Page 124 of A Thief Among Fae

It would explain why the vow angered Auri when she learned of it. Why Desmond himself was surprised by how closely the bond linked us.

Slowly, as if it pains him, Desmond nods.

If I die. . . He will die, too.

All this time, I’ve known he’s hidden something about the vow. But why bind himself to me? Why take that risk? Then I remember what he said before. It protects you.

No one loyal to him would dare risk my life, not when it endangers his. Not Auri. Not other fae. It turns protecting me into a necessity.

“I knew Auri would guard you with her life if your death costs mine,” he says. “She may not show kindness easily, but she’s loyal and formidable. Nor would I risk letting my enemies harm you, even when your stubbornness grates on my nerves.”

“Why? I still don’t understand why you would care about my life,” I tell him, searching his gaze. Surely, he could find another person with my magic if something were to happen to me.

Except. . . I do understand.

He’s not a prince who sees people as pawns in a game. He’s not cruel like other fae. He’s swayed by his emotions and a desire to care for others, even when he doesn’t know them. He’s kind, a believer in peace even after all the horrors he’s witnessed. It must take incredible courage to hold onto such kindness.

He tilts his head, the smallest smile pulling at his lips as if he can feel me realizing it. “And your third question?”

I shouldn’t have wasted my second question when I already knew the answer. I already know what my third will be. Not his Gift. No, he needs to tell me that of his own free will. He needs to prove he trusts me, and until then, I’ll let him keep his secrets.

I prepare myself for any slight flicker of emotion that will cross his face. “Rune told me to ask why you’re known as the ‘Prince of Death.’”

He stands so very still, saying nothing.

“I get the feeling you’d avoid giving me a straight answer. So I’m going to ask something else. What are you afraid of?”

The question takes him aback, his eyes widening before they narrow. His voice lowers, the capricious curl of his lips reminding me of how quickly his moods shifted when we first met. He may be half-human, but he’s still half-fae.

“Why don’t I tell you what you’re afraid of?” he asks. “You’re driven by ambition to the precipice of recklessness. And do you know what ambition is driven by?”

“Do enlighten me,” I respond with a honeyed smile, “and then answer my question.” I won’t let him derail me.

A strand of grass flits into my hair. Desmond brushes it away, then trails his fingers down my braid before pulling away. “The fear of nothingness,” he continues as if the stray caress hadn’t occurred. “Of being nothing. Of accomplishing nothing. Of fading into obscurity with a lifetime of regrets.”

His words stab deep, a harsh truth so painful that my fists clench. I take a half-step forward so I’m right in his face, glaring up at him. I hate that he’s right. I hate how he knows I loathe Nettlerock because I don’t want to die there, never having felt the thrill of danger or the exhilaration of adventuring. Every year, I’d rot with bitterness, feeling time slip through my fingers like sand. Like dirt. Because that’s all life is in Nettlerock—dirt and seeds and tithes and empty cellar shelves.

“Nothingness,” I repeat. I want to smack him. I want to scream in his face that he’s wrong as shame and rage boil inside me. Yet it’s not judgment or pity I see in his gaze, but. . .

My rage subsides to shock. It’s yearning. It’s in the way his head tilts toward mine as his lips part. How his hazel eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide and black as the moonless sky.

My skin heats. The racing of my heart is as intoxicating as the thrill from raiding barrows. I feel like a bird in a cage, unable to move even if I wanted to. It’s not glamour holding me here. It’s something even more dangerous. An answering want.

He provoked me in an attempt to push me away, but I won’t let him. “Tell me what you’re afraid of,” I repeat. The marrow of my bones demands to know.

His head dips, too close to mine. So close that I’m swimming within the dappled gold and green forests of his eyes. “That asking you to join us was the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. I don’t like things I can’t control, Cynthia.”

That almost pushes me to break away.

But then he says, “And I’m not in control of myself around you.”

His words shock me. My pulse skitters into a frenzy. “Don’t say such pretty things, not if you don’t mean them,” I warn him, staying so very still as he leans toward me. It’s as if he’s a predator, one that I want to be taken by.

“I can’t lie,” he reminds me, so close that I feel his breath against my lips. “We’re more similar than you think. Yet only one of us dares to escape our destiny.”

My lips part as my core heats, desperate for him to touch me. I hesitate, then reach out, threading my fingers through his curls. I gently tug until his nose brushes against mine.

His breath hitches.