Page 90 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

Aoife’s brows raised in question. So she really had no clue what I’d been doing over this last week. Good. I’d hoped to surprise her, but I wasn’t actually sure I could pull it off.

“Sir Arthur.” Aoife shot the knight a look and placed a hand on his arm. “You are our last defense for our home. Should our city be breached, you must protect Castle at all costs. We need you here.”

“Ah, yes. Right you are, my queen. I will stay here and keep this castle safe. I swear it.”

He stepped aside, and I led Aoife out the castle doors.

“I told you they’re not fighting,” Tal whispered behind us to Barty.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Do you hear any yelling or screaming?”

“No.”

“Then they’re not fighting.”

I shook my head as we approached the wide, curved steps that led down toward the cobblestone road. We got to the bottom of the stairs, and Aoife sucked in a sharp breath as she stared at the town, which had been transformed.

Her hand floated to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, and I wasn’t sure if that meant I’d done good or very bad.

“I know it’s not your traditional Fairtine,” I said. “I wish you all could go to that same field. I wish you could have the Fairtine of your dreams. But until that day, I hope this will suffice.”

Our single cobblestone road was filled with people. We’d built fire pits that groups sat around, big bubbling pots of soup over a few of the fires, the scent of onions and garlic wafting through the air. At some fires, people sang, at others people conversed, and at others, they were eating or dancing. An older faerie who must’ve been at least ten thousand years old was passing out flowers, putting them in people’s hair or placing them in their outstretched palms.

Ambrose stood at a fire toward the bend in the road, and he sang a song in his low timbre. No instruments, just his voice, the song lulling and a bit sad, about a lost love.

Aoife still hadn’t said anything. She just stared at the festival. “This is . . .” She shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek.

I thumbed it away. “We can cancel this entire thing. I know it’s nothing like the original Fairtine. I just wanted to”—I shoved a hand through my hair—“be a little more like you, I suppose. Focus more on community and coming together than trying to fix an unfixable problem. And I should have run this by you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but now I’m realizing this is probably too much⁠—”

Her mouth crashed into mine, and she wound her arms around my neck. I tasted the salty tears on her lips as she kissed me hard. A long, slow, sumptuous kiss that set my body on fire.

“Thank you,” she said against my mouth. “Thank you for this. It’s wonderful.”

I was still reeling from that kiss that had nearly undone me. I wanted to grab my wife, throw her over my shoulder, and march her back into the castle so I could have my way with her. But I’d spent an entire week planning this festival, consulting with the Fair Folk to make sure every detail was perfect, and we were going to enjoy it. We were going to give our people hope on the eve of what might very well be war for all of us.

Aoife threaded her hand through mine and tugged me toward the revelry. “It’s time for your first Fairtine.”

CHAPTER 49

Aoife

Iaccepted a bowl of soup, the smell of roasted mushrooms, turnips, and thyme tickling my nose. It was a simple soup. One made from the only ingredients we could forage when we were enslaved, and it was the most delicious thing I’d tasted in a long time. It tasted like us. Like the Fair Folk. Simple but rich and layered.

Lor was speaking in hushed tones to Harriet, the captain of our guard, both of them

standing apart from the fire, probably speaking about the brotherhood, going over the latest reports from the scouts about their location.

“You did it, lovely,” a voice said from my side. “You brought back Fairtine.”

I looked over to see Ambrose smiling at me, the warmth of the fire lighting his blue hair.

“Ambrose.” I’d been so focused on my husband these last few weeks, I’d barely seen my friend. My former lover.

I’d kept this door between us open for so long, but it was time to close it.

He held up his hand. “It’s okay. I know.”