Page 52 of This Prince Is Not Charming

CHAPTER 23

Ceri

Sun streamed through the pink and purple stained-glass library windows, and I curled up in a chair, reading our current book club pick. Father was on his walk around town, which took about thirty minutes, and I’d desperately needed to get out of the apartment and away from that dress shop, where Cillian had said I spent all my time. That had been yesterday, and I hadn’t seen him since. No visits to me or my father. No apologies. He was like a ghost, and I didn’t know if I was more happy or disappointed that he hadn’t shown his face. When we’d gotten into a fight before, Cillian never let it go on too long, always giving me just the right amount of space before coming to apologize or talk it out.

He wasn’t wrong when he said I never left the shop, but the words still stung. Of all people, I expected him to understand.

After my sister died and my father completely fell apart, I’d started losing friends. It wasn’t all at once, but in stages.

Classmates would invite me out, and I’d make excuses about why I couldn’t come. The invitations happened less and less until soon nobody was inviting me at all . . . except Cillian. He didn’t seem to mind visiting me, and it wasn’t just that he made me happy—but my father too. He had this charm, this effortless sunshine that made my father light up. His friendship had always meant everything to me.

He never asked why I’d stopped accepting his invitations to dinner at his house or to play in the fields with him and the other kids. He just showed up. He never judged me or told me I was being ridiculous and that I needed to stop coddling my father.

But yesterday felt different. It felt like he was judging me for the first time ever, his words replaying in my mind, harsh and unlike him. Lately it felt like he was swinging between extreme emotions or none at all, and the whiplash was starting to get to me.

“If you stare any harder at that book, I’m afraid you’re going to burn holes into it.” Morton peeked his head out from behind a bookshelf, followed by Niamh. I’d become fast friends with the librarian over four years ago when she’d first arrived in Fairwitch Isle. She was the nicest person I knew and married to Wolfe, Cillian’s older brother, who, ironically, was the grumpiest person I knew.

Her long red hair hung over her shoulders, her eyes bright and warm as she smiled at me while she bustled around the library, putting books away.

I waved my hand. “I have to get back to the dress shop soon. Just felt like getting out and doing some reading.”

Morton’s shaggy brows furrowed. “You haven’t flipped a page in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Morton,” I said with an edge to my voice. “How very astute of you.”

“Morton, I think there are a few people ready to check out.” Niamh nodded toward the counter. Morton huffed and slithered off, and she winked at me, then disappeared into another aisle. She always seemed to know exactly what everyone needed, and right now I needed space.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Siobhan walked down the aisle of the library.

I sighed heavily and pointed to myself. “Me?”

She dropped down into a sunny yellow upholstered chair that sat next to my sky blue one. I’d picked out these fabrics myself. I loved this little corner of the bookstore, surrounded by shelves and feeling so cozy, and usually quiet.

“I have to talk to you,” she said, leaning forward.

Her glare from across the gardens yesterday flashed in my mind. “Is this about my fight with Cillian? Because I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did someone say fight?” Margaret popped up in a painting behind us, standing in front of a vase full of flowers.

Perfect. The castle gossip had arrived. So much for my alone time.

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly.

Margaret tilted her head. “Was it about Prince Cillian putting that painting in your apartment without asking you? He told me you wouldn’t mind me visiting with your father, but I’ll tell him to remove it if you don’t want me to intrude.”

I straightened in my chair, blinking a few times as her words settled over me. “Cillian did what now?”

Margaret nodded. “Oh yes. He came to me after the trials began and said you’d be gone a lot from your apartment. Then he told me that he knew the perfect person for me to regale with all my fascinating stories. Your father!” She clapped her hands. “And he was right. Your father is a wonderful audience. But you know what? He’s a good storyteller himself. Why, when I visited yesterday, he was telling me about the time you two got stuck in a cave during a rainstorm and how you took charge and built a fire, even though you’d never done so before. He was very proud.”

“I-I’m sorry, um—” I pinched the bridge of my nose, having a hard time taking all of this in.

I didn’t even know what part of Margaret’s story to focus on: the part where Cillian had been the one who arranged for her to visit my father or the part where my father was telling her stories about my childhood. He never talked about that part of our lives, the part where I still had a sister and a mother. All at once, the anger I’d felt toward Cillian melted away. He’d brought Margaret to the apartment so my father wouldn’t be alone. He probably hadn’t asked me because if he had, I’d have said no.

I didn’t want to burden anyone else, and besides, I could handle it. I always had. But my father had been so happy, so lively, after Margaret’s visit yesterday morning. It was clear Cillian had made the right choice, and he’d done it for me.

Siobhan huffed. “Margaret, can we have moment, please? Aren’t you a courier for the high prince or something? Maybe he has message for you to send.”

Margaret frowned. “That’s odd. I haven’t seen him since before the trial yesterday. And that encounter was so awkward. I don’t think I’ll be going to his private quarters unannounced anymore.”