“To show that we are not a threat to you,” Ever says, as if the explanation should be obvious.

While the meaning behind the gesture makes me feel all warm and gooey inside, those daggers and their hands aren’t the only weapons at their disposal. “What’s to stop you from biting me?”

His lips twitch, and he eases forward, his breath fanning against my cheek when he whispers against the shell of my ear, “If you would like me to bite you, I would prefer we did not have an audience.”

Holy heavens.

I think I might faint.

One of the men by the well whistles, and Maddox and Gryffin leave us to help unload the rest of the jugs.

Ever straightens, his sigh rife with regret. “I should get back to work.”

He’s not here for me. This is a coincidence.

No matter how many times I repeat the sentiment in my mind, it never feels true. I suppose there is one way to find out. “Why did you come to the festival?”

Ever looks past me to the emptying square. When his gaze returns, he cards a hand through his midnight hair. “I am not here for the festival,” he says slowly, and I do my best to hide my disappointment.

Of course, he didn’t come for me.

He’s here because his people need water to survive.

“I came to see your new dress,” he says, making a slow, deliberate perusal from my corset to my slippers and back again. And then he winks and walks away.

“Bloomin’ hell…” Nia murmurs.

Bloomin’ hell is right.

“He is…” Her words drift away.

He is everything I’ve ever wanted in a mate. “I told you, didn’t I?”

I didn’t think it possible to care for Ever more than I already did, but I was wrong.

So bloody wrong.

Most of the guests have abandoned the square, including the musicians. Those who remain no longer dance or laugh but sit hunched over their drinks or desserts, watching the Unseelie fill their jugs through narrowed eyes.

Ronan seethes from a bench near the fountain. Ivee joins him, but he never seems to look away from the Unseelie. When the jugs have all been loaded back into the carts, they don’t leave straightaway. Instead, they sink onto the edge of the well and the carts and stare right back.

I mill around somewhere in the middle, next to my aunt’s booth, still laden with pies. You could cut the tension in the air with a bread knife. Is this how Beltane is to end? With a bloomin’ staring contest? “This is ridiculous.”

I’m not going to stand here and let these ignorant people make our guests feel unwelcome. Enough is enough.

Giving an unmarried, Unseelie food is akin to courting him…