Page 61 of Of Curses and Courtship

“Emyr?” Minetta peers at me and presses an ungloved hand to my forehead. “Are you ill?”

My brows furrow. “You shouldn’t jest about such things in our land. People are coming down with grave illnesses every day.”

Including Spark. I don’t imagine Minetta considers that concern, even though we’ve had long conversations about the curse and how it’s affecting my friend.

“My apologies.” She withdraws her hand and smiles. “You’ve been awfully distracted this morning. That’s all.”

“Have I?” I sip my tea and sweep the area, my gaze wandering about, likely proving her point. “There’s much for us to worry about. We’ve a wedding to prepare for, less than two moons from now.”

Though I hope we can move it up. Or perhaps I wish to push it away. It’s hard to say which I want.

“The wedding is not a worry. Your parents will take care of absolutely everything.”

The polite smile I have been holding wavers. “Yes. I suppose they will.”

The problem is that I’ve never been one to let my parents control anything—or at least, I’ve never wished for them to. They already control who I’m to marry, and when I’ll be married. Why should they control the rest of the dreaded event?

Because I don’t care, that’s why.

“Your Highness?” Tibalt clears his throat. “I do not know if you have forgotten, but we have somewhere to be…”

“Oh.” I lift a brow. “Do we?”

Tibalt’s expression is unwavering, the calm in the cursed storm of my life. “Yes. We do.”

Of course, my loyal guard is here to save me—to free me, really. I knew I could count on him.

“Ah, yes! The thing…” I rise and hold Minetta’s gloved hand, kissing the back with a flourish. “It was wonderful spending time with you, as always.”

Minetta beams. “Likewise.”

My words are drenched in sarcasm, but she doesn’t seem to sense it. That’s for the best.

Tibalt and I amble inside.

With each step I take, I’m more at ease until I can finally relax. “We have nothing to do, you liar. I’m not so foolish that I don’t remember what’s on the agenda.”

“I know.” He snorts and holds the door open for me. “It’s only that you were looking for an escape, and it’s my job to present one.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” He grips my elbow and pulls me down a long corridor. “Besides, I want to see Spark.”

My heart skips a beat. “W-why?”

“Because he’s my friend as well, you dolt, and I’ve yet to visit him.” He watches me with a level expression. “Unless this is too difficult for you at this moment?”

Tibalt is right. Weshouldvisit our friend. I’ve not seen him since the first time, and I don’t wish to see him again. I don’t want to see Carwyn’s bones flash in my mind, to see Spark in such a state. Above all, I don’t want to fear for Tibalt’s fate.

He’s safe. For now. But how long until the curse begins spreading to high fae?

“Difficult?” I shake my head. “No difficulty. Let us go.”

The infirmary is as cold as before. The head healer seems unsurprised to see us, waving through the noisy ward, full of growls and cries. Tibalt, ever the soldier, doesn’t flinch. I’m the only one who does, cowering at the sounds of my tormented people.

“Where is the brownie?” I whisper.

Perhaps I don’t want the answer. Out of every cursed fae, that brownie sticks in my mind, as do the cruel words he flung at me.