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“Even the birds of the sky must eventually land.”

Author Unknown

H unger yawns in my stomach, as deep and as wide as The Divide. “If I don’t get food soon, I’m going to turn into one of the beasts that roam these woods.” I curl my fingers into claws and do my best impression of Ever’s growl.

Ever swats my backside with a hearty laugh. The joyful sound warms me all the way to my toes. “Careful, Seelie. I eat beasts for breakfast.”

“Not if I devour you first.” I bite his shoulder the way he bit mine, earning myself a loud yelp.

Long fingers encircle my wrist, pinning my hands to the mattress above me. “There will be plenty of time for that later,” he murmurs, his nose dragging down the column of my throat to press a kiss at the hollow. “Stay here. I will return with sustenance, beastie.”

With that, Ever rolls off the bed, throws on his trousers, and ducks out the door, leaving me to my own devices. Although the fire has been stoked and a log was added at some point in the night, a chill persists in the air. This is going to take some getting used to.

Wrapping myself in sheets, I push off the bed to explore my new home.

Ever owns exactly three mugs, three plates, and three sets of cutlery. The bottom cupboard in his kitchen holds one pot and one small cast iron skillet. What I’m most interested in is the bow and quiver of arrows hanging beside the door.

Perhaps he’ll teach me how to shoot.

Not that I have it in me to kill anything, but it wouldn’t hurt to learn. Having distance between my prey and me might help as well. The last thing I want is for Ever to think I cannot take care of myself.

Two pairs of trousers soak in a bucket beside the fire.

Laundry .

Now, that’s something I know how to do. All I need is some laundry powder…which I cannot find, so the bar of soap filled with pine needles will have to do.

Using the washboard and soap, I scrub his trousers along the metal ribs until my arms feel like they’re going to fall off. Then I twist and squeeze the fabric with all my might and hang them outside on a line that runs from a tree to the front of the wagon.

Ever hunkers by a small fire, his broad back on full display as he cooks us breakfast. I wouldn’t say it smells good, but my stomach grumbles all the same. At this stage, I’ll eat anything.

Not wanting to wear a sheet for the day, I meander back inside.

The dress I wore yesterday doesn’t exactly suit the current landscape. Perhaps I’ll be able to purchase something more practical on Market Street. I could pick up some supplies as well, like bakeware and sugar and cinnamon. And bread. At least three loaves.

Maybe Ever has a shirt that I can wear in the meantime. I kneel down and peek beneath the bed. Sure enough, there is a flat trunk stuffed under there. It takes some maneuvering, but eventually I extricate the heavy box.

When I open the top, a waft of floral perfume tickles my nose.

Two pairs of worn trousers rest atop four pairs of thick wool socks and boots that have seen better days. I add a new pair to my mental list. That is, if they make them this large.

Unfortunately, there isn’t a shirt in sight.

There is, however, a stack of white boxes tied with black ribbons bearing Madame Ella’s insignia on the corner.

I remove the lid on the first one, revealing a stunning gown of emerald satin and lace. How did he get this dress? When?

“What are you doing?” Ever stands in the doorway, his brows drawn together.

Was his father part wraith? I didn’t even realize he’d come in.

“I’m sorry.” I rush to replace the lid. “I wasn’t snooping.” Not intentionally, anyway. “I only wanted to see what we needed from Rosehill.”

His lips press flat as he pushes off the frame. “You are going back?”

“Only for supplies and the rest of my clothes.”

He nods slowly but his frown remains.

“These are beautiful.” The ruffles on the silk undulate like waves in the sea. “They’re Madame Ella’s.”

“No, they belonged to my mother.”

My hair tickles my bare back as I shake my head with a laugh. “I mean Madame Ella designed them.”

“Well, they are yours now.”

“Really?”

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “They are hardly going to fit me.”

I hold up the gown to my chest. The skirt is a bit long, but other than that it should fit?—

Wait.

The skirt is too long , just like all the dresses that have mysteriously shown up on my doorstep. This cannot be a coincidence. “Have you been leaving dresses at the cottage?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“We already discussed this, Kerris.”

“We most certainly did not.” That is something I would absolutely remember.

“You gave me a gift, so I gave you one in return.”

“I thought the gifts were the flowers.”

His lips purse. “I do not think a flower pulled from the dirt is a fair trade for an entire box of biscuits.”

“I only baked biscuits twice.” And I cannot even remember how many dresses he gave me. Seven? Eight?

A shrug. “They were going to waste beneath my bed, and no Unseelie female would be caught dead in Seelie gowns.” He nudges the toe of his boot against the trunk. “Knowing you might one day wear something that belonged to me made my heart happy.”

This man. Here I didn’t think it was possible to love him more. “Thank you, Ever.”

He glances away even as a small smile plays on his lips.

I hold up the dress once more. This skirt needs a hem if I’m going to wear it outside. If I were back at the cottage, I’d bring it to Madama Ella for altering, but since I’m here?—

Madame Ella .

She said these dresses were commissioned by the king himself.

For his mistress .

Does that mean Ever’s mother was having an affair with the king?

If what Ever said was true, and no Unseelie would be caught dead in Seelie gowns, why did his mother have so many?

Ever’s fingers drum against the doorframe. “Breakfast is getting cold.”

At the mention of food, my belly lets out a hollow grumble and all thoughts of dresses and kings fall by the wayside. There will be plenty of time to figure out the mystery after we eat.

* * *

Ever has a picnic set up on his little porch. In the center of the wool blanket rests a plate of roasted meat on a spit.

“I do not know if you will like it,” he says with a grimace. “All my spices are gone.”

“That’s all right.” I’m hungry enough to eat…whatever this is whether it’s seasoned or not.

Ever slides the dark meat from the spit and then extends the plate in my direction. The brown chunk feels squishy when I pick it up. Hopefully it tastes better than it looks. With a deep breath, I pop the bite into my mouth and chew. And chew. And chew.

Not too bad.

Not too good either.

The texture is strange. Definitely not as tender as a well-cooked carrot. At least it quells my hunger. Would be better with some salt and pepper and maybe a bit of clove.

Ever watches as if me chewing is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “Does the face you are making mean you hate it?”

I wouldn’t say I hate it—not out loud, anyway. “I’m just not used to it.” Still, I eat as much as my stomach will allow and once I’ve had my fill, Ever devours what’s left. It’s hard to believe such a small portion is enough for him, but he insists it is, and an argument seems silly, so I let the issue drop.

“What happens now?” Back in Rosehill, Nia and I would usually spend our afternoon exploring the city or lounging in the sun-drenched garden with books from the library. Here, there is no city, no books, or sunlight.

“Since you already washed my laundry—which I did not expect you to do,” he mutters with a stern look, “we should probably wash ourselves.”

A great idea. I could do with a nice, long soak. “Where is the bathing room?”

His face falls into a frown. “There is a river.”

Surely, he doesn’t mean the river beyond the fire. “Isn’t it cold?” Just looking at it gives me shivers.

“I try not to linger.”

Do I want to bathe in a river? Absolutely not. But I also don’t want Ever feeling like what he has to offer isn’t good enough. Because it is. Life on this side of The Divide is just different and will take some getting used to. Bathing in a river could be fun. Right?

Mischief sparkles in his dark eyes as his smile returns. “If we bathe together, I could warm you up.”

Now, that does sounds like fun.

Ever disappears inside to grab the soap, then takes my hand and leads me to the shore. The river is large but moves lazily enough so there’s no fear of being swept away with the current.

He strips off his trousers and walks straight in without so much as a hitch in his breath. Seeing him disrobed in the middle of the day feels very different from seeing him last night. Heavens, he is magnificent. How could I believe for even a moment that I would be happy with a Seelie husband after meeting him?

With the water kissing Ever’s waist, he twists, sending ripples toward the shore where I wait.

I can do this. I used to swim in the early spring on the mountain when I was younger, didn’t I? This is no different.

“I can boil water if you would prefer a sponge bath instead.”

Yes, please. “There’s no need. I want to do this.” To prove to myself and Ever that I’m not too soft for life in the Unseelie lands. But first. I glance over my shoulder at the wagon, my stomach sinking even lower. “There’s no privy, is there?”

He shakes his head.

No matter. I’ll go over by that boulder. Be one with nature.

Once I’ve relieved myself, I return to the river and slip out of my shift. Ever’s onyx gaze tracks my every movement, a predator studying his prey. Nerves flutter in my stomach as the icy water closes over my feet. My ankles. My calves. How is he just standing there without moving?

Are my lips blue? If they’re not yet, they will be soon.

When I reach my waist, the shivers start. Oh heavens. Oh heavens. Oh heavens . How is it getting colder? This is it. This is how I die. Turned to a block of ice in the middle of a bloody river.

Ever closes the distance between us in a handful of strides. His arms come around me, instantly infusing my body with his heat.

“Hold your breath,” he whispers against my temple.

My feet disappear from beneath me and water closes over my head. Hypothermia. That’s what this shock is. I am dying from hypothermia.

“I h-hate y-you,” I splutter when he brings us back up for air.

For some reason, the venom in my tone makes him laugh. “Then turn around so that I can make you hate me less.”

Doesn’t he see that there is nothing that will make me hate him any less?—

He gathers my hair along with the soap and starts to massage my scalp. The tension in my muscles slowly eases despite the frigid temperatures. Warmth collects low in my belly and between my thighs.

“Is it working?” he murmurs against my cheek, his chest slipping against my wet back.

“Maybe.” He brings the bar of soap down my neck to my breast. Definitely .

Steady hands scrub and massage until the cold is so far from my mind, it might as well be the dead of summer. When he finishes, it’s my turn to steal the soap and do the same for him.

Ever leaves the water to collect three towels. One for him, one for my body, and a second for my hair. He insists on carrying me back to his house so that my feet do not get dirty, and I find myself set in front of the woodstove with a beautiful brush inlaid with mother of pearl in my hand.

“Your mother’s as well?” I assume.

“Yes.”

A mother lost as tragically as my own. A mother who might’ve been having an affair with the King of Willowhaven.

I’m about to ask him again about the dresses, but something stops me.

Does the truth even matter? Why dredge up a painful past when it has no bearing on our future? Ever’s mother had beautiful dresses. Dresses that he gave to me. Beyond that, it’s none of my business.

Resolute in my decision, I drag the brush through my hair, but between Ever’s rigorous washing technique and the cold water, the heavy strands are more matted than they’ve ever been.

No wonder the women in his village keep their hair short. I yank the brush out and start again, this time from the bottom. “I should get my hair cut.” At least then, it would be easier to manage.

Behind me, Ever dries himself with quick swipes of his towel before donning a fresh pair of pants, trousers, and wool socks. “Do what pleases you,” he says, fastening the buckle on his belt.

Even watching him complete the most mundane tasks stirs desire within me. I twist a curl around my finger, so unlike an Unseelie woman’s midnight strands. “Would it please you?”

He surprises me by sinking onto the edge of the mattress and gesturing for the brush. I nearly collapse in delight when he begins to comb through small sections a little at a time.

“Shorter hair is more practical,” he says. “But I would mourn the loss. The first day I saw you, I thought your hair looked magical.” He drapes the straight section over my shoulder and starts working on the next. “I must confess to fantasizing about you in nothing but your lavender tresses.”

If he likes it, then perhaps I will keep it for a little while longer. At least until it becomes too much. Then again, if he continues pampering me like this, I might never cut it. “You’re very good at that.”

“My mother wore hers longer than most females in our clan. I would help her brush it sometimes.”

I imagine a miniature Ever combing his mother’s hair. How devastated he must’ve been when he lost her. “Who took care of you when she passed?”

“I took care of myself.”

“But you were only five.” I’m nearly twenty-five and some days I still feel incapable of taking care of myself.

A shrug. “Some of the elders would bring me their leftovers, but everyone had their own families to feed.”

And there I was, balking at bathing in a river. Imagine having to survive on your own when you’re barely out of nappies. It’s a miracle this man is alive.

“What now?” he asks, setting the brush aside and admiring his handiwork.

“It’s easier to manage when it’s braided.” My arms tend to get tired when I fix it myself, so it’s easiest to lie on the bed and let my hair hang off the edge of the mattress while I do.

Ever begins to separate my hair into three sections.

“You know how to braid?”

He twists the part on the side around the center section, weaving with careful concentration. “Rope.”

Not sure how I feel about my lover referring to my hair as rope, but that is neither here nor there.

When he finishes, he fastens the bottom of my hair with a leather queue from the trunk. I’m so relaxed, I could fall asleep right here on this chair, especially when Ever begins to trace along one of the scars on my shoulder. “Tell me of your Seelie mating traditions.”

Where do I even begin? Most of what I know came from my mother’s copy of A Seelie Guide to Matrimony . It all seems so silly now. So unnecessary. So shallow. Who cares about selecting the perfect bouquet? Why does it matter if you don’t create a seating chart for the reception? I would marry Ever right here, right now, with the trees as our witnesses and be perfectly content.

“Instead of scars, we exchange rings.” That’s one tradition I wouldn’t mind keeping.

He reaches into the trunk and starts rummaging around. When I ask what he’s doing, he doesn’t answer. After a few moments, there’s a small golden band pinched between his fingers. “Rings like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

“What happens next?”

“Your family and friends come from all around to attend.” I’d love for Theo and my father to meet Ever. Maybe someday they will.

His jaw drops. “They watch you mate?”

“No! Heavens, no. They come to celebrate with you during the wedding ceremony. The… mating takes place in private afterward.”

He turns the ring over in his hand, as if studying the way the firelight flickers on the gold. “Tell me more of this ceremony.”

“Well, the bride usually wears white. And then you vow to love and cherish each other forever.”

His lips flatten. “You are wearing white.”

My stomach flutters as I glance down at my shift. “I am.”

With a nod, Ever pushes to his feet and reaches for my hand, helping me to mine. Still holding onto me, he slips the ring onto my middle finger. I don’t bother telling him that he has the wrong finger and the wrong hand because everything about this moment feels too perfect.

The quiet rumble of his deep voice washes over me, drawing tears to my eyes. “From this day forward, every beat of my heart belongs to you, Kerris Dawn.”

I’m not yet twenty-five. We have no license and no witnesses, but none of that feels important as I stare into Ever’s eyes. This is what a marriage should be: Two people who love each other coming together, vowing to honor and cherish each other until their dying day.

I straighten my spine and tell him all the promises in my heart. “I love you Everett—” Wait . “What is your last name?”

A smile. “Gathin.”

Everett Gathin.

Kerris Gathin.

“I love you Everett Gathin, and I vow to never love another. From this day forward, you are my one and only.”

Our kiss seals the vows spoken in the cool morning air, and when his hands find the small of my spine, urging my body closer to his, something occurs to me.

“We might have to visit the river again sooner than I hoped,” I murmur against his hungry mouth.

Ever’s smile curves against mine, followed by a nip of his teeth. “I am afraid that we shall become like the fishes who never leave.”