Page 52 of Forest of Dreams and Whispers
“Something vexes you?” Juliana asked, hand resting against the pommel of her sword.
Hawthorn poured out a healthy measure, barked at her to close the door, and collapsed in his chair.
“Mother wants me to consider making amends with Lucinda. Having her as my… back-up option.”
Juliana’s grip on her sword stiffened, but she forced her face into a mask of civility. “Ah, your ‘chosen fae bride’.”
“We have an arrangement with the Summer Court,” he continued, as if Juliana wasn’t intimately aware of this. “That ought to be enough.”
Eighteen years they’d had to avert the curse, and yet only one plan, one idea remained. One that involved letting it happen. One that Juliana didn’t like to think about, and did, far too often.
She took a deep breath. “Does it occur to you that that might not be a terrible idea?”
Hawthorn stared at her. “You want me to marry Lucinda?”
“I want you to be—“I want you to be safe,she started, but then quickly shut her mouth. “I don’t want to have to quit Faerie. Or, you know, die.”
Hawthorn winced. “Understandable.” He paused, examining the insides of his goblet, eyes dark and misted. “Do you ever think they might be right?”
“Who?”
“The assassins. The people that want me dead. Do you not think they might be right?”
Juliana blanched, not liking how that made her feel… not liking thathefelt it. “Do you?”
“The thought has crossed my mind once or twice. I haven’t done much to warrant death, at least, I hope not, but I am only one person. You’re a knight, or as good as one. Would you not slay one monster to save a village?”
“You’re hardly a monster.”
“I have my moments,” he admitted. “Same as every person in that hypothetical village—and likely more than them. Would it not be easier to just let them finish me off?”
“Keep talking like that,” Juliana warned, gripping Briarsong’s pommel tightly, “and I’ll run you through myself.”
“You seem angry.”
“I don’t… I’m notoverlyfond of the thought of you expiring.”
He snorted. “An entirely mutual feeling.” He took another long, steady sip. “I’m worried.”
“About me running you through? I should hope so. It’s been mighty tempting on occasion.”
“I am worried,” he said slowly, “that our attempts to divert the curse will fail, and that people will get hurt as a result.”
“Well, we have a few back-up plans in place—“
“I am worried,” he admitted, “thatyouwill get hurt as a result.”
Juliana froze, as surely as if she’d been rendered in ice. She was aware that he did not detest her as much as he did when they were children—they’d been through much in these three years—but hearing him say it outright…
“I am not easily hurt,” she whispered.
“I know, and thank the spirits, or I’d be an anxious ball of nerves all the time.”
It was hard to imagine Hawthorn being nervous about much, but the image made her snort. “Now you know how I feel.”
“What?” Hawthorn asked, brow furrowed.
“What what?”
