Page 73 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

No one’s actually gone into detail, but Ruskin seems open to talking about things for once, so I take my chance.

“They say it was a hunting accident. That he was mauled by a pack of wolves in the Emerald Forest.”

I have seen the wolves that roam these woods and they’re certainly ferocious. I can easily imagine falling victim to their powerful jaws and sharp teeth…but that’s me, a puny human. I don’t have the physical strength or speed of a fae, and my magic is nothing compared to what a prince would know how to wield. A wolf pack probably could kill a fae if they could surround him, somehow stop him from fighting back. But would that be possible from a pack of wild animals without outside help? Accidents happen, of course. And bad luck. But sabotage and betrayal happen, too. I didn’t miss the way Ruskin described the event: ‘They say’—as if that might not be what really happened.

I know that things grew frosty once more between the courts after Lucan died. Now I wonder if this was why. Did some people suspect foul play? Ruskin seems to think so. I remember an illusion of Lucan appearing to us in Cebba’s labyrinth, conjured up from Ruskin’s mind. It spoke of Ruskin avenging him. But when Ruskin doesn’t elaborate, I decide I don’t want to push him. The memory must be painful enough, so I steer the conversation in a different direction instead.

“And you never saw your father’s side of the family after that?”

“There were a few official events in the beginning. I remember seeing my uncle at those, King Lisinder. But they tapered off with time.”

I wonder what it’s like, growing up only ever knowing one side of you. I have a whole village who loved Mom and can help me feel connected to her, but Ruskin never had that. From what I’ve seen, he uses his Unseelie heritage more as a tool than anything else. Something to scare and intimidate humans and Seelie alike. Otherwise, he likes to keep it under wraps—Halima told me as much herself. The one time I saw him give in to that side…

My body wakens at the memory of the night of the Harvest Moon. The first time he kissed me. The first time he really touched me. For that one night, he liberated that part of himself and it pushed us both into uncharted territory. It was raw and sharp-edged and wonderful.

Because of times like that night I don’t—can’t—think of Ruskin’s Unseelie side as a bad thing. I also don’t believe it’s specifically his father’s blood that nurtures the side of him I don’t like—his deadly anger, his high walls, and the instinct that has him putting what’s practical over what’s merciful. I’ve seen all of those traits at play in the Seelie Court. Still, I sense he isn’t entirely comfortable with the Unseelie part of his blood. I think he sees it as something to be controlled rather than accepted.

And despite all that, I love him.

No matter how much I pick at his strengths and weaknesses, that fact doesn’t change. I can’t talk myself out of loving him any more than I can talk myself out of breathing. The way I feel has even been confirmed by fate. More and more I think the naminai bond must be there—hovering between us. The pull I feel towards him is too strong—feels too inevitable.

Our horses trot on in the dappled light filtering between the trees. We’re silent, taking in the rustling and whispering of the forest around us. I feel a wave of relief, admitting this reality to myself, rather than dancing around it as I’ve been doing for weeks. I love Ruskin, and that won’t go away.

But there’s still pain—the pain of knowing that this love can’t go anywhere either, that it can’t find a home as things stand. There are too many obstacles blocking the way.

Nevertheless, right now, in this moment, I’d give anything to be able to take that first step.

It’s enough to keep me quiet for the rest of the day’s journey, unable to hold much of a conversation even when we decide to stop for the night. I’m too busy turning over what I’d say if I was ready to throw caution to the wind and fight for a chance for us to be together.

We make camp, building a fire, and I watch Ruskin pull a stack of embroidered fabric from one of the saddlebags, laying it on the ground. Next, he summons his magic, calling forth a small army of vines and tree branches that wind their way into the material. They start to tug the edges in opposite directions, looping through hooks at the corners to raise it up and pull it taut. In moments it’s gone from a pile of textile to an elaborate tent, with thick walls and a beautiful canopied roof. I step inside and see the result of magic here too. The ground is strewn with blankets and cushions, which look undeniably inviting after a hard day’s travel on the most uncomfortable horse in the world.

We eat, and only when we’re finished does my silence become too much for him.

“What did I say?” he asks abruptly, setting his dish down.

“Hmm?” I reply, startled out of the thoughts I’ve been lost in all day.

“You’ve barely spoken a word to me since noon. I want to know what’s bothering you so much.”

I make the leap and say what I’m really thinking. At least, one of the thoughts I’ve been obsessing over.

“Why can’t you tell me about my mother?”

His face turns stony, as if bracing for an attack.

“I thought we’d covered this. There’s nothing I can offer you on that subject.”

“I asked why you can’t say anything, that’s all. Surely you can tell me that. Is it a curse? What’s causing the pain when you try to talk about it—your magic or someone else’s?”

He opens his mouth, but hesitates, perhaps trying to figure out how to proceed without triggering the pain from before.

“It’s my magic, but it’s not unique to me. Any fae in this situation would be subject to the same punishment.”

It’s obvious he’s trying to give me clues—offering me a map to the answer without actually spelling it out. I think his words over.

“So you’re bound by your own magic…by fae magic.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned about fair folk’s magic, it’s that there are rules, check and balances. “It’s part of a deal,” I say, with understanding. “You’d be breaking a deal if you talked about it.”

He is silent, but I’m sure I’m right.

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