Page 82 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
That would be a nightmare. I don’t want to imagine it.
And what of my sister? What of Clara, my best friend and companion since childhood, the one person who knew about everything I did? She knew, yet she never told our father, not once, no matter how angry she was with me.
What if she’s—what if Fin didn’t get there in time, and he can’t bring her to us? Not that I want her here, sharing this peril—oh fuck. It’s all a fucking mess, and I wish I could tell Clara how sorry I am, for everything I’ve said that hurt her. I wish I could drag Lir in here and throw him down and kiss his precious stupid face until I feel safe again.
As I’m chewing my lip, bouncing anxiously on my heels, Orain enters. “I’ve laid out food for you in another tent, where you can also sleep. If you’ll come with me, Lady Louisa.”
“And—the Prince? Is he—where is he?”
“He’s speaking with the captain,” she says. “He will go to his rest soon.”
I don’t dare ask if “his rest” is with me, in my tent. Of course it isn’t. He’s a king, and he’ll sleep in some royally appointed tent, not in the same tent as the slutty mortal girl who damaged his arm and fingered herself in front of him.
The tent Orain gives me is small and cozy, with a thick mattress and blankets laid on a rug over the cold ground. The bed is certainly wide enough for two, but not as wide as a king would probably want. Another sign that Lir won’t be joining me tonight.
I sit cross-legged on the mattress and devour the soup, biscuits, fruit, and cold sliced meat on my tray. Then I drink deeply of the wine.
Full and weary, I crawl into the bed. There’s no candle to blow out—just a few tiny orbs of faerie light floating near the top of the tent.
I’ve slept in the company of other people for nearly two weeks now. Being alone in a tent near a potential battlefront unsettles me so badly I can’t rest. I flip the pillows over, again and again, and I turn from one side to the other like a pancake being fried.
What if Lir is already gone? What if he headed for the Unending Pool without me?
What if he rides for the Pool, and on the way he reverts to his Nutcracker form, and falls from his mount and shatters into splinters against a rock?
Or what if, after being with his Seelie subjects again, he remembers how much lovelier, wiser, and more capable they are than I am? What if he decides to take one of them to bed tonight?
What if one of his own people is a traitor and kills him in his bed?
What if—
A burst of cold air rushes into the tent, and I spring up, lunging for my dagger.
“Louisa.” Lir closes the tent flap and frowns, eyeing the blade I’m brandishing. “You seem agitated.”
“Do I?” I toss the dagger aside and rise from the bed. “Do I seem agitated? After you left me with a stranger, in the middle of a war camp? After I was put in this tent alone and told to go to bed, with no news of you and your plans? Why should I be agitated afterthat?”
“Who told you to go to bed?” His eyebrows rise.
“It was implied,” I say haughtily, “by the presence of thebed.” I point to it.
His frown deepens. “You were tired. You said you craved a hot bath, a hot meal, and a warm bed, so I provided those things, andof courseyou’re not pleased. I thought you could use some time alone, away from me, since you obviously do not wish to be mine. Andof coursethat consideration displeases you as well.”
“If you thought I needed time away from you, why are you here?”
“Because—” He clears his throat, his gaze darting around the tent. “Because I… I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”
“Orain already saw to that. So why don’t you run off to your own fancy tent and your royal bed?”
“All the tents and the beds are the same,” he says. “After our discussion, I didn’t think you’d care to share one with me.”
“Well, you didn’t ask, did you? And speaking of beds—you’re the one who has never been keen to share mine, until your effusive confession today. You want to know what I think?”
“Not particularly,” he growls, crossing his arms.
“I think you proposed marriage to me because you are exhausted, overwhelmed, and traumatized from your stint as a wooden doll in Drosselmeyer’s house, and from what has happened to your kingdom. You feel like a failure, and you want something to give you hope and make you feel better.”
He’s glaring at me, the tips of his ears flushed red. “Is that so?”
