Page 96 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
I walk toward the house, hoping they won’t kill each other when my back is turned. I nod in greeting to Delyth. Her butterflies have returned, a fluttering crown atop her head.
“I knew it would be you,” she says.
“It was both of us,” I reply. “As it was always meant to be.”
I stand beside Delyth, shoulder to shoulder. At the end of the beach, Neirin and Ceridwen speak, keeping a polite distance apart. We can’t hear them. I think it’s for the best.
Delyth bumps her arm against mine. “If she doesn’t kill him, Emrys might.”
“I’d like to see him try,” I say.
From the beach, Ceridwen looks at me. Her eyes are questioning, as if she’s saying,Really? This is the one?
I can’t quite believe it myself, so my only reply is a shrug.
I watch Ceridwen let out a deep breath before returning her attention to Neirin. She nods. In response to what, I’ll never know, but it seems like forgiveness.
The moment we’re certain Ceridwen doesn’t plan to use her pilfered dagger on him at last, Neirin returns us to his estate. I wish I could say I’m reformed enough that I took the time to ensure Delyth was comfortable, to help Ceridwen find Morgen, that I even went and apologized to Mabyn, but I absolutely didn’t. I walked right to the room I had claimed as my own not long ago and hoped no one would question why Neirin immediately followed. I saved Eu gwlad, after all; I think I’m entitled to be very tired and a little bit terrible.
The room hasn’t changed in my absence. A cocky voice at the back of my mind whispers that it will never change again.
I lie with my head on Neirin’s chest, and his fingers make their home in the waves of my hair. He’s been stroking the strands for what feels like hours, and they’re the smoothest they’ll ever be.
“Do you think Ceridwen plans to kill me?” he asks.
“Depends on how good your apology was,” I say.
He makes a thoughtful noise. “That’s concerning. I’m not very well versed in that field.”
I can hear the smile in his voice as I settle against him, heavy with a comfort I’ve never experienced before but could easily get used to.
“I think you missed your calling,” I tell him. “Not as a hairdresser, mind—that takes too much skill—but you make a wonderful hairbrush.”
Neirin’s laugh rumbles against my cheek, and he goes out of his way to muss one spot of hair, only to repair it a moment later and press his lips to the curls.
“And you were obviously supposed to be a knight.”
I lift my head to grin at him and toy with the string that’s supposed to close his shirt. “Is that how it is, then? A prince and his knight?”
Neirin’s mouth travels to the bridge of my nose, to my cheek. His lips reach mine, but I can’t quite let the conversation end—not yet, anyway.
“What now?” My mouth ghosts against his.
Neirin groans and pulls back slightly. “There will be an audience with my brother tomorrow, where you can ask for your favor. After that”—he smiles lazily—“we have forever. I thought we may explore the north now that it’s not a barren wasteland.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“Are you going to hold this over our heads for the rest of eternity?”
“What? That I’m the great hero of Gwlad Y Tylwyth Teg? Whatever gave you that impression?”
“So humble.”
I angle my head to look at him better and he sighs, exasperated, as I dodge another kiss in favor of talking at him. “You haven’t traveled much, have you?”
Neirin’s been as bound to his court as I have been to my village, trapped by fear and the expectations of others. He needs freedom as much as I do. His hand comes to my jaw, urges my face closer to his.
“I never had a reason to before,” he replies, and locks my decision in my chest with an iron key.
