Page 37 of A Thief Among Fae

He throws his head back and laughs, his dark hair swaying as we kick in time with the jig. His grip is irritatingly pleasant as he spins me around him. “A fair rebuttal,” he admits. “But at least I’m not a walking weapon.”

I glare. “I don’t have high opinions of men who pickpocket unsuspecting peasant girls.” Yet his second remark bothers me, because it makes the rumors echo through my mind.

Prince of Death. Slayer in the Shadows. Walking-weapon.

What exactly am I getting into? As far as I know, I’ve never once seen Desmond use his Gift. Unlike Erickson, he doesn’t walk with the machismo of a man who thinks he owns the world. Instead, he wields a foreboding quietness. The shadows are where the fiercest predators lurk.

Maybe Erickson will tell me more.

We part for several steps as followers circle their leaders, then rejoin hands.

“You strike me as the type to have high opinions of no one at all,” Erickson says. “Would a crown prince even satisfy your standards?” He nods at the dais. “Eldon may appear quite the charmer. But believe me, any eldest heir is counting the days until mommy or daddy dearest drops dead.”

He’s right about Prince Eldon, if last night was any indication. Now, Eldon dances atop the dais with a young girl missing her front teeth. He stoops to spin her round and round. Ronan dances with a woman his age, but each step and even his smile is wooden. Queen Orla and Princess Cara clap as they watch.

“Gods, what I wouldn’t do to swipe their crowns off their vainglorious heads.” Erickson grins.

I’ll have to remember just how avaricious he is. “And why is the high prince a walking weapon?”

“And here I thought you were interested in learning more about me,” he says, then dramatically sighs. “The list of victims from his war crimes is far longer than those affected by my guild. I daresay, Avedor is foolish for permitting him to live.” His answer stuns me long enough that he changes the subject. “And what am I doing in Mythos, you asked?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I didn’t ask.”

“I’m here for an antiquities auction this evening.” We cross the ring again, our hands clasped as we dip every fourth step. “And you and the fae prince? What brings you here? Dare I say, could he be your partner?” He feigns a scandalous gasp. “Lucky bastard.”

“It’s none of your business,” I retort. When Erickson wiggles his brows, I add, “And he’s insufferable. Just like you are.”

“Insufferable.” Erickson laughs, even more unabashed. “I’ll be sure to tell him next time we cross paths.”

“How do you know each other?” I ask, unable to keep the accusing edge out of my voice.

“Business, of course. Which is why I can confidently say you do not want to be involved with his.”

We part again. I step and clap across the entire ring with the other followers until we reach our leaders again with a spinning step.

The hands that grasp mine are callused, cold rings pressing against my fingers. My heart stutters. “Desmond?” I look up into hazel eyes that regard me with insouciant boredom. I trip, but he catches me and leads us into the next step.

My surprise gives way to annoyance. Now I won’t know the full extent of Erickson’s warning, even if it was fueled by an ulterior motive. I glare at Desmond. “I don’t recall inviting you to cut in.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to live with the guilt of being uninvited.”

“Were you jealous?” I quip.

A thrum of envy lurks beneath his unaffected facade. “Hardly. Do you wish that I were?”

“No, I thought you wouldn’t dance.” Yet my response felt too quick to be true, even to me.

“When did I give that impression?”

“Oh, I don’t know. When we perused the stalls, you looked like you’d rather dive into a pit of snakes than be here? Where’s our stuff, anyway?”

“In good hands.”

We break apart to clap. His hand flexes before rejoining mine.

“What did Erickson want?” he asks.

Right to the point. I shouldn’t be surprised. This is an interrogation, not a dance. “He wanted to warn me about you. He also declined to return the five silver marks he owes me.”