Page 15 of A Match Made in Error

“What about, to being a problem on purpose?” His head tilts, resting on mine as I consider his words, watching a little swirl of leaves dance across the cobblestones in front of us.

“Better, but not quite there yet,” I encourage him. What? He is a lot of things, as he’s well stated, and entertaining is one of them.

“Oh, what about, to you trusting me to catch you when you fall?” My heart tightens because it’s true. Riven has been there for me through bad breakups, worse haircuts, the exploding cauldron incident, literally catching me midair today, and more. We’ve had slumber parties, Solstice celebrations, knife-throwing lessons, and I know without a doubt that if no one in the realm has my back, that means Riven is dead.

“I like that.”

“Hells yeah.” He snaps his free hand enthusiastically and rights his head. “Riven and Poppy, sticking it to Fate, taking the edge off your panic, and stealing a little joy back while we’re at it.”

When we step behind the stage once more, we see the Moirai conferring in low, ominous tones.

My foot presses into a crunchy leaf, and the sound of shattering foliage draws their attention. Their eyes snap up in unison, shoulders relaxing as if they feared we’d run off after the spectacle they’d made of us. “There you are,” the Maiden bustles. “We were about to send out a search party.”

The Mother steps forward, her voice carrying easily over the chaos outside, calm and absolute. “You are granted this night to settle your affairs,” she intones. “Say your goodbyes. Leave your messages. The life you know pauses here.” Her gaze flicks between us, measured. “At first light, your assigned handler will arrive at Poppy’s residence to escort you to the Isle of Fate. All necessities will be provided—shelter, sustenance, and tools for the trials.” A faint, knowing smile touches her lips. “You may each bring one bag, as conjuring items from off the Isle will not be possible.” My heart nearly stops. A month of no conjuring what I need? “Choose wisely. Some comforts are worth their weight in magic.” The staff taps the stone once. “Rest tonight, for tomorrow, Fate takes custody.” She snaps her fingers, and that pesky golden ring of magic dances around us, tightening, tightening, tightening until I know binding magic has been sealed around Riven and me. Magic that will pull us together if we stray and burn if we deny our match.

Riven brushes his lips against my ear, murmuring though the Moirai are walking away from us. “Looks like you’re stuck with me now.”

“I already was.” I breathe, unsteady once again, spine stiff under his casual arm. “Is this a mistake?”

He looks down at me, and all I can think is that this isn’t how it was supposed to be. He is supposed to be with Angora, and I was supposed to be with someone years ago, who looked at me similarly to how Riven is now, but more earnestly and tinted with romance instead of friendship. Like he was choosing me and was more than happy to do so.

None of this is fair.

Riven smiles. “If it’s a mistake, it’s of the best kind.”

Chapter Five

RIVEN

Poppy didn’t linger in the bar long after we got back from the Festival. She grabbed a few things she’d left yesterday and threw them in her bag, then briskly left to pack for the trip. The vacation? Our sequestered purgatory? I don’t know what to call it, but regardless, she went to pack for it.

I’d stood in the doorway, watching her round the corner to ascend the stairs to her apartment with a sense of wrong in my gut. None of this is fair, and I forced myself to focus on tasks instead of the injustice because I don’t have it in me to fight anymore today.

Normally, Poppy is the one who negotiates with Rik whenever we need a favor, but in her rush for alone time after our surprising day, I’ve been left alone with our not-so-friendly elven bartender. He normally only works weekends, but seeing how he is the most tenured staff member, he’s the only one I’d trust to run the Foxhole while Poppy and I are away.

I step behind the bar, pushing my sleeves up my corded forearms if for no other reason than to busy my hands. Rik’s hair is slicked back, tattooed hands knuckle-deep in a martini glass as he dries it.

“Please, Rik.” I’ve resorted to cajoling.

“No.” His southern accent and his glare are biting. A cocky smile pulls at his lips. The bastard knows he has me by the balls. “You’ve got to sweeten the pot a little.”

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’ll give you every holiday the rest of the year off.” That’s only 3 days. I can swing that.

His eyebrow quirks, and the subtle chuckle-and-headshake combo let me know he isn’t amused. “Brother, it’s nearly solstice, which you close for anyway. Don’t shite in a pan and tell me it’s brownies.” Merde.

Cracks reverberate in my skull, the sound of my vertebrae aligning as I roll my neck out. I don’t have time for this. I need to pack, and I need to not think about the fact that my girlfriend just upgraded to nobility while I got Fate-matched to the one person who barely tolerates my antics as it is.

I force air out of my lips, slowly, and shut my eyes. I know what Rik wants; I just don’t really want to give it to him.

It’s temporary.

A month. A game. A spectacle.

We will exist on a luxurious island. Poppy will roll her eyes when I’m an idiot. And I’ll pretend this recent rejection doesn’t feel like my ego and life just got yanked sideways.

I can handle it.

What I can’t handle is thinking too hard about it or letting my bar burn down in the process.