Page 37 of The Cursed Crown

"Tharsen will be able to do that," she stated.

That again?Rydekar could only sigh. "What makes you think that's a good idea?"

"He's a pureblood fae. He's old—he was already five hundred years of age when his curse struck, and it's been thousands of years. No seelie king will dare go against him. Me? I'm a half-nightmare."

She said it like her lineage was relevant. He could only blink and shake his head. "And I'm a quarter human, with puck blood, and a fair amount of pixie, too. What does it matter? I'm powerful."

In their world, that was what it came down to. Power. She had so much at her feathertips. Why couldn't she see that was enough?

"You're unseelie. You don't know how the seelie realm works."

"I know the fae respect power and nothing else."

They could butt heads on this until the end of time. Rissa blew a breath. "You're impossible."

He laughed. That was rich, coming from her. "I suppose in that, at least, we're matched."

Silence stretched, more comfortable than it should have been between two strangers. Rydekar kept his eyes on her, watching the blueish hue of her skin fade to its usual warm gold. A stray curl fell down her forehead. He wanted to push it away, but resisted. Having her so very close was the worst kind of compulsion.

"You may not find what you seek up north, Rissa."

She bristled. "You don't know that."

"I know more than you do. If you listen to nothing else I say, listen to this: there's no shame in being wrong, as long as you can learn from it. There's no shame in retreating to bounce back. There's no shame in growing."

A crease appeared in the smooth plane of her forehead, between her eyes. "That sounded…far less condescending than anything else you've said to me. Almost wise."

He shrugged. "I'm some two hundred years older than you, fairy child."

She grinned, like she remembered his calling her just that, so long ago. Before he wore a crown. Before she was old enough to know better.

It had been a simpler world.

She eventually faded, giving into sleep, and Rydekar remained by her side, unmoving, studying each of her features.

Too soon. Her smell would fade too soon. And so would she.

Farewell

She woke alone in Rydekar's bed, though his scent was still everywhere. Patting the pillow he'd laid on, she found it cold.

She sat up, stretching with a yawn. How long had she been asleep?

The sky on the ceiling had streaks of red and gold running through the darkness. Getting out of bed, she walked to the closest window. Almost dawn. Turning to the door, she spotted something she hadn't seen at first: her travel bag, at the foot of the bed.

Frowning, she went to inspect it. Inside, there was everything she'd packed, along with an assortment of potions—healing salves, sleeping draught, and more. She noted a bag of dry meat, cheeses, and breads, along with a hefty purse filled with gold coins.

She whistled. One could buy a castle with this fortune.

Next to the bag, her riding habits had been laundered and folded, along with an assortment of weapons. Her own daggers, but also a knife so sharp the blade glinted in the light, and a longsword grand enough to have a name.

She couldn't picture Rydekar folding her clothes. A servant must have set it down.

She dressed in haste, regretfully removing her dress. Rydekar had better save it for her. If he gave it to another woman in her absence, she was going to cut off all his hair in his sleep.

She made her way down the flight of stairs of the tower, jumping them two at a time. Once she reached the ground level, she set out to find Rydekar through the corridors leading back to the great hall.

"Rissa!"

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