“You’re upset.”

I snapped. “Of course I’m upset, Evander. You say that you love me. That I’m your friend. Yet you’re sitting here admitting you’re in love with the woman who tried to murder me.”

“We don’t know that she was trying to kill you. It could have been that she was just trying to scare you off.”

I was pretty sure my face went void of all human emotion at that statement. “She stabbed me in the stomach. Either she was trying to kill me or she’s an idiot.”

“Well, that is what you think of me. So maybe one day you’ll agree she and I are a good match?” His smile was genuine, apologetic, his tone playful. He knew good and well he was acting like a pitiful, lovesick puppy dog.

It wasn’t cute.

“I’d like to rest now.”

“I can stay long—”

“Get out.”

He blinked and swallowed, as if to absorb my words and allow them to settle. “I probably deserve that.” Then without looking at me, he turned and left.

Peck came to dress my wounds. How many royal conversations had he been privy to? The quiet being in the corner, holding everyone’s secrets.

“I probably deserve that,” he mimicked, almost to himself, in a high-pitched tone as his eyes widened and his face scrunched up in disgust.

The hinge on my jaw must have broken, because it seemed I was no longer in control of my facial expressions.

“You could do better, my lady,” Peck said.

I groaned as the weight of being magically bound to a male who loved someone else settled in my stomach and soured. “Actually, no; I literally cannot.”

CHAPTER 34

ELLIE

Once Peck cleared me to walk again, I…

Well, truth be told, my life didn’t change a whole lot.

They’d changed the locks on my doors and replaced the key with an ornate iron one to match the ornate iron door handle. Which rendered the key Evander had given me useless.

Unfortunately, I was too irritated with him to ask for a new one.

Part of me thought I might return to the workshop Evander had set up on the castle grounds, but I didn’t exactly want to relive the memories there, either.

The first day back in my service, Blaise had apologized what must have been fifty times for the whole incident, though it didn’t seem to me like it was any one person’s fault.

Imogen, however, seemed inclined to blame Blaise for the incident.

Apparently the key had been stolen from Imogen’s keyring during the night.

Blaise had been a heavy sleeper all her life, so she hadn’t noticed anyone sneaking into her and Imogen’s shared room and swiping it.

In fact, Blaise couldn’t figure out how Cinderella had gotten into her and Imogen’s quarters.

Imogen, who kept my sheets fresh and my water jug replenished, had her own ideas of what happened. Apparently Blaise was notorious for forgetting to lock their bedroom suite.

At first it had seemed strange to me that Imogen hadn’t been in her quarters when the key was stolen, but when I spoke to Blaise about it, she said Imogen had been mopey all day, her eyes bloodshot.

I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been crying over my walk in the forest with Evander, wishing to weep in private rather than in front of Blaise.

I couldn’t exactly blame her.

Evander hadn’t visited me since the day I’d blown up on him. Not that I wanted him to.

I hadn’t been sure what to write my parents. Given the time I’d spent in a feverish, draft-induced coma, there had been a lapse in our daily correspondence. The papers hadn’t printed news of my attack; King Marken had made sure of that. Probably by threatening the editors’ relationship between their necks and their heads.

Part of me was glad for the discretion. There was no use in having my parents fret over my safety, not when there was nothing they could do to ensure it.

In the end, I settled on a letter apologizing profusely for my lack of correspondence, explaining that I had been terribly busy the past few days.

I figured that wasn’t exactly a lie, as most rational people would agree that being stabbed was its own sort of busyness.

I’d just sealed the letter when someone knocked on the door.

I wondered if that was a fae thing. Could he make me think about him when he was near? Even the idea of it sizzled my bones.

I didn’t bother to respond, so he let himself in.

“I’m sorry. I thought you must be sleeping.”

I didn’t answer.

“I take it you’re still angry.”

“Yes.”

I expected some immature, spoiled response about how I shouldn’t be upset with him, about how he couldn’t help who he loved and I shouldn’t expect him to.

But when he spoke, he caught me by surprise. “I’m sorry about the other day. I was insensitive.”

“Oh?” I asked, cautiously. Was this going to be a real apology or was he about to offend me by calling me out for the real reason I’d been so upset?

The reason I’d refused to acknowledge to myself the past few days.

He walked over to where I sat in a chair facing my window. Then he sat down next to me on the floor, crisscrossing his legs. It made him look rather childish, in my opinion.

“It was selfish of me to talk about loving the woman who hurt you, and for trying to minimize what she did. Obviously, I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did.”

“Common mistake. Anyone could have made it. You know, we all agree to marry complete strangers from time to time. Usually, a few hours of dancing is a reliable measure. I hate that it didn’t work out for you.”