I murdered a fellow faerie just to save a human. What is the world coming to?
“Th-thank you,” she mutters, and something warm and buttery fills my veins, turning my mouth into a strange shape.
I think I’m…smiling.
“You’re welcome,” I reply, cringing at the way my voice trembles.
Silence hovers over us like a heavy cloud, and in a bid to break the tension, I offer her a seat again. “Please, sit.”
She does as I ask this time, sitting with her hands on her lap. I feel her probing gaze the whole time I stir the stew.
Her small intake of breath redirects my attention to the table. “Where…where are my bags?”
Shame trickles down my face, and then I close my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
This will be interesting…
Since I’m a faerie, and therefore cannot lie in fear of upsetting my goddess, I decide to give her the truth. “I’ve confiscated them.”
A brief pause. “Why?”
How do I tell her that I have trust issues, and I’ve hidden her things deep away in my lair where she can’t find them?
She had ironin those bags. I had no choice. Iron makes me sick, so I cannot permit her to have it in my cave.
I try to change the subject, grabbing the spoon. “Supper’s almost ready. You must be hungry.”
She thinks long and hard for a moment, and I can almost hear the cogs of her mind spinning. Then she rises, heading for the exit. “Thank you for your hospitality, kind sir, but I must be on my way. So, if you would please show me to my bags.”
I watch her, dumbfounded. “Won’t you at least stay for supper? It would be terribly rude if I didn’t at least offer you a warm meal.”
She pauses, eyeing the stew warily.
There’s no point in beating around the bush. She knows what I am; there’s no missing the way my eyes glow beneath the hood.
The girl is smart. She knows not to accept anything from the Fae, be that food, gifts, or favours. But I mean no harm, truly. I genuinely do just want to give her supper.
I lift the pot, and she steps closer, giving an investigative sniff. “Is that rosemary?”
An ironic choice, really, given the name, but yes, it isrosemary.
“What else?”
Before she can protest, her stomach growls, and I snort.
She gives me a withering look, then sighs, taking her place at the table again. “All right. One bowl, and then you can take me to my bags and show me the way out.Please,” she adds, remembering her manners.
I pour a generous amount of stew into a bowl, placing it onto the table before her, and she studies its contents carefully.
I watch, amused, as she brings the spoon to her lips, seeming to be at war with herself. It’s good of her to be cautious, but really, it’s just mushroom stew.
Not glamoured or poisoned in any shape or form.
Finally, she slips the spoon into her mouth, eyes lighting up with surprise. “This is actually delicious.”
I scoff. “Well, don’t sound so surprised.”
She doesn’t hear my retort as she helps herself to another spoonful, and maybe I did spike the stew with some magic after all. The girl is obsessed.
