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He smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t believe it. Just because you have a heart filled with the dust of a thousand library stacks does not mean everybody does. Here.”

He handed me a small book with a leather cover, plain in an expensively crafted sort of way. His journal.

“I don’t bother writing in it often,” he began.

“I could count on one hand how often,” I said. “Were I missing half my fingers.”

He ignored me. “But I made an effort to document things more consistently after you ran off with the king. You are so obsessed with recording everything about our time here; I thought you would appreciate it. I have marked the entries detailing my conversations with the villagers.”

I was tempted to make some remark to answer his library dust comment, but in truth, I was a little humbled by his thoughtfulness.

“Thank you,” I said finally. “I will—I will confine my reading to the indicated entries only.”

He was only partly listening to me, his attention absorbed by the mirror that hung by my bed, in which he was frowning at his reflection and tugging his cloak this way and that.

“I thought you had only a little common fae ancestry,” I said, trying to suppress my amusement—though not very hard, I admit.

He scowled. “It is a little. I have three other grandparents, all highborn, including a king and queen.”

I nodded, pretending to ponder this. Then I said, “There’s a bump in your nose now.”

He glared at me. “There is not.”

“Your mouth is lopsided.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but then he just let out a weary groan. “What is the point? I am hideous. I can’t wait to change myself back again.”

“Don’t. I prefer you like this.”

He looked surprised, then he began to smile. “Do you?”

“Yes,” I said. “You blend into the background. I could almost forget about you entirely. It’s refreshing.”

Naturally, he found a way to twist this into a compliment. “And am I ordinarily a distraction to you, Em?”

He rose to leave, flicking his fingers at the servant, who grumbled and began to stir. “Your attendants will become suspicious if I tarry much longer,” he said. “I will send you a note with your veil to clarify your role in tomorrow’s events. Perhaps it will soothe your conscience to know that it is a small one.”

As he retreated, he seemed to melt into the grey daylight shadows, and I felt a sudden stab of terror. I didn’t want him to leave.

Actually, I wanted him to stay, which was almost but not quite the same thing. I realized with a horrible sort of clarity that I had missed him.

“What is the date?” I said.

He paused, and told me.

“A month,” I murmured. “I was off by a month.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s not bad. Most mortals can watch years slip by in Faerie and think them mere days.”

“Wendell,” I said. “I should—I mean, everything you’ve done for me, I—”

“Oh dear,” he said. “That’s how I know you’ve really and truly been enchanted—you are getting mushy. You will kill me later if I enjoy the moment, so I’ll leave you to profess your gratitude to the walls. And anyhow, I must finish your dress.”

I did not see him and Shadow leave the room, though I knew they were gone. My servant propped herself up on one elbow, blinking her frosty eyelashes in confusion. Before she had a chance to open her mouth, I berated her for falling asleep and bid her to send in my next visitor.

30th January—later (presumably)

It was some time before I was able to escape from visitors and their interminable questions about my nuptials—which I do not recall answering, though I suppose I must have done. Then I banished my servants to the doorway of my bedroom and settled by the window in an overstuffed white chair that looked like a frozen cake to read Wendell’s journal.