He nods.
Fine then.
Angry even though this isn’t Frederick’s fault, I snarl, “She’s not one of them—she’s her.”
“Her who?” he asks blankly.
“Her—the princess. The daughter of the widow queen of West Faerie. HER.”
“The girl you dream about,” Frederick whispers before he swears several times. And then a few more times just for good measure. “Are you serious? I find the girl of my dreams, and she’s literallythe girl of yours?”
I extend my hands in frustration.
“Does she even remember you?” he demands. “She didn’t seem—” He cuts himself off and pauses, eyeing me with distaste.
“What?” I demand.
“We had a good night, and then she met you.”
“Sorry to ruin your evening,” I say wryly.
“Blast it all, Alex,” he breathes, dropping himself into a wingback chair by the dark hearth. “Why did I have to introduce the two of you?”
“You were showing off.”
He scoffs. “I have plenty of successful friends—why did I bother with you?”
“It’s a mystery.”
He steeples his fingers and rests his forehead against them. After several long seconds, he drops his hands. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to do anything. The princess doesn’t seem intent on dragging me back to West Faerie, so her visit makes no difference to me. I met her once half a decade ago. Why do I care what she does while she’s in Davon? As long as she doesn’t plan to lure you into imprisonment, she can enjoy her holiday. Meet her for breakfast if you like—have a grand time.”
Frederick thinks about it and then quirks his brow. “I don’t know that I’d mind imprisonment if she were my keeper.”
I know he’s only joking, but the careless banter hits a raw spot that’s never fully healed.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, raising his hands in apology. His expression becomes solemn. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Be careful with her,” I warn.
He shakes his head, growling under his breath. “What kind of friend do you think I am? She was yours first—I’m not going to worm my way in.”
“She’s not mine,” I argue. “And I don’t want anything to do with her. You know how I feel about the Fae.”
Laughing to himself, Frederick says, “So, you don’t want to take my spot at breakfast tomorrow?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.”
* * *
“Tea, Alex?”the café matron asks as she approaches my table, assessing me. “You look a bit under the weather.”
My father courted the woman before he died. He would have likely married her if I hadn’t gone missing. We’re not family, but we’re as close to it as I have. Ms. Kettinson makes sure I’m respectable, but Marie makes sure I’m well-fed.