2. Keep His Hands to Himself

two

Keep His Hands to Himself

Alessia

E oin navigates the sprawling ballroom with his charming, boyish grin, greeting his many drunken guests.

I follow behind placatingly, though I refuse to mirror his joy. His dark blond hair is artfully styled, showcasing the many jewels twinkling along his earlobes. His white shirt is buttoned to the top, with a green and gold brocade vest offering a pop of color. It perfectly complements his rich brown boots and pants.

He can dress, that’s for sure, but it doesn’t fix his disdainful personality. Nor is he becoming any more endearing to me.

I smooth a hand down my dress, feeling incredibly out of place.

Terra Court is decidedly worse than Umbra Court. It’s all a show. I’m surrounded by many fae, yet I’m deeply, eternally lonely. It’s been three days, and Eoin continues to host these parties, still adamant about showing me off as a prized possession. I want nothing more than to burrow myself in blankets and cry.

No. I want to kick him in the crotch and flee, actually. But again, I have nowhere to go. Not when Rainer sent me away.

I have no home.

“It’s not a crime to enjoy yourself,” Eoin says. “You can have fun if you allow yourself to.”

“Nothing about this is enjoyable to me,” I say, tone flat .

A wide-eyed faerie, with vines woven into their long hair, passes me, slowing down to take me in. They stop and reach out to poke my cheek. I slap their hand away.

“Human,” they say, giggling. They run their fingers down my arm, and I pull away, unsettled by the attention.

“Stop touching me!” I hiss.

They whisper to someone beside them, then stride away, giving me backward glances.

“Your parties are horrendous,” I mutter to Eoin.

“I told you,” he says with a grin, “that Terra Court loves humans.”

“No. They love to ogle me like I’m entertainment.”

I grip the goblet of faerie wine tighter in my hand, hiding my discomfort behind a sip. He offers me a hand, which I eye with disdain. His smile stretches, but it only stokes my fire.

“You’re pissy, but you sure are pretty. I see why the Umbra Prince is smitten,” he says, not for the first time. He runs a thumb lightly over where the bottom edge of my Tradeling tattoo sits hidden beneath cosmetics on my jaw.

I jerk away, not wanting him to touch me any more than I want the other faeries to touch me. “Can I go now?”

“You may not abandon me.” His smile stays in place, but I don’t miss how it falters.

With no guilt, I thrust my empty goblet at him and leave him anyway.

Gripping my skirts, I keep my elbows up and force myself through a crowd of ogling fae. They close in on me, and I scowl at them. Hundreds of fae pack the massive hall, spinning under the open skylights, and I can feel their eyes on me as I pass, like needles piercing my skin.

It isn’t until I make my way to the opposite side of the room, further from Eoin and closer to the veranda, that I can breathe again. Almost. But I still feel stifled, like a corpse frozen in an open casket, while others look on with morbid curiosity.

The warm evening air of Terra Court softly rustles my satin skirts, tickling my bare legs beneath. There’s no wall separating the ballroom from the veranda. The indoor and outdoor spaces bleed together, both overgrown with greenery. Vines snake in, climbing pillars and intertwining with the architect. Leaves and moss scatter around the stone floor, softening my steps.

Felix’s note sits in my corset, the edge of the paper roughing the skin along my rib cage. The discomfort is the reminder I need that I’m alive—not a corpse at all.

I wonder what his message was meant to say, what he died trying to tell me. I’ll never know, and his death will forever haunt me. I know it’s not my fault, but I still feel indirectly responsible. It was because of me he came to Avylon.

Felix’s death reminds me of how dangerous the fae are and how fragile we humans are. I suppose I can understand why Rainer sent me away. I bet seeing those bite marks on Felix’s cold flesh reminded him of how easily he could do that to me.

But he should’ve trusted himself—trusted my judgment in him—not pushed me away.

With a sigh, I lean against an ivy-wrapped pillar and stare at the night-kissed gardens. Pulling the note free, I tear it into tiny pieces and let the soft breeze carry it away. It’s time to let go of that part of my life. I’m hoping this will be my closure, and that it will allow me to move on without guilt .

Tilting my head up, I suck in a deep breath. Stars wink overhead, and the moon casts silver light across the expanse of flora. Beyond the string music and chatter, if I strain to listen, I can make out the roar of crashing water nearby.

It’s a shame such a gorgeous court is wasted on Eoin. Rainer and his plants would love the clear skies here. They’d thrive in the glorious expanse of nature. It’s as if he was meant for this court—not the one built atop nightmares and shadows.

Pixies flit about like hummingbirds, their iridescent wings a blur of color behind their fist-size bodies.

I swat the air and send two pixies tittering, torpedoing around my head.

“Scram,” I hiss. Pesky creatures.

Their giggles tinkle like high-pitched chimes. Unlike at Umbra Court, the pixies here give me no space, stalking me with the same resilience that flies swarm compost.

A third pixie joins the fray, dropping something at my feet. “From the prince,” it squeaks out.

I glance down, catching sight of a white rose. Stooping, I pick up the flower, unsurprised the thorns were shaved off. I’ve received an identical one every evening I’ve been here. Little jabs from Eoin—making fun of Rainer’s nickname for me.

“I did not agree to you abandoning me,” Eoin says as he approaches. The few nearby faeries back up, giving the prince space. At his arrival, the pixies squeal and flit away. “You’re embarrassing me by storming around like that.”

My mouth opens, but I decide it’s not worth a response.

Eoin smiles, keeping a respectable distance between us. Too bad I see through him. He’s more of a monster than Rainer is. No matter how kind his eyes are, how pretty his glittering court is, I’m not falling for it.

“Lovely rose.” I toss the flower at his feet. “I get it. Your roses are gorgeous. You can stop rubbing it in.”

Eoin stoops and snatches the rose from the ground, eyeing it with tight lips and narrowed eyes. Glancing over my shoulder, I strain my neck, peering around the dozens of dancing folk in an attempt to catch sight of the pixies. When I don’t spot them, I sigh and return to Eoin. He’s watching me with a strange look, the rose crumpled in his hand. White petals fall delicately to the ground, and my eyes track the movement.

He opens his fist, letting the stem follow, then takes a few steps forward until his earthy, lemongrass scent surrounds me.

“I only seek to be your friend, Alessia. To protect you.” He reaches up, wrapping his hand gently around my wrist.

“Stop,” I whisper, jerking my arm back. His grip tightens, and I can’t pry myself from his hold. “That’s a pot of shite, and you know it. You don’t care about me. You only care about your ridiculous feud with Rainer.”

“You’re clearly feeling emotional.” Eoin tightens his jaw, pulling me into a corner away from the nosiest of fae. “Let me make things easier for you.”

Warmth and comfort caress my skin, starting where his skin meets mine and spreading through my entire body. I shudder, my heartache easing.

“So tense. So angry ,” he murmurs, his brow wrinkling. “We need to work on that.”

My shoulders soften as the pain squeezing my heart releases. My breaths even out, and I grow lighter .

“Would you like to see my gardens, lovely?” he asks.

“Okay,” I say.

He threads my arm through his, leading me away from the veranda and deeper into the warm night air. Small flames encased in glass and strung up by string line the path overhead. Rose bushes and various shrubs stand taller than us, forming a pathway that winds and wraps through the massive yard—a labyrinth of life. The palace is built into a hill, with a waterfall cascading down from higher up, trailing to the sparkling city below. Shops and houses nestle into the hill’s base, like worshippers bowing to Terra Court.

“I must say, I’m glad you decided to join me this evening.” Eoin pats my arm with his opposite hand.

I’m supposed to be angry with him for being a prick. I should question his intentions and learn why he’s so adamant about digging under Rainer’s skin. I know this, but I no longer feel It.

Why do I hate Eoin’s magic? It's so lovely.

“What emotions did you take?” I ask curiously. Certainly not all of them because my heart flutters in longing at the familiar scent of roses as we tread through the gardens.

“I only took the worst ones. The ones holding you back.” He grits his teeth. “The ones I’m now trying to hold back.”

“You healed quicker from a broken back than you do emotions. Why is that?”

“Physical pain is easier to mend than emotional pain.”

“Why?” I ask.

He sighs. “Physical pain is skin deep, emotional pain is soul deep.”

I frown. “That sounds horrible.”

“Yeah, well…” He glances away .

“So, which emotions did you take? Straight answer.”

“The negative ones, of course.” He leads me through the garden maze. “So much… bitterness. Resentment. Anger.” He turns away, but I still hear him whisper, “You hide it well.”

“Well, I suppose I should feel guilty you’re shouldering my pains, but…” I chuckle at the irony.

“Don’t be. You are better off without such emotions, trust me.” We halt, and he releases me. “More wine?”

“Hm?” I turn my attention to him.

He puffs his chest out, a smug look on his face as he glances ahead. I follow his line of sight, noticing he’s stopped us a few paces away from a massive stone statue. It stands at over twice my height. I was so distracted by the overabundance of flowers caging us that I hadn’t noticed what we were approaching.

Lush burgundy liquid spits from the figure’s mouth in a modest arch, landing with a melodic trickle into a small basin at its feet. A few stray rivulets trek down intricately carved muscles, staining the pale stone red.

My eyes trace the grooves of its form down the well-defined abs and tapered torso. Down lower to the—I choke on my spit. “What is that ?” Laughter bubbles up, and I fight to keep it down. I know precisely what it is. It’s a massive tallywacker, as Kenisius would call it.

“He doesn’t look familiar?” Eoin asks, sounding offended.

I squint at the enormous carving, focusing on the face this time. The sculptor surely took their time bringing it to life, crafting realistic muscles and facial features. Instantly, I recognize that boyish grin and regal gaze .

My line of sight drops to the… prominent member. I cough into my hand, cheeks burning. “I didn’t recognize you without your clothes.”

“Come.” Eoin steps closer to his towering figure, beckoning me forth. I follow, eyeing him skeptically.

He plucks two rocks from the ground beside the basin, handing one to me.

I take it hesitantly, realizing it’s not a regular stone. It’s hollowed out, fitting perfectly in my palm. Eoin’s smile grows as he reaches into the basin, scooping liquid with his stone.

He takes a hearty sip and gestures to the fountain. “Be my guest.”

My gaze flits between Eoin and his likelihood. “You have… a giant naked statue of yourself spitting wine in the middle of a garden labyrinth overlooking the city.”

“Indeed.”

“Is it… carved to scale?” I ask.

A bright smile lights up Eoin’s face as he steps closer to me with a coy look. “Care to find out?”

“Absolutely not.” Reaching into the basin, I seize a helping of wine with my stone cup and fling it into Eoin’s face, warning him from coming any closer. He yelps, sputtering as the deep-red liquid stains his golden hair and trails down his face. “Proposition me again, and I might drown you in your wine.”

I smile at the fruity, spicy scent filling the air between us.

He might’ve dulled my emotions, but apparently, his power doesn’t stop new annoyances from forming .

Eoin drops his stone cup and surges forward. He snatches my wrist. I screech, bracing for the telltale pulse of magic to warm my skin, expecting some form of retaliation or punishment.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, he pulls me to his chest.

He glances down at me. “Glad to see you have a bit of humor.”

His body heat causes me to shudder, and for a split second, I almost feel a sense of comfort. Then I gaze up at his honey-brown eyes, and reality hits me. They’re not the icy blue I crave. The planes of his body feel all wrong against me. The scent of earthy lemongrass mixed with fruity wine isn’t the comforting one I’m used to.

I miss Rainer.

The previous warmth gives way to a bone-chilling emptiness.

The realization that I’m numb to my actual pains sobers me up. These aren’t the arms I want to be wrapped in. I plant my palms on Eoin’s stained button-up and shove him back. He stumbles before righting himself.

“I am not interested in you.” I wrap my arms around myself as if I can shrink down and hide from his attention. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

“You’re—”

“Prince,” a pretty, petite servant interrupts. “Your presence is required in the infirmary.”

Eoin nods at her, then glances toward me with a set jaw. “I’ll find you later.”

“Please don’t,” I mutter.

Birdsong filters through the open balcony doors, the warmth of the morning sun caressing my cheeks. I sit up with a yawn.

There’s a hollowness in my chest at the realization I’m awake. That I don’t remember my dreams. As angry as I am at Rainer for sending me away against my will, I need to talk to him. Ending the way we did is unfair—I refuse to let him push me away so easily.

I hop out of bed and head to the balcony. The soft breeze blows my curls out of my face. The Terra Court’s sunny, blue skies and pastel gardens offer a false sense of serenity.

Yet the cloudy skies and dark flowers of Umbra Court hold my hope.

The door behind me creaks open, and I jump. My head swings toward the doorway where a woman about my age stands.

I study her rich brown skin, wide-set eyes, and perfectly arched brows, trying to remember her name. She told me when she dropped off clothing and shoes on the first day I arrived. She mentioned being my lady’s maid, and she stops in daily to freshen up the rooms and tidy the bed while I’m exploring the palace.

Every day has gone by in a blur, and I don’t feel like myself. I would’ve never forgotten the name of someone so important.

“Sera.” She dips her chin politely.

“Sera,” I repeat with a smile. It takes everything in me not to offer a thank-you when I spot the stack of fresh linens in her arms. “That’ s kind of you.”

She hurries to the bathroom, her coiled curls bouncing as she goes.

With a sigh, I stride to the dressing room to change. Eoin placed me in very comfortable chambers, I’ll admit. Arguably more comfortable than my space at Rainer’s. There’s a bathroom and dressing room off the bedroom, but my chambers also boast a full sitting room and a private study.

It’s a lot for just me.

And a private lady’s maid?

Unnecessary.

At least at Rainer’s, with Das Celyn, I could join them for work.

I finish dressing in a whimsical pink dress. The material is soft and lightweight, and the neckline drops to reveal my collarbone without dipping too low. The short sleeves and knee-high length mean it won’t suffocate me as the day warms up.

“Sera?” I call out as I reenter the bedroom.

“My lady.” She pops her head out of the bathroom, full attention on me. “How may I assist you?”

“Alessia is fine.” I tug nervously on the end of my hair. “How long have I been here again?”

Her body softens as she studies me.

“What? What is it?”

She bites her lip, watching me with thinly veiled concern. “It’s just that… you ask me every time you see me. You arrived three days ago.”

It’s only been three days? Good Gods. Before I can say anything else to Sera, she shuffles to the door, arms filled with the dirty linens she replaced. She nods at me before shutting the door behind her .

Plopping onto the edge of the bed, I bury my face in my hands.

Time is distorted, my emotions are muddled, and I’m not remembering my dreams for the first time in years. I’m no fool. It’s because of Eoin’s magic… and the wine. Maybe I should lay off the wine.

Leaning back on the bed, I shut my eyes and try to sift through the previous day. Or the one before that. It’s all a blur of Eoin, dancing, faerie wine, and gardens.

A soft buzzing fills the air. It grows louder. My eyes snap open. A tiny pixie flits over me. Their wings move so impossibly fast that they’re nothing but a blur of blue behind their small body.

“From the prince,” it squeaks. It drops an ivory rose on me and shoots out the open balcony door before I can ask anything.

Sitting up, I finger the thornless stem and bring it to my nose, inhaling greedily. It reminds me of Rainer, and my stomach clenches. On another whiff, the anger, bitterness, and longing that Eoin’s taken from me all come thrashing in. It’s like the single scent unlocked my memories, bringing back the rush of emotions.

Memories are tied to emotions—we need them to feel, to remember—the good, the bad, and the in-between. Memories bring back the emotions we need to experience life in its most vibrant form. Those emotions remind us of pivotal moments in our lives, the lessons we learned, and those we loved and lost.

Without the pain, we would never know what true pleasure is.

Eoin isn’t serving me by taking my pains—he’s stealing what remains of my humanity.

The Terra Prince better keep his hands to himself.