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He continues, “Come, let’s eat. I can hear your stomach growling.”
“It’s not just my stomach,” I snap.
“Oh, I know.” He laughs, then turns and walks down the hall.
What am I going to do? Stay here and starve? Obviously no, so I follow him into the kitchen.
On a table, there’s a plate with cheese, bread, grapes, and some cold meat cuts, already thinly sliced. He brings two more plates, then sits and serves himself. I also sit, watch him, and do the same. I had so many classes on how to act around nobility, how to wait to be served, and now I’m not using any of that. Still, the advice to watch what your host does and then do the same still stands, and I guess I’m using it.
He swallows a bite of bread, then says, “I was hungry too. That’s the thing with human bodies: we need to eat all the time.”
“Aren’t you fae, though?”
“Look at me.” He gestures at himself, clearly aware of his build and how non fae-like his broad chest is. “I’m quite human. Voraciously human.”
“But how…” I want to understand why he looks the way he does, but I don’t want to offend him, and I’m not sure how to ask it.
To my relief, he doesn’t wait for me to finish. “Generations and generations of fae intermingled with humans to strengthen our blood.” He smirks. “All that human strength is bound to show up one day. Or maybe I’m cursed. Not even half-fae look like me.”
“Does that mean you can lie?”
There’s a challenge in his smile. “I’ll let you figure it out by yourself. What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” And it’s true. “You have fae magic, without opus stones. You’re certainly not fully human.”
“Neither human nor fae. It does put me in my own special place, I guess, belonging nowhere.”
I disagree. “It’s up to you. We can choose where we belong.”
He tilts his head and gives me an unnerving stare. “Do we?”
I’m still wondering how to think of him, perhaps still wondering if he can lie. “Sometimes you talk like a fae, answering questions with more questions and vague sentences.” I’ve never met a fae before, but I learned what they sound like. His way of talking likely means he can only say the truth, and that’s why he has to twist his words.
“Incredible, right?” He strokes his chin. “Where would I have learned that?”
“You know what you are, then.”
He stares at his bread and shakes his head. “I really don’t, wife. But I came to the conclusion it doesn’t matter.”
We are silent, then, and I finish eating. I wonder if I should ask him about his family, about what happened, then I fear I’ll upset him if I do. I guess I just wanted to understand what kind of person he is, what kind of person I’m dealing with, but then again, if he’s fae, he’s very good at deceiving and hiding his true feelings, and I’ll have to keep that in mind.
He’s still wearing lots of rings, but not the Shadow Ring, and I can only assume that he keeps it for special occasions, and wonder why he had it the day he attacked our carriage.
He stares at me. “What do you like to do? During your free time?”
I’m so startled by the regular question that it takes me a while to find my voice. “Train. And study.”
“Physical training?”
I nod.
“I’ll ask my knights to train you. Do you read? Poetry, stories…”
This could be my chance to find out what azalee means. “I like geography and history, but recently I was enjoying learning rare, old languages. Dictionaries.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So you read dictionaries in your free time.”
Fine, when he puts it like that, it sounds ridiculous, but I’m not going to back down. “I like to study.” I’m not sure I’m making any sense and I’m thinking my request was stupid.
