I could finish that sentence, Arthur backed Ambrose up into a door I hadn’t even noticed existed. That happened sometimes with Castle. Doors appeared out of nowhere. Rooms popped up or disappeared.

The two of them burst through the door and into the dark room, and I shoved a hand through my hair. I did not have time for this. I was supposed to be finding my wife and dragging her to our border inspection, not breaking up fights between a sentient object and one of the Fair Folk.

“You should probably go after them,” Cillian said, nodding toward the door, a glint in his eyes.

I shook my head and stalked after them and into the room, where I stopped short right inside the doorway.

A table was set with candles, two glasses of wine, and two silver platters. A harp sat in the corner, the strings plucking themselves and playing a soothing hymn.

“Don’t you surrender, you coward!” Sir Arthur roared, but Ambrose was no longer fighting him, instead gesturing toward one of the chairs, a lopsided grin on his face, his golden eyes sparkling.

“Have a seat,” he said to me in his usual jovial tone.

“What is this?” I asked, not liking the situation, which I didn’t entirely understand. Maybe that was what I didn’t like about it.

A portal of glittering gold magic appeared, and I smelled her before I saw her: she always had this smokey scent, one laced with plum and leather. I swallowed thickly as Aoife appeared.

The golden magic glowed over her deep russet skin, her long dark hair flowing down her back. Leather trousers hugged her thick thighs and wide hips, a sleeveless tunic tucked into them. She was a fearsome sight with her golden eyes flashing and her fierce expression. I could see how she’d earned the nickname “the warrior queen.” She certainly lived up to it.

“What is happening now?” she asked. “Margaret told me you were fighting the armor,” she said to Ambrose, not even noticing me, and it stung the way she looked with concern over the faerie, the way she stepped toward him so intimately, laying a hand on his arm.

“You know, I think we resolved our differences. We’re going to leave now.” Ambrose began shoving Sir Arthur out the door.

“We have certainly not resolved our differences,” Sir Arthur shouted. “You must pay for threatening me!”

“What is happening?” I asked, whirling to see Ambrose’s and Cillian’s mischievous smiles before they shut the door in my face. I attempted to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“We’ll let you out after you’ve had a meal together,” Cillian said from the other side.

“And a conversation!” Ambrose added.

I understood why my brother might scheme to get me and Aoife in the same room, but I didn’t understand why Ambrose would be part of this. I saw the way he looked at my wife, knew there was some history between them that I didn’t understand and Aoife would never reveal to me.

“I’m going to kill you both for this,” Aoife said, a lilt to her voice that always gave her threats this lyrical quality. Even when they were aimed at me.

“That is why we plan to go into hiding,” Ambrose said. “But that still doesn’t change the fact that the only way you’re getting out of that room is by sitting down and having a fecking meal together.”

They’d planned this. They’d staged that fight to get me and Aoife in the same room. A throbbing headache formed in my temple, and I slowly turned to see Aoife staring at me, daggers in her eyes. Maybe this would be our chance to talk, to work out this schedule change nightmare that she was clearly upset about.

“I can just portal out, you bloody idiots,” Aoife said.

“You could,” Cillian agreed as I slowly turned and sat down.

“What are you doing?” Aoife whispered. “Don’t sit down.”

“I’m eating. Would you like to join me?” I asked as a cloth napkin appeared on my lap.

So Castle was somehow in on this too.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she snapped. “I’m leaving.”

“And then what? We do need to talk, you know. You can’t avoid me forever. And they won’t stop. They’ll keep finding ways to push us together.”

“He’s right!” Ambrose called. “We’re very persistent!”