Page 25 of How To Please A Princely Fae

"There," Nerissa tells Violet, patting her arms. "You did well, you did so well."

Ruby looks frankly at Nerissa. "I've seen no mention of any of this in the town records, nor the coven records.”

It's Violet that answers. "Wild magic was expunged from the histories."

Ruby's expression turns to outrage. "Expunged from the histories," she repeats. "That is against the historians’ code of honor." She places a hand over her heart and Caelan lets out a low chuckle at the witch’s ire.

"There's a name for that in the Underhill," he says with a grin that doesn't quite meet his eyes. "We call it the queen’s version."

The look of disdain Ruby spears him with is the harshest I've ever seen from the witch. I would not like to be on the receiving end of it.

Although, judging from Kieran's glower, I'm not much at risk for even a mean look at the moment. It shouldn't feel as nice as it does.

"Wild magic," Nerissa muses, tapping the end of her nose with her forefinger. The light of the multicolored lanterns overhead reflects warmly in the gloss of her black hair.

"It's all rather exciting," she says rubbing her hands together with gusto.

"For you, maybe," I say, exasperated. "Some of us aren't strong spell casters. Some of us aren’t good at anything but growing plants. Some of us don't want to get married to some ancient elemental power because we can’t do anything else to help."

Oh goddess.

I've shouted it at her.

Goddess dammit.

"I didn't mean it like that,” I say, my voice faltering. “I just don't know how I can help protect our home. It's not exciting to me. It’s terrifying."

Wren winces sympathetically at me.

The angry sound of Kieran's wings intensifies behind me. "Of course you can protect your home," he says, and the anger in his voice startles me, startles everyone as a thousand eyes gaze up at the Unseelie prince. "I don't know who's convinced you that your power doesn't matter as much as these other witches’, but they were sorely mistaken. None of them would be able to do their best work without you."

"He's absolutely right," says Nerissa, nodding her head. I scour her face for a hint of sarcasm, but find none. “You are an integral part of our coven, and of the whole community writlarge." Nerissa raises her eyebrows at me and smiles as a chorus of agreement sounds from all around me.

Not just from my coven, but from all the citizens of Wild Oak Woods who stopped merry-making to listen to our heated conversation.

"You saved my crop of apple trees this fall."

"You brewed the potion that kept my babies’ fevers at bay," another voice calls.

"Willow's greenhouse is full of the plants that allow me to make everything I sell," Piper adds gently, smiling at me.

A rousing cheer goes up around us, and my cheeks heat. Kieran's arm loosens slightly around my waist, his thumb brushing a stroke across the soft flesh of my stomach in a way that sends my blood hot and singing through me.

"We don't need them,” a voice bellows, running through the noise of the crowd. One of the minotaur builders shakes a fist at Violet as though she's the reason the Elder Gods are here, instead of simply the messenger.

She draws inward, and it breaks my heart to see her retreat further into the shell of herself.

"That's right, we don't need their damned help!" his brother yells out, stamping his hooves. His cheeks are bright red, the honey mead in his hand sloshing over the stein’s rim.

"Don't you dare blame Violet," Nerissa says, and energy crackles off of her skin. "She delivered the message. She didn't compose it. What exactly do you propose to do differently?"

The minotaur brothers have the courtesy to look rightfully abashed in the wake of her words.

"What we arenotgoing to do is make decisions in anger and fear when they affect all of us—not just our coven," Piper declares in that kind, no-nonsense way of hers that I so admire. Murmurs of agreement trickle through the crowd.

Agreement, fervent in their belief that Piper does know best. They’re confident that she's offered is the best solution.

“You need protection," Darius, the older of the minotaur brothers, says, and the younger brother chimes in immediately, "Each of the witches needs protection.” His eyes dart to me and Kieran’s wings beat an angry frenzy behind us both so hard that it pushes the hair against my face.

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