Page 21 of A Match Made in Error

“Shut up,” I quip over the edge of my glass, and as cool water trails down my throat, I wonder when the last time I saw him take something seriously was.

“I’m just saying, straight to bed?” He arches a brow. “Bold strategy for hour one. I like your confidence.”

“You’re giving me a headache.” My hands fist a roll from the bread basket, ripping off a mouthful of bread so moist and buttery I have to suppress a moan. If all the food on the island is this good, maybe a month won’t be so bad. I’m forcing myself to focus on the positives, because dwelling on the negatives won’t change a thing, as my mom would say.

The Mother steps forward, her voice carrying easily over the hush that falls across the sand. “Let me be the second one to welcome you, our chosen pairs, to the Isle of Fate. This Festival will be unlike any we’ve done in a very long time. We will be here, secluded from your families and friends, as well as the eyes of the public, though some trials will be displayed on a hologram in Fate’s Fortune for those who wish to watch and participate still, and we will be sending Fate’s Fortune regular updates.” The one saving grace of being on the Isle. Fewer prying eyes. “We will still have trials, though they will come at our arbitration and not on a weekly schedule as they usually are, and tonight marks the beginning of your shared trials, and the first measure of your harmony.”

The Maiden smiles, bright and delighted. “Every matched pair will dance!”

Excited chittering begins once more, but the raised hand of the Crone silences it. “Not for spectacle, but for opportunities of alignment. We will watch and report back to our loyal followers what we see, as we will every day, as they will only be able to watch your trials from the crystals in the Arena of Affection.” A few contestants groan, verbally displaying the displeasure I feel in my own chest. Here I am, about to be a performing love monkey for a month. Just when I thought that getting away from Fate’s Fortune would mean at least getting rid of the spectator aspect of this whole ordeal. The Crone’s staff strikes stone once, sharp and final. “Refusal is not an option.”

The Mother lifts her gaze, eyes gleaming with ancient certainty. “This opening ritual is known as the Compatibility Waltz. Step into the rhythm together or be revealed by it.”

The music swells, slow and inevitable, as golden sigils spiral across the sand, waiting for our next move.

The tell-tale signs of nervousness wash over me. Sweaty hands. Racing heart. Dry mouth. Dancing in front of these people is the first opportunity I have to mess up. If the Moirai think for one second Riven and I are deceiving them, then we’ll be sent packing, and my love life will be cursed for seven years.

Of course, Riven offers his hand to me easily, like this costs him nothing, because, let’s face it, it kind of doesn’t. If we aren’t caught, he wins; if we are caught, he doesn’t care about true love anyway.

“Relax, Pop,” he soothes, sending goosebumps up my neck, “it’s just a dance.” His grin is effortless, eyes lingering on mine for a second until I feel the tension in my neck ebb away some.

“Fine,” I grumble, taking his hand and dragging him to the sand where most of the couples now sway, holding one another under the rising moon.

He places one hand on my waist, the other guiding my hand up. With a single step, he places our bodies flush together. All at once, I’m aware of his thumb rubbing the small of my back and the warmth pulsing from his broad chest.

And it’s all for show.

Like every other Festival I’ve participated in.

I feel them watching us before I see them—the Moirai standing just beyond the ring of lanternlight, their gazes sharp as hooks. Riven’s hand is warm at my waist, steadying, and when he draws me in, the air seems to tighten around us, the music threading through my bones. The Moirai’s eyes follow every step, every breath, as if they’re weighing something invisible between us, something I didn’t consent to offer. I swallow, acutely aware of how easily we move together, how natural this feels, and the thought lands heavy in my chest: this isn’t a dance. It’s a test. And despite my fears, the Moirai already look pleased. Maybe we can do this after all.

A thrill of excitement zips through me. If we do this, actually trick the Moirai, we will be legendary. I can’t help the small smile tugging at the left side of my mouth at that thought. Of how it would feel to pull one over on the condescending Crone, all-knowing Mother, and pushy Maiden.

Riven’s eyes catch on something over my shoulder, the darkness of his shadows appearing for a split second within them before disappearing. “If the women of Fate’s Fortune don’t come running after me once they see this, I’ll be shocked. Look how desirable I am.” His voice is low, an almost sinister chuckle hanging on his words as he dips me and earns swoony awws from the women around us. I stiffen, my steps faltering for only a second when he rights me, but it’s a second long enough for him to notice. Riven’s grip tightens. “It’s a joke, Poppy.” His voice is low and curving around the shell of my ear. “A bad one.” I pull back, catching his eyes as he says, “I don’t even care what they think anymore. Especially not Angora.” Someone’s protesting a lot…to something no one’s said, no less. And it isn’t believable. I can see it in his eyes that he hates that Angora got over him so easily and that others might find him lacking because of it. I get it.

His eyes, usually glittering with mischief and trouble, are softer now. No arrogance. No amusement. Only the vulnerability that he rarely allows to break through. It shocks me, making me pull back even more. I open my mouth to ask him if he’s okay, but his face tightens, and the walls go back up. “It’s just…hard.”

I know he doesn’t want to talk, but I can read him like my favorite book. This isn’t about the relationship he had with Angora, because there barely was one. It’s about loss and the ease with which he is being replaced.

“Riven.” I pull him in, bridging the physical gap in hopes of doing the same emotionally. He loves to pull away when things get too deep. “I don’t think you ever cared about her or about others' opinions; you just hate losing.” The music swells, and I feel the romance of couples molding in all around us, spinning and laughing without a care in the world. And why wouldn’t they? For everyone else, this is probably the best thing that has ever happened to them. My heart clenches. It’s not fair that such a magical opportunity is being wasted on me. “But her choosing him has nothing to do with you lacking something and everything to do with her being a twat.” Riven’s amused snort vibrates through my body, but the amusement doesn’t reach his stormy eyes. He isn’t returning the volley with a joke, but he isn’t arguing with me either, so I’ll take it as a win.

The music ends, and the couples around us break apart.

He holds me a second longer, and I notice the loss of his warmth immediately when he steps back.

“Well, matches,” the Maiden begins. “You’ve already given us much to discuss.” I roll my eyes, her giddiness spoiling my mood to the bone.

“We will see you all tomorrow,” the Mother adds.

“And if you try to escape, remember, a bloodthirsty kraken calls these waters home.” Leave it to the Crone to really lighten the mood. “Goodnight.”

Riven and I leave the beach hand in hand. I am unsettled, and he is quieter than he’s ever been. So, all around, the vibe is despondent.

The Festival has truly begun.

Chapter Eight

POPPY