Page 155 of As Above, So Below

It seems she has a pouch at her waist full of them.

“There’s been chatter amongst the staff about how you look just like Celesta.” She hums as she continues to work.

Oh, here we go.

Of course the castle staff would speculate on my resemblance. Naturally they’d chatter on who I was, their Sovereign King had been seen carrying in a silver-haired fae female, sharing a roomwith her at night… How could they not be curious?

I release a long sigh.

“While the resemblance is clear, you have a touch of wildness to you. Celesta is too…” She furrows her dark brows as she considers her next words, struggling for a moment to find them. “Coordinated, too put-together, too pristine. Your beauty isn’t in that you look like her, it’s in how you don’t. Of course, Celesta is beyond beautiful, she is a goddess. But you, you’re real.”

Her words almost sound like blasphemy. Not something I’d be brave enough to admit as a human, especially in a city filled with fae who’ve devoted their lives to the goddess.

Blinking slowly, I stare at her in the reflection of the mirror while she continues to secure pins in my hair. She’s swept it up, out of my face, leaving a few tendrils free near my pointed ears. It’s a much more skilled rendition of what Cora and I had attempted a couple nights ago.

The thought of Cora grips my heart in ice and I inhale sharply.

“There,” Oraphia breathes, pulling her hands away as she meets my eyes through the reflection of the mirror. “Finished in time, too.” She smiles.

She ushers me out of the chair, forcing me to stand, and carries the chair back to where she had retrieved it. I watch her through the mirror as she flits about, organizing and collecting the few things she had withdrawn from her apron.

A knock at the door sounds and with a smile, Oraphia sweeps across the room to answer. I stare after her as she moves, frozen. A wide grin spreads across her face as she reaches for the door, and stepping back, she swings it open, dipping into a curtsy at the same time.

For whatever reason, my heart decides now is an appropriate time to sprint off to the races. It beats so fast I’m sure it will vanish into the horizon before I can draw a full breath.

Ryc steps into the room and his face turns, his eyes finding mine in less time than it takes for my fluttering heart to beat. He watches the rise and fall of my chest, the bob of my throat as I swallow, before lifting his eyes to meet my stare.

His gold eyes are a color I could lose myself in for an eternity.The color is so easy to catch on, bright against the black of his attire and hair.

“Thank you, Oraphia,” he says, his voice low, his eyes remaining locked on mine. There’s something in the tone of his voice that sends a chill down my spine.

She bobs another curtsy before passing behind him and closing the door softly after her. Ryc and I stand in silence, staring at one another.

If I didn’t know it before, I know it now.

I’m falling in love with this fae.

This strange, wonderful, terrifying creature I’ve dreamed of for centuries.

I cannot explain the draw.

I cannot explain the feelings.

When he looks at me, as he’s doing now, I never want him to look away. I don’t want him to look at anyone else the way he looks at me. In an attempt to save myself from teetering into a tailspin, I draw in a long, deep breath and my eyes catch on the silver circlet resting upon his brow. As if his entire being wasn’t enough to remind me of the impossibility ofus, there sits the biggest sign of them all.

I’ve never seen him wear it.

The day in the South Ward, when he rode beside Tanila through the streets—he didn’t even wear it then.

I nearly forget to breathe as he approaches. His hand rises from his side, a pair of dark blue heels hooked in his fingers. The finishing touches of the ensemble he’s curated for me.

With no words passing between us, Ryc’s smile threatens to set me on fire as he sinks to his knees. His eyes don’t leave mine as he sets the shoes on the floor and gently grasps the back of my heel. He lowers his head as he places a shoe upon my foot, his touch gentle.

The sight of his bowed head at the level of my hips causes my mind to go blank. With an incredibly gentle touch, he ensures the shoe is seated properly before allowing me to return my weight to it. The height difference causes me to rise a couple of inches, forcing me to brace my hands on his shoulders. He gives me amoment to find stability before grasping my other foot.

After placing the second shoe, he tilts his face up, a lazy half-grin on his lips as he rises. Capturing his face in my hands, he freezes, staring at me as I pull myself into him, drawing him into me.

“Stop this.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re asking for something I cannot give.”