Again, he arches a brow, seeing right through my lie. Then he chuckles, returning to his task. He’s sharpening something with a bronze knife, and I step closer, curiosity getting the better of me.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing that concerns your mortal eyes. Now go on, off you go to sing to a meadowlark, or whatever it is that you do in your spare time. I need to focus.”
He's dismissing me, and again, I feel that sharp sting of rejection. I guess I should leave, then.
As I walk up the slope, I feel his burning gaze on my spine, but I don’t bother turning back. If he wants to be alone, then fine, I’ll go.
Who needs him, anyway?
11
Ivy
Idon’treturntothe mountain until dusk. Apart from the embarrassing encounter with Tegwyn in the woods, I had a surprisingly pleasant day.
However, I couldn’t stop thinking about my parents the whole time I was out on the slope, making a wreath of flowers for my hair.
Anything to take my mind off the day.
Anything to stop me from spiralling down the path of despair. Wherever my mother and father are, I hope they’re happy. I hope they’re not hurt.
I pause at the threshold of the kitchen, taken aback by the sight of Tegwyn with his dirty boots on the table.
Sometimes, I forget how alarming he is. His bright golden eyes gleam in the dark of the cave, reminding me of the eyes of an apex predator.
Once upon a time, those brilliant eyes used to captivate me, visiting me every night. But then I soon realised that the dream had been an illusion all along.
I grimace as he noisily chews on a quail leg. He really is a sight for weary eyes. Maybe I should paint him in his finest moment.
Yet, as messy as he is, I keep stealing glances at his horns. They are majestic, and I guess there is still some beauty to be found in this cruel world.
“What?” he grouses, glaring at me sideways.
I shake my head, coming back to my senses. “Nothing. I was just thinking.”
He scoffs, taking another bite from his quail leg. “Well, think somewhere else.”
Once he’s finished, he tosses the bird’s remains in the empty hearth, then picks at his teeth with a claw.
So uncouth.
I forget he isRogueat times—Rogue Fae aren’t known for being as cultured as their Seelie and Unseelie counterparts.
Finally, he offers me his undivided attention, falling as still as a statue.
I raise a brow. “Are you all right?”
He takes a moment, swallowing several times. Then he wipes his greasy mouth, and I’m pretty sure I spy a red blush beneath the golden-green hue of his skin.
A smile spreads across my face. “Are you blushing?”
He mutters something unintelligible, and I step closer. “Pardon?”
The faerie sighs, rolling his eyes towards the stalactites, “I said, nice flowers.”
Alarmed, I reach up, brushing my fingers over my flower wreath, and now my own complexion takes on a reddish shade. “Thank you.”
