Page 35 of The Prince or the Bard?
“Then I pray to the gods that you’ll find the kind of love it would be too foolish to pass up.”
A lonely future in this cottage spreads out before me. I know in my bones that I’ll never risk leaving Diarmuid's Row again—at least not for long. Yet growing up here, I often wished a handsome bard just like Cillian would sweep into town and take me with him.
It’s too late for that now.
“You'll grow in love with someone again someday,” the queen says, straightening. “As surely as the tide comes.”
How I hope my sweet cousin is right.
Chapter Eighteen
I’ve been settling intomy cottage for a few weeks now, testing the strength of my healing arm as I continue to shift furniture and unload crates. I never knew I had so many things, or that the agreement I've made to trade goods from the sea fae to the earthen fae would yield so many items so quickly. I've already written to cousin Fiadh to see what manner of things the castle could use.
The seasons are shifting; soon, it will be time for another revel with the Moonray Court. This morning, I'm even greeted by the sight of my breath.
In no time at all, a comforting peat fire burns in my spotless new hearth, and a steaming mug of tea warms my hands as I watch the colorful treetops swaying in the autumn winds. It isn’t as bad as I thought, being alone. As Niamh said, I don’t even miss what I once had.
Most of the time.
As the nights grow colder, I feel it more. The absence of something I once had and now have lost. Yet I know I’ve lostsome things not worth keeping, too. Cillian Cloudtongue, for one.
I smirk as I breathe in the woodsy scent of my tea, everything almost as it should be.
And then I hear a tremendous bang.
Followed by yelling.
I rush to the other side of my cottage, peering out the window.
There, a short distance from my cottage, swarms a group of men around a pulley system of some kind. By squinting, I discern they’re trying to move some stones. Foundation stones, I’d say.
Maybe this cottage won’t be so lonely after all. Whatever they’re building there, it’ll be my nearest neighbor by the looks of things. But they’ve chosen a terrible time to start. They won’t have it built by the beginning of winter.
I close the curtains on that side, making a note to ask my parents if they’ve heard who’s building out here on the edge of Diarmuid’s Row.
My next day starts in much the same fashion, with more noise and yelling. When I throw open the curtains, I’m astonished to find the foundation of a large house already in place. A short ways from it stands the framing for a barn.
Maybe theywillhave it all built by winter. There are even more fae working there today than yesterday.
Thanks to them and their noise, I deal with a week of increasingly early mornings before I cannot stand it any longer. With the sun barely up to guide me, I throw on a pair of boots and a cloak and march across the fallow fields in my night dress, a scowl firmly set upon my face.
The closer I get, the more I realize this house is a few windows, doors and a roof from becoming a home. Who in faerie would be in such a rush to buildhere?
"Listen up, you noisy lot," I shout at the workers. Two dozen heads pop up from their labors, startling me with their numbers. I try not to let my voice falter. "This is Diarmuid’s Row, and we donotappreciate early morning racket in Diarmuid’s Row."
"My apologies," a man with dark, tousled hair says as he steps out through the doorless entryway. "I was hoping to spend the winter here in this cottage."
That man would look an awful lot like Prince Ruairí, if he wasn’t in workman's clothes.
Curses and bargains! ItisPrince Ruairí. The moment he smiles at me, my heart jumps a little. Perhaps it hasn't lost its old patterns after all.
"Queen’s cousin Laoise," he greets me, "it appears we're to be neighbors."
"It does appear that way," I reply, crossing my arms beneath my chest. "I hope you won't be this noisy all the time."
"I wouldn't dream of disturbing you."
Something tells me he'd very much like to disturb me.
