Yarrow reaches out, then winces. “I always forget I don’t have my axe.”
“Are you all right?” Folly asks softly.
Yarrow stops short, turning. “I should be asking you that. I should have realized… I shouldn’t have wasted our time coming here.”
That isn’t an answer, but Folly doesn’t need to press for the truth. The unfamiliar vulnerability is clear in Yarrow’s furrowed brow.
Growing up, Folly never thought fae could be scared or vulnerable. They were the monsters in the shadows. Flawless and terrible.
Folly’s never felt this protective over someone before. Especially not a fae warrior who towers over him by a foot. And he’s selfishly, guiltily glad that he’s still bound at Yarrow’s side, so he can see this side of that constant confidence.
“I’m all right.” Folly manages a grin at Yarrow’s skepticism. “I mean, all of this is overwhelming, and I’m scared of the curse shrinking. I hate being trapped. But worrying is normal. I was already afraid every day in the human realm. Is this really that different? And…”
Yarrow moves closer. Not quite touching. Uncertainty gives way to interest. “And?”
Folly traces Yarrow’s armor, where the metal warms with the heat of his skin. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be bound to.”
Yarrow catches his hand. “Nor can I,” he says, soft like a confession. “I’d like to keep you longer. But not like this.”
Folly bites his tongue before he says something foolish. Like vowing to remain in the fae realm. Like inviting Yarrow to the human realm. He’s only known Yarrow for a week, and all they’ve done is kiss. What if Yarrow tires of him after they have sex? What if Folly’s performance disappoints?
Or they could have lifestyle differences. Like if Yarrow invites people over too often. Or plays the tambourine late at night. Or secretly eats people.
Folly cuts short his catastrophizing. “If the queen won’t help us, what’s the new plan?”
Yarrow shrugs, still holding Folly’s hand. “We stay the night. We see what Nevander gives us in the morning. After that? I don’t know.”
“Will Nevander be helpful?” Folly asks. “Is it worth waiting to meet him, or should we just go?”
“Nevander is the most serious person I know.” Yarrow wrinkles his nose like that’s a bad thing. “He wouldn’t ask to meet without a reason.”
That sounds like more than passing familiarity. Folly can’t imagine the two of them socializing. Yarrow is so exuberant, and Nevander is so cold. “Is he a friend of yours?”
Yarrow chuckles. “Nevander hasn’t had friends since he joined the royal guard.”
“All right, so we get what we can from him,” Folly says. “Then I have some ideas.”
“You do?” Yarrow asks. His surprise isn’t flattering—but it’s justified. Folly hasn’t exactly been leading this quest.
With a gentle squeeze, Folly lets go of Yarrow. He needs his hands free to fiddle with his sleeves. “Constantly worrying can be productive. I end up with a lot of contingency plans. We don’t know where Moriath is, but we know what he wants.”
Yarrow’s eyes narrow. “I won’t use you as bait.”
“Of course not.” Folly’s lip hooks into a smile. “Wewill use me as bait. Because we’re doing this together.”
Folly’s prepared for an argument, but Yarrow’s scowl softens. He looks Folly up and down, with the same admiration as when Folly told stories at Milla’s Menagerie.
“I don’t like that plan,” Yarrow says. “But it’s better than any of my ideas. Let’s see if we think of something better before we leave.”
Folly will probably regret this later. He doesn’t want to be bait. For now, though, he likes that Yarrow listens to him.
“We should rest up.” Yarrow pats Folly on the shoulder. “Unless you want to see the banquet.”
Folly leans into Yarrow’s touch, thinking. The evening’s young, and he isn’t tired. But they’ll be journeying againtomorrow. But he’s curious about summer court banquets. High fae and magic. Is it different from the gathering outside Milla’s Menagerie? What sort of place does Yarrow want to live?
But what if Folly violates court etiquette and ends up embarrassed or imprisoned or?—
“Wait, are you actually considering it?” Yarrow asks, stunned.
