Page 87 of Their Wicked Cage

I don’t think I can last until midsummer.

And neither can the Fae Isles.

The blight… It’s encroached upon the gardens again in patches of glittering sickness.

The air—usually candy sweet—bears the undercurrent of something sour.

And I overheard the staff discussing the neighboring isles and how those living there have come down with some kind of illness. Apparently, Vessaryn returned to Lichenmere in the south to help those who’ve fallen sick.

“Gwyn?” Miriya says, and I have a sinking feeling it isn’t the first time she’s tried to capture my attention.

“So sorry!” I say airily, forcing myself to giggle. “I was lost in a daydream.”

“That happens to me all the time,” she says warmly. “My cousin says daydreams are just the future’s way of showing us our heart’s truest desires.”

“Your cousin sounds positively lovely.” I wiggle my toes in the grass. We’re in the gardens on the south side of the castle, waiting for the sun to set and for our handmaidens to take us inside for dinner in the dining hall. “What is it you were saying?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She shakes her head. “I was just wondering how come you’re the only witch here.”

Lying isn’t my strong suit. Thankfully, Riven had already given me the answer to this question before the brides arrived, so the lie comes easily.

“I suppose I was the only candidate Eliphas deemed worthy enough for King Riven,” I say demurely.

Lyrielle snorts as she toys with the seashells dotting one of her blonde braids. “You must be so flattered. I’m sure King Riven will be enticed by that too. But wait…” She trails off as she seems to ponder something. “Have you even been on a date with him yet?”

She asks the question so sweetly, I’m not sure how she’s not suffering from cavities.

I smooth out an invisible wrinkle on my sunset orange gown and grin. “Oh, I have.”

“Wait, really?” Lyrielle leans forward. “Why haven’t you said anything? Usually, the females here return from their dates swooning, and yet you’re so…”

“Reserved?” offers Miriya.

“Reserved,” she agrees. “Don’t you want to be queen?”

Her question gives me pause. So far, they’ve been even in my judgment of who might be a better fit for Riven—if I had to choose, I couldn’t pick between them.

Until now.

They’re waiting for me to reply, and for once, I don’t have to lie.

“I want to be loved,” I say softly. “Loved by the people and by the king, and last time I checked, neither requires a crown.”

“Spoken like a selfless queen.”

The voice is achingly familiar.

I whirl around, meeting the full weight of Riven’s storm-bright stare.

I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t bother me, this coldness from him. No matter how much I try not to care, I do. Something was brewing between us, something deep and unexplored, and he severed it with a slash of silence and a brief dismissal.

Lyrielle and Miriya dip their heads in acquiescence, and I follow suit, playing the part of doting bride.

“You’ve just given me a magnificent idea, little witch,” he murmurs.

My gaze snaps up to his. Beside me, Miriya grins as she elbows Lyrielle in the ribs.

A playful “Did you hear that?” if I’ve ever seen one.