Folly’s answering grin is small, but it’s enough to light a fire in Yarrow’s heart. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“You know what else isn’t as bad as you think?” Yarrow pokes Folly’s knee. “You. You keep calling yourself stupid, or useless, or a freak. But you’ve been brave and brilliant since the moment we met.”
Folly’s gaze darts around. “You’re the only one who thinks that.”
“That would be enough, but I don’t think I’m the only one.” Yarrow sighs. “Look, I’m no good at talking about feelings. I do sex, not relationships, and I’ll stick around for breakfast if I’m invited, but that’s it. But this? You?” Yarrow pokes Folly’s knee again. “I need you to know you’re amazing. I was entranced tonight, watching you light up the party. I’ve been entranced since you tried to stab me in Elsewhere. You’re smart and special, and that’s a good thing.”
Fuck. Folly has this wide, wet look in his eyes. Yarrow’s come on too strong, probably scared him off. Yarrow gets intense sometimes. He sighs to his feet, backing away.
Folly jumps up too and touches Yarrow’s arm. “I’m terrible with talking out feelings, too. But thank you. Traveling with you has been…”
Yarrow covers Folly’s hand, so small and warm in his grasp. “You don’t have to say anything under the truth potion.”
“I like when you say nice things to me,” Folly says quickly. Like he’s racing against his own doubts. “And I like when you hold my wrist.”
Suddenly, twenty feet aren’t enough. Yarrow wants Folly tethered within ten feet of him. Five. Close and constant enough that Yarrow can take his time unraveling every hint of nervous desire.
No. Yarrow should wish for a wall between them, because self-restraint doesn’t run naturally in his blood.
“I like saying nice things to you.” Yarrow shifts his grip. “I like holding your wrist. I’m sure I’d like doing other things to you too, but not while you’re under a truth potion.”
Pink-faced, Folly ducks his head. “Saying things is easier like this.”
“Easy isn’t always right,” Yarrow says. Tugs Folly’s hand gently. “Want to watch the inn move away before we sleep?”
Folly takes a deep breath, composure returning. “That sounds nice.”
“Great.” Tugging him towards the window, Yarrow tacks on, “Come on, gorgeous.”
Folly stumbles. But when he regains his balance, he’s smiling again.
Chapter 15
Folly
Folly wakes up anxious.
His nerves are no fault of the accommodations. He’s the most comfortable he’s been in years. Possibly ever. The mattress cradles him like a supportive cloud. The blankets surround without stifling, and they smell like a forest without malice.
Every ache and pain lies in wait, ready to accost Folly as soon as he moves. But for now, he’s comfortable. A dangerous state of mind. Comfort gives him the opportunity to review every single thing that happened the night before.
The good—entertaining the fae children.
The bad—getting tricked by the shapestealer.
The worst—confessing he likes when Yarrow holds his wrists.
His right cheek presses damp against the pillow, his lips slightly parted. Undignified. Embarrassing. He’s only wearing smallclothes and the same loose shirt as yesterday, and the quilt is like silk against his bare legs. The position means his back is to the window. And the mattress is lower in front of him than behind him, which means Yarrow is still in bed too.
Pretending to sleep has its appeal. Hiding from the world a little longer. But Folly needs to know whether he simply imagines the weight of Yarrow’s gaze, a feathery second blanket even warmer than the first.
Blinking blearily, Folly meets Yarrow’s bright bronze eyes.
The fae leans on one arm, looking down on him. His horns catch the morning light like a crown. Long hair cascades over the golden planes of his shoulders. He isn’t wearing a shirt, which Folly remembers from last night but somehow is more important now.
“How do you feel?” Yarrow says, voice soft as the dawn. “Can you lie to me?”
Folly rolls his face into the pillow. He inhales cotton and gentle florals, screwing up his courage, before flopping onto his back. “I’m a farmer,” Folly tells Yarrow and the ceiling. Relief buoys him up to sit, grinning. “I’m the best farmer in my entire village. Last year, I won an award for my pumpkins.”
