Kerrigan couldn’t stop gawking as they neared the village. The path had been deceptively long. More space than she’d assumed they’d have, but not enough to truly feel free. She fought for neutral as they walked along the cobbled steps and into the town.

“The village is called Cavour,” Fordham said. “It’s ancient Fae for …”

“Songbird,” she said.

He looked at her in surprise. “Yes. I didn’t think you were fluent in ancient Fae.”

“I’m not, but …” She paused on the word and sighed. “My father used to call me his little cavour de thiery when I was very young.”

“Little red songbird,” Fordham translated. He reached up, as if to touch a lock of her tangled red hair, but seemed to think better of it and let it fall. “I’ve never heard you sing before.”

“It was a joke,” she said. “I couldn’t sing at all. He said I scared all the birds away with my racket.”

A real smile hit Fordham’s face. As if he’d forgotten for a moment where they were. Then, he quickly let it slip and faced forward. They’d both had complicated childhoods. Neither of their fathers were going to win any awards. It could have been something they bonded over; instead, he’d hidden his exile and his father’s wrath.

As they ventured deeper into Cavour, villagers appeared around every corner. Their eyes wide with surprise at seeing their prince walking among them again. A group of women washing in basins curtsied deeply at his approach. A girl no older than Kerrigan looked out at him from a second-story balcony with open want. A group of Fae children, still too young to have grown into their ears, giggled nearby, running across their path.

“Don’t bother the prince!” their mother yelled, ordering them inside.

Fordham was impervious to it all. Kerrigan didn’t know how he did it. She wanted to scoop up the little bundles of joy and thank them for being welcoming. But this wasn’t her court. She no longer had a court.

When they made it to the town square with a three-tiered fountain at the center, a woman stepped out of the masses that had now gathered and offered him a single black rose.

“We rejoice in your return, Your Royal Highness.”

Fordham nodded his head at her but made no move to take the flower. Kerrigan smiled at the woman and took it for him. The woman put her hand to her chest and backed away quickly.

“Let’s go,” he barked at her.

His voice held none of the gentleness that she had grown accustomed. Had she made some sort of faux pas by taking the bloom? It’d seemed insulting not to accept it.