Page 13 of A Match Made in Error

I exhale, tension coiling through me. “Lucky us,” I mutter, sarcasm thin as paper.

The golden halo hums faintly between us, the light warm, insistent. It feels like a tether, a leash, and a promise all at once. Riven leans in, not touching, but close enough that I feel the heat of him through the shimmer. His protective aura flares, subtle, almost feral, as if the magic itself has to compete with him.

Across the stage, the Moirai gesture to Angora. “Step forward. Let Fate decide your path.” She is lifted in a graceful swirl toward the dice set, and the audience shifts its attention. Cheers, whispers, and gasps fade beyond the curtain that now holds Riven and me back.

I stay quiet, letting my breath settle. The adrenaline has left my fingers tingling and my stomach fluttering. Now in the shadows, I feel safe to allow myself a moment after that scene of chaos. Allow myself a moment to entertain the glaring question: What am I going to do?

With shaking hands, I push back my hair and breathe, trying and failing to let Angora’s match ceremony distract me.

Am I a bad friend? Riven’s girlfriend is being matched, and all I can think about is how freaked out I am.

No, it’s fine. He doesn't even like her that much anyway. Of that I am certain.

Fate matched us again. Didn’t it see what a colossal error that was the first time?

“Look at that,” he murmurs. “Matched again. Fate’s really committed to this bit.” I finally glance at him, annoyance written on every inch of my face. No. Not written. That’s not permanent enough. It’s tattooed. No. Sealed in a blood oath.

How could this have happened?

Riven shifts again, glancing at me with a crooked grin. He knows he’s got me on the ropes. Of course he does. This wretched man does it on purpose.

“You know,” he says mildly, like we’re discussing the weather, “if you keep glaring at the ceremony like that, someone’s going to think you’re planning a jailbreak. Or a murder. Possibly both.”

“Riven,” I warn, but it comes out huffed on a breath of laughter.

“I’m serious, and I get it. Fate really saw us thriving and said, ‘Let’s mess with that.’” His mouth quirks when I don’t laugh. “Breathe, Pop. Nobody’s dragging you to the altar tonight.”

I snort. “If they tried, I’d cause a scene.”

He scoffs, holding a hand to his chest. “Don’t be rude about it. I’m a catch,” he says, close enough that only I can hear, a smile playing on his lips.

When his joke is once more met with my steely gaze, he pivots approaches. Always the strategist. “It’s just a ceremony. Not a prophecy carved into your bones.” I bit my cheek, eyes cast to the side as I consider his words. I guess he’s right. We made it through this once as friends three years ago. We can do that again. Worst thing that happens is I get to spend a month on a tropical island with my best friend. There are worse fates. “Don’t spiral alone; we’ll figure this out together.” He nudges my hand with his fingers.

“How are you so calm?”

“Someone has to be calm. If I panic too, we’ll end up fleeing the city by dawn with a Moirai curse hanging over our heads.” He rolls his eyes when I glare at him and decides to answer again. “Because this is not a death sentence. It’s a vacation. Worst case, we drink too much and complain about it together.” The crowd is cheering in the background, watching as Angora rolls her die. “I didn’t do this looking for destiny. I came here looking for a good time. This can still qualify.”

“And Angora?” The name we had yet dared speak.

“She’ll be there too. It’s not like she’s going to be in love with the schmuck they match her with. You saw her; she was more pissed about this than we were.”

“An eleven,” the Maiden calls out. Just over the cutoff. Couples have to roll a ten or higher out of twenty to be matched. “A respectable score that will earn you a place in the Festival.” Claps ring out, a public display of adoration Angora is no doubt glowing over. “Please make your way backstage.”

“Some poor bastard just got assigned a character-building exercise,” he says lightly. “Good luck to them.” Riven’s joke cuts me. I’d be heartbroken if my boyfriend talked about me that way. I mean…she is horrid, but horrid people deserve love too.

The curtain pulls back, revealing a devastatingly beautiful elven lord and a gushing Angora. If she were a caricature drawing, her heart-shaped eyes would be popping out of her head. She’s smiling up at him, taking in his nearly seven-foot frame and perfectly coiled blond hair with breathless smiles. Not even sparing Riven a glance.

“Angora, we’re over here,” Riven calls out, but Angora doesn’t even flinch. As if he’s a ghost speaking from another plane.

Angora reaches for the elf’s hand like this is what she was waiting for all along. “Your jacket is impeccably tailored. Who is your seamster?”

Riven’s reaction is immediate and visceral. Not heartbreak, but definitely ego-bruising shock. His jaw tightens, and a flash of something dark and possessive cuts through his usual charm and insouciant aura.

“Guess I should’ve worn something nicer.” He looks down at his clothes, as if this is truly the reason why Angora is hanging off the rich lord’s arm instead of standing by the man she came here with today.

“Don’t be jealous,” I whisper. “She likes shiny things; it doesn’t mean anything.” What I don’t say is that it’s easy to get over something immediately when it meant nothing. From the outside looking in, it seems like their relationship was as shallow as a number three cauldron.

“I’m not jealous,” he huffs, practically breathing fire. “I’m…annoyed. How is she over me…just like that?”