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“Finding one’s mate should be the most pleasurable of pursuits.”

A Seelie Guide to Matrimony

I n the kingdom of Willowhaven, fae are not permitted to marry before the age of twenty-five. Having grown up with an older brother, I’m not certain that twenty-five years is long enough for the men of our kind to mature.

My brother Theo vehemently agreed, downright refusing to leave our tiny mountain village of Gravale until our father forced him out of the house at twenty-eight.

I, on the other hand, have been waiting for this day ever since I was a little girl. With my twenty-fifth birthday on the horizon, it’s finally my chance to find a love of my own.

A few weeks ago, Father gave me two options: I could either stay on the freezing mountain and hope a man near my own age would happen upon our village, or I could spend the next six months in the capital city of Rosehill with my cousin Nia.

Needless to say, I chose the latter.

Which brings me to this moment, nestled inside a plush carriage with crushed velvet pillows and damask curtains that sway each time we hit a bump in the road, staring out at a city even more beautiful than I imagined.

Don’t get me wrong, Gravale was picturesque, with its sweeping vistas and snow-capped peaks, but this part of the kingdom is more refined. More alive. Cattle and sheep dot the endless emerald fields. The perfume of roses and lilacs drifts with the gentle breeze, sweeter than any dessert I’ve ever tasted.

Outside the carriage’s lattice windows, thatch-roofed cottages wait in perfect rows, their gardens overflowing with the first blooms of spring. Birdsong and excited chatter fill the air, the world rousing from a solitary winter slumber.

There are people everywhere , more than I’ve ever seen in once place.

Families share tables outside pastel teahouses that line either side of the street; a crowd gathers on the steps of a temple; a couple embraces beneath an ivy-covered archway near the fountain.

I cannot believe I’m finally here.

My reflection wobbles in the wavy glass as I shift on the cushion. Drats . The daisies I tucked into the braid at my crown have wilted. Not exactly the look I was going for. If I pick them out now, there’s no guarantee I’ll get them all. I’d rather a bevy of sad flowers in my hair than have it look as if I rolled around in a field and accidentally picked up some floral hitchhikers.

The driver rolls to a stop in front of a sandstone cottage with fern-green sills and shutters. Blooming vines climb the corners, stretching green and purple fingers toward the thatched roof.

My mother always promised to bring us here, but Father wasn’t quite as keen. Although he attended university in Rosehill, his heart has always belonged to the mountains.

I rub at the familiar pinching sensation in my chest. If only she could have made it back, just this once.

The carriage door swings wide, and I step down onto a slab of stone curving toward my aunt and uncle’s arched doorway.

When I thank the driver, his lips tip into a smile beneath his bushy gray mustache before he rounds the carriage to collect my trunk.

This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. The beginning of the rest of my life.

Not everyone gets to reinvent themselves at twenty-five, but I do.

And I don’t plan on squandering the opportunity.

The cottage door bursts open, startling me out of my reverie. A woman flies through the gap, the colorful ribbons adorning her stark-white curls trailing behind her like a rainbow. It might have been ten years since I last saw Nia Quill, but I’d recognize that crazy, cackling laugh anywhere.

I open my arms and plant my feet, bracing for the collision. She hits me so hard that we nearly end up in the ferns lining the path. She smells of jasmine and laughter and that mystical sweetness that clings to childhood memories.

“I cannot believe you’re really here!” she squeals, drawing back, her shapely brows lifting and her gaze sweeping from my slippers to my gown. “And look at you. Your hair is so long!”

“I know.” I had planned on cutting it before coming, but we only have one salon in Gravale and it’s only open once a month.

Nia’s snowy curls bounce as she shakes her head. “It’s stunning, Kerris. Truly. And the color. I would kill for this shade.”

The lilac hue washes me out in the winter, but a few days in this glaring sun should remedy that.

Nia’s smile widens, showing off the smallest gap in her front teeth. “The men of Rosehill will be falling over themselves to court you.”

“Please. With women like you around, I can’t see them paying me the least bit of attention.” Where did she get such a beautiful dress? The floral corset makes her waist look so tiny.

I press a hand to my own stomach, soft from too many desserts. Old Bonnie always told me that I could be slimmer if I tried. But I refuse to let my desire for trimmer hips and a smaller waist hinder my happiness. And sweets make me happy.

Any man worth his salt will love me either way.

Nia takes me by the shoulders. “When I turn twenty-five this August, we can celebrate me. Until then, it’s your time to shine.”

The cottage door opens once more, revealing a wafer-thin woman with short-cropped white hair that curls beneath her sharp jaw. “Good heavens!” She tumbles back, barely catching herself on the doorframe.

Nia rolls her eyes. “Calm down, Mother. It’s only Kerris.”

Aunt Cordelia blinks, then shakes her head as the color slowly returns to her cheeks. “Right. Of course it is. I’m sorry, but for a moment, I thought you were my sister.”

My chest starts to tighten all over again.

“You are very welcome, dear,” my aunt goes on. “It’s been far too long.”

Swallowing past the growing lump in my throat, I offer a warm smile. “Thank you so much for having me.” I never would’ve been able to afford rent in the city without her generosity.

“Sure, what else could we do? Leave you to choose one of those mountain heathens? I think not!”

My father may be a “mountain heathen,” but he is a good man. That is my only condition for a partner, someone who can love me the way my father loved my mother.

Just don’t ask me how I’m supposed to do that in only six weeks. It’s not a requirement to find a mate by one’s twenty-fifth birthday, but for women, every year after twenty-five seems to make her less desirable, whereas men only become more sought-after.

It’s asinine and makes no sense whatsoever, but I don’t make the rules.

I’m merely governed by them.

My aunt disappears back into the house with a shout for my uncle to bring my trunk inside.

Looping her arm through mine, Nia tugs me toward the cottage. “Tell me all your news.” Under her breath, she adds, “And by news, I mean, your requirements for a mate. Are you interested in men or women? Would you rather they have light or dark hair? How tall should they be? Do you prefer someone who works with their hands or an office sort? Personally, I’d go for the first. There’s something about a man with calloused hands that makes my blood sing.”

Coming from a place where my only options for a mate were older than the hills themselves, I hadn’t considered anything beyond finding one with a good heart. Nia speaks about partners as if creating a shopping list for the market. “I prefer men, but beyond that, I honestly don’t know.”

“Fear not. You can have your pick of any man in this city.” She comes to an abrupt halt on the stoop, the hem of her robin’s-egg blue skirts sweeping against my ruffles. “Anyone except Nolan Graham. He’s mine.” A blush blooms across her freckled cheeks as she peers at me through honey-colored eyes. “If that’s all right with you?”

As if I would ever set my sights on someone who is already spoken for. “This is your home, Nia. It’s only right that you should have first pick.”

“If you find a husband in Rosehill, then it will be your home too.”

My stomach flutters at the thought. Imagine living in this splendid city, with all this activity right on your doorstep. Back home, the most exciting thing that happened was the yearly Festival of Goats.

It’s just as uninteresting as it sounds.

Nia’s gaze darts to something at my back. “ Oh, bollocks .”

The unexpected exclamation makes me snort.

A woman with canary tresses coiled in perfect ringlets saunters up the lane, a peony-pink parasol draped over her equally pink shoulder.

“Who is that?” I whisper.

“Quite possibly the worst fae to have ever been born: Ivee Lynch.” Nia spits the woman’s name like a curse.

The young woman drifts past the gate with two others babbling behind her in matching celery-green chiffon.

The trio are almost to the lilacs when Ivee’s head swings toward the house. Her footsteps slow, a frown marring her brow as she comes to a stop by the forsythia. “Nia Quill? Is that you lurking on the stoop?”

Nia stiffens. “ Shit .”

I throw my hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter, but it’s too late.

Ivee’s narrowed gaze slithers over to me. “Who is that with you? I haven’t seen her face before.”

“Nosey bitch,” Nia mutters under her breath as she tugs me back into the warm sunlight. Her tight smile reminds me of those creepy porcelain dolls I’ve seen in shop windows. “Ivee, so good to see you. This is my cousin Kerris Dawn. She’s turning twenty-five on the fourteenth of May and has come down from Gravale for a husband.”

The women in green trade wide-eyed glances while Ivee tugs the lace on her white kid gloves, her painted lips curling back in a sneer. “Welcome to Rosehill, Kerris. A word of advice: If you wish to find a husband in this city, you should purchase a gown from this century.”

With a flick of her skirts, Ivee and her friends continue sauntering down the lane.

My cheeks feel like they’ve been set ablaze, and it has nothing to do with the sunlight dancing through the maple leaves.

Ruffles tickle my palms when I smooth a hand down my skirts. “What’s wrong with my dress?” This is the nicest one I packed. The nicest one I own .

Nia pulls me back toward the house. “Don’t listen to that jealous cow. She’s just angry because she doesn’t turn twenty-five until the end of June and all the men will be chasing after you instead.”

Rosehill is the largest city in the kingdom; surely there are more than enough eligible partners to go around without having to fight over them.

Men are hardly worth such fuss.

Nia and I hurry up the stairs, through a cramped foyer, and into the heart of my aunt and uncle’s home. To the right sits the living area with a floral sofa and a patterned rug. Bookshelves extend toward the plaster ceiling on either side of a barren stone fireplace.

If I follow the delicious scent of apples and cinnamon through the low door to my left, I bet I’ll find the kitchen.

Nia pauses at the base of a whitewashed staircase, assessing me once more while her fingers tap against her lips. “Although, we should probably find you something else to wear. Do you have anything without ruffles?”

“I’m not sure I do.” Apparently, ruffles were in fashion before my mother left Rosehill.

“Never mind. I have plenty of dresses you can borrow.”

Is she mad? “I would never fit into one of your dresses.” Not only is my chest three times the size of hers, but she’s also a head taller than me.

“Of course you will. We just have to find one that covers those.” She nods at my chest, then waggles her eyebrows. “I’m telling you, Kerris, by the time I’m finished with you, the whole city will know your name.”