Instead, she moves closer, her head tilting in fascination. Her hand reaches out, then hesitates in midair.
"You have…ears."
"We all have ears," I tease, sounding lighter than I feel.
“But yours…” Her fingers stretch out. “May I?”
I swallow. “If you want to.”
Her fingers brush against the fur covering the lynx ears atop my head, careful at first, then more confident as she strokes along the edge. My breath catches at the ticklish sensation, but I don’t dare move. Few people even know this part of me, and fewer still ever touch me there. Every gentle caress sends shivers down my spine. I wish I could forget where I am—who I am—just for this moment.
“Oh.” She lets out a soft sigh as she strokes the fur. The sound of it, laced with awe instead of disgust, makes my pulse stutter. The temptation to lean into her hand is almost overwhelming.
My ear twitches as she brushes the ticklish edge, the tuft of black fur at the tip flicking forward.
Eevi giggles from her nest of blankets, so I flick my ear again and wink. I don’t want to hide anymore.
Val smiles, so close to me I can see the delicate way her breath stirs the strands of hair framing her face. Her gaze meets mine, steady and searching, her lips barely parted. It would be so easy to close the distance, to press forward, to take.
I want to.
But then she blinks, and the moment fades like frost melting under sunlight.
She bites her lip, curiosity surfacing with the question I can see forming. “What…are you?”
This is the moment she’ll change. She already suspects, I’m sure, but it’s different to have confirmation. It’s not something I announce. Ever.
“Lyslander,” I say at last.
“Lyslander,” she repeats in a slow whisper.
She blinks. The word hangs heavy with the weight of the prejudice it carries.
Shock that’s more than surprise spreads across her expression. She’s so open, so easy to read, but right now, I wish she wasn’t. Even among Wilder Fae, Lyslanders are feared and ostracized, to say nothing of what the high-blooded Point Fae must think.
I shouldn’t be surprised she sees my kind the way the high courts do.
She recovers quickly, but not quickly enough. “I just—” She hesitates, looking guilty. “I didn’t know any of you could…well, that you weren’t all—”
“Beasts?” I arch a brow.
She winces. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No?” I try to keep my voice light, with arguable success.
She fumbles for words, studying me with new attention. “Your eyes,” she murmurs, “they looked gold before, but they’re more…”
“Cat-like? Yeah, they’re greenish yellow.” I tilt my head from side to side, trying to break the awkward tension of being scrutinized.
She studies them as if she’s seeing them for the first time. Maybe she is.
“They’re like amber, but with a wash of mossy green,” she says, speaking more to herself. Then she blinks. “They’re beautiful.”
The warmth that clutches my chest is absurd, and I school my expression before she sees what that one simple word means.
“Are you a shifter, then?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I’m only half Lyslander. I got some traits—the ears, some senses—but I can’t shift into anything but myself. What you see is what you get.” I offer a lazy grin. “Unlessyou count my illusions. Now you know why no one would have wanted a child like me. An embarrassment to the Lyslanders, and a horror to the rest of fae-kind. I’m lucky Frederik took me in. All of us are.”
