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I resent the obvious awe in her voice, but Gerald doesn’t appear to be insulted by her macabre musings. “Yes, quite marvelous indeed. Too bad horses can’t live with only three legs,” he says.

Cece shakes her head in disbelief. “What a witch.”

The old farmer tips his hat once more, saying goodnight to his horse for the last time, and I can’t help but screw my lids shut at the squeeze of the trigger.

The death of the beloved animal is agony.

The wheeze of Firenze’s last breath tramples my last defences, the gaping hole in his forehead oozing dark, burgundy blood. The light leaves his eyes, but his lids remain open.

Under the blue, cloud-streaked sky, Firenze’s dead eyes are as big as the moon.

Staring at me. Staring at my incompetence.

Tears roll down my cheeks, hot and prickly. Few things make grown men cry, but this is one of them, and the strangled sob Gerald fails to swallow echoes deeper in my soul than if he’d screamed.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Gerald.” I squeeze his hand, even though I shouldn’t. Royals aren’t supposed to touch commoners.

He clears his throat, taken aback by the gesture. “No need to worry, princess. An old man like me’s been through worse.”

The carriage ride home is filled with stories of the great horse, Cece eager to tell us about the time he lost a shoe in the river, while I recall the time I dyed his mane pink.

“Father was livid, of course. His proud stallion, full of pink braids right before church…” I explain between sobs, my eyes itchy from all the crying.

Cece cracks up, her laugh interrupted by an inopportune sneeze. “He was the best horse.”

Esme wraps her up in a hug. “There will be other horses, kid.”

“But none as good as him.”

“None as good, of course.” She kisses the top of Cece’s head. “But maybe…half as good?”

Cece grins through a sob and nods. “Yes. Maybe half as good.”

I stare out the carriage window with a slightly lighter heart, still feeling like I haven’t done enough. I could have at least tried to contact One or Lori or Baka. If I was more powerful, I might have been able to heal him.

If I could communicate with Cece while I’m in Faerie, I might have learned of Firenze’s illness sooner, and he’d still be with us.

Father is gone when we return. His minister tells us that pressing matters needed his attention at our borders with the neighboring country, Danu. While I’m sure he won’t forget my insubordination, I have a little time to grieve in peace.

The next couple of weeks, I stay home while Cece enjoys her first autumn out in society. My reputation is still in shambles, and my morale is not high enough to endure the unrelenting gossip.

I find myself removed from the mere thought of climbing back into Lundan’s elite good graces. Instead, I run at night, and spend the days reading through my empty schedule with an emptier heart.

Esme joins me late in the library one evening and reads out loud from my mother’s diary. “Whenever an unmarried woman finds herself in the middle of a scandal, the only sensible thing for her to do is to remove herself from the situation entirely. Assuming the scandal is not big enough to destroy her reputation, merely hinder it, she can hope for a fresh start in late winter. By then, boredom has settled deep enough in her peers for her to be a novelty again—and her faults merely welcomed entertainment.”

It’s intended to be a pep talk, the clever Fae using my dead mother’s wisdom to pacify me and encourage patience, but I feel numb.

“Did she write anything on the subject of being fed to the wolves for no good reason?” I crack.

Esme’s lips quirk in the shadow of a smile as she ignores my cheeky comment and continues to read. “When that time comes, a woman must be very careful. While second chances are viewed as honorable, thirds would just be vulgar.”

She fails to hide a snicker, and I raise my brows. “Do you really believe in all of this?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you miss Faerie? I mean—people here treat you differently. I’ve read about droughts, and most of them choose to stay in the new world. Why choose Demeter?”

“I wasn’t just condemned to exile, Miss Penny. I was to be slaughtered.” She closes the diary and bites her bottom lip.