Page 65 of A Match Made in Error

“A most inconvenient heartthrob has arrived for you, Poppy.” The Maiden’s words sound like she’s sorry, but the glee on her face says the exact opposite. She sidles up beside us, a smiling Rodrick in tow. He looks nearly the same as the last time I saw him, but he’s a stranger to me now. Familiar eyes, wrinkled at the corners by laughs we didn’t share. Hands that once held me, rough with work I don’t know of.

“Riven, unhand Poppy—for the next couple of hours, she’s not yours to protect.” The Maiden peels his fingers off me, but Riven’s shadows soon replace them and refuse to leave.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Gracia.” Riven’s voice is a rasp of gravel laced with the promise of violence should someone cross him. “She will always be mine to protect.” Cue another shiver down my spine. I stand awkwardly beside Rodrick, trying not to break out into hives.

The Maiden gasps. “How do you know my name?” Her whisper is also laced with the threat of violence. Her question is fair; the identities of the Moirai are sacred. Very few know the lore of the witch who came before the blessed role. Before they swore fealty to Fate and became a Moirai.

Riven smirks. “The shadows,” He holds a hand up, twisting a thin vein of shadow between his fingers, “are even more omnipotent and ancient than you.”

The muscles in her jaw twitch, locked in a staring contest with Riven. I’m not a betting woman, but I’d never underestimate what he is capable of. She forces a smile when Angora walks up.

“Excuse me,” Angora says sweetly. It’s the nicest I’ve ever heard her be, honestly. “The Mother said I should come over here and ask you about my date.” She doesn’t look pleased about it. Don’t tell me the ice princess has actually fallen for her match and can’t fathom the thought of sharing a meal with another.

“Yes,” the Maiden says through a gritted smile. “You’ll be with Riven for brunch.”

Riven puts on a fake smile of his own. “This is torture,” he says with enthusiasm unfit for the circumstance.

“If this is torture,” Rodrick says, looking down at me with that same sun-drenched smile that used to ruin me, “I hope it never ends.”

Once, that would have worked. Once, I would have melted at his words.

Now, it feels like a line from a play I’ve already seen.

Behind me, Riven makes a dramatic gagging sound, loud enough to carry. It almost steadies me. Almost.

The Maiden’s fingers curl around my wrist before I can glance back again, guiding me to one of the too-white, too-perfect tables. I let her lead me away. As we walk away, a tiny sliver of shadow weaves around my finger like a ring, right beside the golden band Riven got me for solstice two years ago, leaving Riven standing there—alone⁠—

No.

Not alone.

Angora steps into the empty space beside him like she’s always belonged there.

My breath stutters.

I sit when Rodrick pulls out my chair, my movements mechanical. He slides it in smoothly, the gesture practiced. Familiar almost.

I feel nothing.

Not the old flutter. Not the old warmth. Not the ache I expected to split me open if I ever were to see him again.

“Enjoy your time with old flames, contestants, for they leave after this meal’s end. Though, if you so decide, they might be waiting for you upon the Festival’s end.” The Maiden claps and then dances away, leaving us all to sit with those we once loved or lusted for.

Rodrick takes his seat across from me, all golden skin and easy confidence, placing his napkin in his lap before lazily tracing the stem of his champagne flute.

“So, Poppy,” he says, that wanting smile curving his mouth like he’s certain this is inevitable. “How have you been?”

I should answer.

Instead, my eyes betray me.

They drift over his shoulder.

Riven is still standing. Angora leans into him, her hand landing lightly on his arm as she laughs at something he says. His head dips to hear her better. His mouth curves.

The world tilts.

Heat floods my chest, sharp and unfamiliar.