Page 16

16

“Sometimes love is a whisper.”

Celeste Hanson Dawn, An Observation

M y lashes flutter open, and all I can do is stare up at the beams on the ceiling. What time is it? It feels as if I just closed my eyes, but according to the clock on the mantle, it’s almost noon. The last time I slept this late was…

I can’t remember ever sleeping through breakfast.

I throw the covers aside and sit up. The book on the Unseelie clatters to the carpet from where I must’ve dropped it in my sleep. My head feels heavy, as if filled with cotton wool. I slip out of the bed to retrieve the book, setting it on my bedside table next to the flower Ronan brought me two days before.

Thanks to the water in the vase, the shimmering petals look even healthier than they did yesterday.

As beautiful as the flower may be, when I think of the prince, there is a distinct lack of fluttering in my stomach. In contrast, when I think of a certain Unseelie, I have to clutch the sheets to keep the butterflies from lifting me clean off the floor.

This is a problem.

A big one.

One that could easily be solved by putting said Unseelie out of my mind.

But how am I supposed to do that when I can still hear the deep rumble of his voice and feel the dark sweep of his gaze upon my skin?

Thankfully, quelling the whine in my stomach provides the perfect distraction from these troubles of my own making.

By the time I dress and go downstairs, everyone is already sitting at the kitchen table for lunch.

Nia’s lips twist as she dips her spoon in and out of her bowl. “Good morning. Or should I say afternoon?”

It’s like she can see straight through me to those damn butterflies. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I never sleep this long.” A sheepish smile insists on taking over my lips as I collect a bowl from the counter, filling it with hearty vegetable soup. When I find brown bread still warm from the oven sitting next to a dish of smoked salmon, my heart leaps. I snag two slices on my way past, carrying everything over to the table.

My aunt stretches a hand across the table, pressing a cool palm to my forehead the same way my mother used to when I’d complain of any ailment.

It’s amazing how something so small and seemingly insignificant can make one’s eyes burn.

“You do feel a little warm,” she muses. “Hopefully you aren’t coming down with something. I hear Mrs. Willis’s youngest has had an awful fever for the last week.”

Since I have no clue who Mrs. Willis or her youngest are, I assume I haven’t caught whatever ails them.

If my family knew with whom I spent my night, they’d probably blame Everett for my lie-in and insist I bathe to keep the warts away.

The memory of how small my hand looked in his when he used his water to heal me sends my stomach fluttering anew.

This is a big, big problem.

Nia taps her spoon against her smirking lips. “Another dress arrived from Madame Ella this morning.”

Hopefully this one fits. The skirt on the last one was far too long.

“And one of your admirers left something for you as well,” she singsongs over her soup.

The prospect of a charming prince or a handsome scholar dropping off gifts doesn’t excite me as much as it should.

Unless one of them brought desserts. Now, that sounds enticing.

Nia nods toward the solitary silver flower in the vase by the ice box.

“That’s from Ronan.” A heaviness that feels a lot like disappointment spreads through my chest. Perhaps I am coming down with something.

Nia’s smile widens. “Nolan says that he has never heard of Ronan Reve giving anyone flowers before.”

“You should consider yourself very lucky, Kerris,” my aunt says with the barest hint of a smile. “Many women would kill to be in your position.”

I should consider myself lucky, except…

A pair of dark eyes flashes through my mind, and my heart pinches at the memory of Everett so gallantly crossing the border simply to escort me home. I’m dying to tell Nia, but that would mean admitting to breaking my promise. They say all’s well that ends well, but I’m not entirely sure that would be the case here.

The three of us chat about the upcoming Beltane festival over our stew. Apparently, the king considered changing the date of the celebration from the first of May to the second since the first fell on a Wednesday. Ultimately, his advisory committee voted to keep it on the same day. However, the Seelie are to stay inside until after five to be sure the Unseelie are all gone.

Did it ever cross their minds to invite the Unseelie? That this would be the perfect opportunity to come together in celebration of a new season?

Having slept through breakfast, I help myself to a second serving of soup to help me survive until dinner. Afterward, Nia and I clean the dishes while her mother rolls crust for a strawberry rhubarb pie. We offer to help, but she tells us there’s no need on her way out to the chicken coop.

My mouth waters as I stare longingly at the flecks of sugar glittering atop the dough lattice. I’m not sure I can wait for it to be baked. “Would you like to go to town? I’m craving chocolate cake.” Or raspberry macaroons. Or some gooey banoffee pie.

Perhaps I’ll purchase all three.

“You know me. I never miss a chance to go to town.”

Unless it’s Wednesday, I muse silently, snagging the towel to dry my own hands.

Part of me wishes it was Wednesday so that I could sneak out to meet Everett.

I really need to stop thinking about him. If I’m not careful, this obsession is going to consume me.

The new silver flower catches my eye. Perhaps that will help.

I pluck the bloom from the vase.

When I tuck the flower behind my ear, Nia’s eyes widen from where she waits in the doorway, parasol in hand. “Just so you know, Ronan will take that as a declaration.”

Shrugging, I throw open the door. “He might.”

“He absolutely will,” she counters, skipping down the path beside me. “Does this mean you’ve made a decision? Are you going to be the next Queen of Willowhaven?”

“I doubt it. Besides, it’s too soon to tell.”

“That’s not true. I knew Nolan was my soulmate the moment he smiled at me.”

“How?”

“Where do I even begin? My stomach went all jittery, and my heart felt like it was going to leap from my chest. For the longest time, he was all I could think about.”

See, neither the prince nor Trevor have that effect on me.

When I think of Everett, however, my insides feel all twisted up, which is inconvenient to say the least. What would Nia say if she found out the truth?

That it’s him who makes my stomach flutter and heart leap.

That it’s him I dream of at night.

Based on her assessment of soulmates, I should be proposing to Everett.

* * *

On our way into town, we end up running into Ronan and Nolan near the city fountain.

The prince beams, and although I find myself returning his smile, my heart does not leap and my stomach does not flutter, not even when he nudges my shoulder with his and invites me to visit the castle the following morning.

The prospect doesn’t sound as enticing as it might’ve in the past. What is wrong with me?

Ronan raises his brows, his gaze imploring.

Right. His invitation. “I would like that very much,” I say, telling myself that it’s true.

The prince’s chest puffs out, and his gaze traces my face, landing on the flower behind my ear. “This is beautiful. I’ve never seen one quite that shade.”

“Very funny.”

His brow furrows. “Why is that funny?”

Is he serious? “It’s from your gardens, Ronan. You left it for me this morning.”

His eyes widen and he presses a hand to his forehead. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course it is. How silly of me to have forgotten.”

I step back, studying his face, noting the way he refuses to meet my gaze.

He’s lying.

Why though? It’s only a flower. Why would he take the credit when it wasn’t from him? Have the flowers been from Trevor this whole time?

When Ronan asks if we’d like company at the cafe, Nia says yes before I can tell him no, so it looks like I’m stuck with the prince.

Not exactly the sentiment of a woman on the verge of proposing.

Nia and Nolan’s joined hands swing between them, the pair grinning like lovesick teenagers at one another. I pretend not to notice when Ronan reaches for mine and tuck my hand into the pockets sewn into my skirts instead. His shoulders slump, but he quickly recovers, regaling us with a story about seeing lions.

He’s probably lying.

Am I overreacting about this? It’s only a flower, after all.

If he’s willing to lie about something so small, will he tell the truth about the bigger things? The ones that truly matter?

The balmy breeze flutters the petals of the flower behind my ear, tickling my cheek. My yearning for dessert has evaporated altogether. Perhaps I should skip the café and visit Trevor instead.

You know what? That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

When we pass the library, I tell Nia I’ll meet her in a few minutes.

“Where are you going?” Ronan calls at my back.

“To see if Trevor would like to join us,” I throw over my shoulder. It might make me a bad person, but I delight in the way the prince scoffs. Serves him right after playing me false.

I skirt around two women pushing prams and slip between the library’s open doors. The familiar scent of ink, musty parchment, and worn leather fills my lungs, dampening my ire.

Never in my life have I seen shelves this high. With the way the shadows cling to the vaulted ceiling, you can barely see the tops. There are more books in this place than a fae could hope to read in ten lifetimes.

Quietly, I make my way to where a woman in a pinstripe suit sits behind a wide mahogany desk. When I ask for Trevor Dillon, she gives me directions to an office at the very back of the library.

I find Trevor bent over a large book with ornate script in golds and greens, glasses perched at the end of his nose and his hair falling over his brow. He looks so handsome, so quiet and studious, yet there isn’t so much as a flutter in my stomach.

There used to be though. Where have all the flutters gone?

Trevor glances up, his eyes widening when they meet mine. The chair scrapes the ground as he pushes back from the desk and launches to his feet. “Kerris. What are you doing here?” He swipes the glasses from his nose, tucking them into the pocket of his tweed waistcoat.

He smiles and I feel… nothing . I press a hand to my stomach, willing the butterflies to wake up, but they remain dormant. “I was in town and thought I’d call in to see if you’d like to come out for a bite to eat.”

His smile falters and his shoulders fall with his sigh. “That sounds lovely, but I am quite busy today.”

What did I expect? That he would drop everything simply because I strolled in?

I should let him get back to work, but first, there is a mystery to solve. I let my fingers trail along the flower’s silky petals as I tuck a few loose strands of hair behind my ear.

Trevor’s lips press flat, his brow furrowing. “That flower you’re wearing. What kind is it?”

If he doesn’t know, then he probably isn’t the one who left it for me either. God’s tooth, this is so frustrating. I’ve met a handful of other men in Rosehill but cannot imagine any of them leaving flowers without so much as a card. “I was actually hoping you could tell me.”

Fishing out his glasses once more, he gestures toward the bloom. “May I?”

I slip the flower from behind my ear and hand it over.

“It looks like some sort of lily, but I’ve never seen one with petals like this. Truly remarkable.” After a few more moments of study, he tucks it behind my ear once more, his fingers lingering in my hair.

His wistful sigh warms my cheeks as he takes a step back. “I’m afraid I really must be getting back to work.”

“Of course. I’m sorry for interrupting.”

His lips tip up, and he sinks back onto his chair. “You never have to apologize for that. Would you like to meet for tea on Monday? I could come by your cottage around noon.”

“I would love that.”

I make my way back out of the library, more confused than before. If the flower didn’t come from Ronan or Trevor, then who?—

Maybe it was…

No, that’s ridiculous.

Or is it?

None of the Seelie seem to recognize the flower.

Is that because it didn’t come from our side of The Divide?