Page 49 of Of Curses and Courtship

“That wasn’t so long ago, was it?” He downs the drink in a graceful swoop, as if the bubbles do not tickle his nose. “Yet, it feels far away now.”

This is meant to be a day of celebration for the prince and his palace. Why is there a morose tinge to his words? I feel it in his energy, too, as if the same rain cloud that hung over my head the nights prior floats above us now.

Surely the others can see it; they can feel it. What will they think?

“Are you well?” I murmur. “Perhaps you shouldn’t drink so much on such an important occasion.”

“What’s the point? I’ll never please them, regardless of how much I do or do not drink.”

I lean in closer, dropping my voice so only he can hear. “Who are you attempting to please, Your Highness?”

“Everyone.” He gestures, still holding the glass between his fingers. He’s already had too much to drink. Despite his inherently graceful nature, his words are slurred, and his eyes are wild. “It’s never enough. I’m giving all I have to save this land. My life. My hand. My body.”

His body? I wince.

“When will it be enough?”

The question must be rhetorical, but he looks at me as though he expects an answer. His eyes bore into mine—pleading and red-rimmed. He’s been crying. This is the second time I’ve caught him crying.

“Your Highness.” I force myself to be firm, even though I want nothing more than to comfort him. “Planning a wedding is enough to create stress for anyone. You’re doing all you can. Give yourself a bit of credit.”

He straightens up. “I suppose that’s true... and I will try. Iamtrying. Thank you?—”

“Emyr!” Another mildly inebriated partygoer ambles toward us. She’s nearly as tall as Emyr and has the same stark white hair. “What in heaven are you doing here?”

Emyr nods. “Cousin.”

I have a feeling the greeting is more for my sake, though I could have guessed they were related by the hair alone.

“I’m getting a drink,” Emyr says. “It seems you don’t need one of your own.”

His cousin gives me a passing look.

“Well… why not?” She plucks up a wine glass without saying a word to me, and inhales a heavy gulp of the drink.

“Happy to see you are enjoying yourself.” Emyr gives hera pointed look. “Perhaps you should enjoy yourself elsewhere? Hm?”

“Why would I do that?” She sniffs. “And why are you speaking with the maids? It is unbecoming.”

“Silva!” Emyr booms. “That’s quite enough.”

His voice is loud enough that heads turn in our direction.

I shrink away. It is unbecoming for a worker to make such a fuss.

“What?” Silva’s eyes widen. “’Twas only a question. This party is full of the fae you care for most, and you are wasting your time speaking with a stranger.”

I am torn between mortification and flattery. Silva, whoever she is, is correct—Emyr is choosing to speak with me, and I still don’t understand why. I long to disappear from the conversation, but I cannot. Curiosity has me transfixed as the situation escalates.

“Apologize,” Emyr says in a surprisingly calm voice, though the sharpened glare he gives his cousin is full of malice. “That’s not the way you treat my employees.”

Silva stares at him with a slack jaw. “What has gotten into you?”

“Apologize, or I will have you escorted out. You wouldn’t want to make a spectacle, would you?”

“She truly does not have to—” I start.

“Iamsorry.” Silva doesn’t look at me as she delivers the apology. “Perhaps I’ll see myself out. This isn’t the brilliant event I believed it would be.”