Prologue: Potatoes
Tamlin Wicker
Banished to a forgotten mountain so my sister and her stupid dragon can mate.
I take another swig of gin and glare at the dusty furniture around me. Nico’s old lair is nice enough, I suppose—high ceilings, decent wine cellar, actual beds instead of piles of treasure to sleep on. But it’s also completely empty of anything resembling life or joy or distraction from the absolute mess my existence has become.
I’m reeling from the breakup that failed to kill me, courtesy of a mermaid who apparently has very strong opinions about fidelity and commitment. I’ve got a father who is arguably the evilest and most vile fae in existence. A mother who deserves him, frankly. And I’m the product of a fae deal that ultimately failed anyway, so what was even the point?
I’m only half fae. Half man. One foot in one world, one foot in another. Neither here nor there. Belonging nowhere.
It’s depressing as fuck.
I wander through the abandoned chambers, eating cold potatoes straight from the bowl and drinking gin like it’s water, pulling sheets off furniture and hating everything and everyone. I shouldn’t have come here. I need somewhere loud. Somewhere with people and music and anything to drown out the sound of my own self-destruction and pity.
Trix would smack me if she wasn’t busy. And she’s going to be busy—probably for weeks, since those idiots denied themselves and each other for so long. Good for them. They deserve happiness.
I just wish I could figure out what I deserve.
That’s when I hear it. A noise that doesn’t belong in this empty place. Sniffling. Soft and heartbroken and...
Is someone crying? It’s not me, is it? That would be really pitiful, even for my current state.
But no, it’s not me. It’s coming from somewhere else—one of the side chambers I haven’t explored yet. I follow the sound, gin bottle in one hand, potato bowl in the other, feeling like the world’s most pathetic knight errant.
I push open a door and find her.
A woman, curled up in what must have been a reading nook, surrounded by dusty books and faded tapestries. She startles when she sees me, tear tracks visible on her cheeks, and when her green eyes meet mine...
Oh, fuck.
It’s like being hit by lightning. Like everything in the world suddenly makes sense. Like all of this pain—the heartbreak, the identity crisis, the crushing loneliness—was worth it just to lead me to this moment.
I suddenly regret all those drinks. My head is spinning, but not from the alcohol.
I should say something. Do something. Anything but stand here like a dumbstruck moron. Anything! I prompt my alcohol addled brain.
I hold out the bowl of potatoes like an absolute idiot. “Do you... want some?”
She studies me like I’m completely insane. Which, to be fair, I probably am. I feel crazy. My chest is tight with something I can’t name, and I rub at it absently, trying to ease the sudden, overwhelming pressure.
Shit. She can’t be...
But she stands and walks toward me with fluid grace, and when she reaches out and touches my chest, right over my heart, the pain eases. The crushing weight I’ve been carrying for days just... disappears.
Fuck. She is.
She takes the potato bowl from my nerveless fingers with a coy little smile that absolutely undoes me, and for a moment I think maybe this is it. Maybe this is my happy ending, just like Trix got hers.
Then she hits me over the head with the bowl and everything goes black.
My last coherent thought as I hit the floor is that I probably deserved that.
And that I really, really hope she’s still here when I wake up.
