Page 70 of This Prince Is Not Charming

Marsten bumped me with his hip. “You either. Look at those luscious curves.”

I studied my wide hips and bosom, wrapped up tight in my sapphire blue dress with golden buttons in the shape of little hearts. “True. Meera, we simply cannot walk outside naked. The entire town would collapse from the absolute wonder of our bodies.”

Meera just stared from her bowl. “Whatever you say.”

Marsten grabbed my hand and led me back to the couch. He plopped down, crossing one leg over another. “I see why women like these so much. They’re so airy,” he said.

“You do know the godwitches used to wear skirts for that reason,” Meera said. “All the godwitches with penises wore them. And they never wore undergarments. I saw so many penises in the time of the godwitches.”

Marsten reached over and grabbed his glass of wine from the table next to the couch. “Sounds like a good time to me.”

I rolled my eyes right as Margaret appeared in a painting that hung over my sewing desk in the corner. “He’s awake.” She bent over. “Oh, cramp. I have a cramp. But he’s awake. Prince Cillian, that is. He’s . . .”

“Awake?” Meera finished.

Margaret finally straightened, bracing a hand against the frame of the painting. “Yes.”

I froze, all the tension that had bled from my body over the last few hours returning. I hadn’t forgotten about Cillian, but I had relaxed for the first time in over a week. I’d been able to laugh and drink and eat. To function. Now all that fear returned as I waited for Margaret to tell me more.

Marsten’s arm wound around my shoulders, and Meera was curled around my leg.

“We’re here for you,” Marsten said.

“Is he okay?” I asked, voice wobbling.

Margaret broke into a smile. “Yes. It’s going to be a long recovery, but the high prince is okay. He’s asleep now. Resting. But Mrs. Wolfgang sent me to tell you. He’s been asking for you.”

I sniffled. “Thank you, Margaret,” I said through tears.

“I should get back. There are more messages to deliver, but he’s going to be okay, Ceri.”

She disappeared, and I broke into sobs that racked my body while Marsten and Meera held me.

I had no idea how long I cried for. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. Out of relief, out of anger, out of sadness. Maybe all of it.

The tears finally stopped, and I let out a little hiccup as Marsten handed me a handkerchief. I blew into it, the sound loud and offensive, but Meera didn’t even make a single sarcastic comment. “Sorry,” I said.

“Oh, honey.” Marsten squeezed me tighter. “You don’t have to apologize. The love of your life just almost died from a drug addiction that no one knew about.”

“Well, everyone knows now,” Meera pointed out.

“The love of my life?” I pulled back, staring at Marsten with wide eyes. “That’s what you all think about Cillian and me?”

He gave me a look that said “Seriously?”

I blew out a breath. “Doesn’t that bother you all? I mean, we’re competing against each other to be his queen.”

Meera put a paw against her chest. “No one is competing for that man except you, Cerriwen Morgane.”

“It’s not even a competition,” Marsten said. “Every time we walk into a room, the only person he pays any attention to is you.”

“No, that’s not . . .” I remembered the tent, how close we’d been to kissing before we got interrupted. “Yes, I have feelings for Cillian. I’ve had feelings for him my entire life, I think. But he’s never shown any interest in me. Not like that. Except for a few times that I probably misinterpreted.”

“Aw, look at you, being all cute and lying to yourself.” Marsten pinched my cheek, and I swatted his hand away.

I scoffed.

“Okay, spill.” He pointed at me with a long red nail that matched his gown perfectly. “If you don’t believe us, then tell us about the times you thought he might have feelings for you, and we’ll be the judges.”