The first and most obvious was my betrothal to Cinderella, of course.

But Ellie Payne was starting to interfere with other aspects of my life.

Francesca Aberdeen, for example.

Francesca Aberdeen had always excelled at one skill in particular—being the perfect distraction.

She had the body of an hourglass, the face of a demure lamb, and the cunning of a serpent.

And whenever I called, she answered.

I’d always liked that about her, or at least I’d always told myself I liked that about her.

Really, I thought I despised it, for as much as I enjoyed her company in bed, I really just reveled in the fact that there was at least one other fae in this world more vain and shallow than I was.

By far.

When I invited Ellie for dinner, it had been with the intention of making an ally of my future wife. Though neither of us wished to enter into this marriage, there was no reason we shouldn’t at least try to enjoy one another’s company, especially since it seemed we were going to end up stuck together for the next few decades.

What I hadn’t expected was to still be thinking about my dinner with Ellie well into the evening.

It wouldn’t have been so much of a problem if I hadn’t invited Francesca Aberdeen to my bed.

At first, I hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt for extending such an invitation. I had strict boundaries regarding marriage and infidelity, but being engaged still felt like a gray area, especially when my betrothed would have rather not been my betrothed.

This was my first time calling on Francesca since the night of the ball. I hadn’t wanted to after I met Cinderella, after that question of hers had consumed my every waking thought.

It hadn’t even been as much of a question as it had been an acknowledgment.

It must hurt to have lost him.

But Ellie was right; my father was right.

I’d proposed to Cinderella, and she’d fled.

I was the Heir of Dwellen, and I’d found the one woman in the country who didn’t want to marry me.

Well, the second, I supposed.

Ellie didn’t exactly want to marry me, either.

I’d been an arrogant fool to expect otherwise, first with Cinderella. I mean, what kind of scoundrel must I be if a woman quite literally fled from my presence and I interpreted that as her wanting to be chased?

It reminded me of something one of my father’s creepy advisors would do. Receive obvious rejection from a young female and assume it meant she desired an increase in his efforts.

Blech.

And then I’d come onto Ellie, assuming she wanted me, too.

I knew she found me attractive. I could hear the way her heart pounded when our bodies were close, could sense the hairs on her arms standing up, the quickening of her breath.

But Ellie Payne was not one to let carnal desires cloud her judgment.

And clearly, being with me was poor judgment.

I hadn’t really wanted to seduce her the first day she arrived in the palace. By Alondria, she was stunning, sure, but I’d still been convinced of Cinderella’s affections for me and had desired no one but her.

I’d just wanted to prove that Ellie was secretly excited about a chance to be a princess, that she was inwardly greedy, grasping for the power of the throne.

I supposed I’d wanted to absolve myself of the guilt of ruining her life by proving she secretly wanted this.

I’d been wrong, of course.

That was a pattern, apparently.

Still, she’d been a genius in the Trials, and I couldn’t help but admire the way her sharp mind had cut a loophole in the rules. How quick she’d been in a pinch.

And then there was the way her heart pounded in delight when I lifted her into my arms, the way her body betrayed her in that moment. She’d been stunning, in more ways than one.

Ellie Payne was a force of nature, resilient and determined and absolutely tenacious, and she deserved better than to be tied to me.

Though if I had to be forced into a marriage with a woman who thought I was an idiot, I’d probably gotten the better half of the deal.

But then Francesca had arrived, and every time I looked at her, something gnawed at my insides. Guilt, perhaps? Either that, or Francesca would say something, and I wouldn’t hear her because I’d been too busy thinking about something Ellie had said at dinner.

In the end, I’d sent her home, spouting a flurry of awkward apologies about calling on her so late in the evening.

I didn’t quite understand why I’d done it.

All I knew was that Francesca Aberdeen was not the female I’d wanted in my bed.

When I woke the next morning, I had an idea.

“So what? You just snap your fingers, and glassblowing workshops magically appear?” Ellie asked as we stepped into the abandoned barn on the West End of Othian Castle.

“Something like that.” When she shot me a knowing glare, I couldn’t help but grin. “Okay, maybe I don’t snap my fingers. Maybe I ask very nicely and promise a handful of servants a generous Lunar Eclipse bonus, and then the workshop appears. Within three to five business days.”

Ellie shrugged, hugging herself as she examined the workshop I’d gotten the idea for a few days ago. Unfortunately, my father was still denying Ellie a key to her room, but at least she could come here and work as long as she had an escort. I’d had the servants install multiple furnaces. Apparently the materials needed to be heated to different temperatures throughout the glassmaking process. The furnaces were already blazing, lighting up the abandoned barn and making me thankful I’d asked the servants to wipe the place of cobwebs. There were all sorts of other metal tools organized neatly, some on stands, others resting in iron bins.

“What do you think? Is this a conducive environment for Elynore Payne to work?” I asked.

Ellie bit her lip, and her shoulders dropped slightly. For a moment, I thought I must have placed the wrong artisan in charge of designing the workshop, that something was amiss and would cause it to be unusable, but then Ellie surprised me.

“It’s…It’s very nice. Well thought out, even down to where the furnaces are placed. It’ll make moving from station to station easy.” She paced toward what looked to be a long metal poker and picked it up, turning it over in her palms. “And the tools are good quality.” She turned to face me, and in the flicker of the furnace light, I caught the way the edges of her lips twitched.

Like she was battling back a smile.

Elynore Payne might have been a formidable opponent to most, but she was going to lose that fight.