golden lashes at me in confusion. “But I thought Arborean girls were always named after flowers.”
“They are. I was supposed to—” I stopped my rambling, sipping my rosé wine until I composed myself. “My mother is not from here. In her family, it is tradition to name girls after gems.”
He nodded. “Fascinating. I, too, was named for my heritage.”
I was educated in the history and languages of Lower Campania and Orestia enough to gather that his name meant something like little lord.
Hoping that did mean he was noble enough, I asked, “Which is?”
He pointed upwards, smiling proudly. “My father is the sky god.”
Though Agnë had informed me of that claim, it hadn’t prepared me for hearing it with my own ears. If I could burst out laughing like Meira had, I would have.
My first reaction was to think Leander was desperate enough to invite some delusional idiot to court me. Then as I leaned my hip against the table, scrutinizing him, other considerations followed.
Kyrillos looked human, but there was a certain sensation emanating from him. Like the one that wafted off Bonnie, if not quite the same. And as she was a half-fairy, why shouldn’t there be half-gods, too?
The claim of divine heritage was common along the southwestern and central regions of the Folkshore, with plenty of classical tales and myths featuring heroes spawned from the coupling of humans and deities. I myself had met one other person who’d said she’d been fathered by a god.
Cora of the Granary, one of the five finalists in the Bride Search, hadn’t seemed to care for her mother’s story about her origins. But I wouldn’t discount her claim, considering what I’d seen that enormous farm girl do with my own eyes.
A shudder ran through me as the terrible memory assailed me again, and I was unable to focus on Kyrillos for the remainder of our encounter.
He didn’t seem that taken with me, either.
As we parted ways, the music picked up, its joyfulness framing my deepening dejection.
My handmaidens gestured excitedly at me in the distance, pointing at my fourth candidate.
Feeling hope drain out of me with every step, I dragged my feet towards him.
Here went nothing.
Chapter Three
As lofty as the title King in the Wild was, it didn’t do justice to the stories surrounding Lycaon.
It was said he was the overlord all shapeshifter tribe leaders deferred to, rumored to be millennia old—the first man to ever shift into a beast and back at will.
It was more likely he was like my father, King Florent the Tenth, named after a long line of predecessors to give the impression of an undying ruler.
Whatever he truly was, the werewolf was the only so-called king, and therefore, one of my best remaining options. He was also the one candidate I’d woken up this morning being wary of.
And I’d been right to be.
Unable to ask him to dance, or to strike up a conversation, I’d stood there until I’d caught his attention. I’d regretted it the moment he’d turned to pin me with the unblinking stare of those terrible, yellow eyes.
He was all sharp angles, from the grey-brown spikes of his hair, to his triangular chin and painfully prominent cheekbones, to the long canines that flashed through thin, leathery lips. But it was the sight of his claw-like nails that made me want to shriek like a child, and dive under the nearest table, where the captain of the guard and his family sat.
Leander had been, reportedly, far more of a wolf-man than he was—hairy, hunchbacked, with a mouth full of sharp teeth, and claws as long as my fingers. How had Bonnie stomached the sight of him, let alone declared her love for him?
But in my case, it was not me who had to make the declaration. I probably didn’t even need to like my potential savior. The curse stipulated that he be the one to proclaim his love.
But so far, none of my suitors had uttered anything close to such a declaration, since they’d all come seeking my hand for every consideration but myself. Even had we demanded they said the words, I believed it wouldn’t have worked, since none could have been considered noble enough, anyway.
As for those latest candidates, Hippolytus was more likely to kiss his reflection than me, Björn treated me like a little sister who suffered from malnutrition, Kyrillos had his head in the clouds with his godly father, and Lycaon…
Lycaon looked like he wanted to eat me.
I felt certain if I wasn’t