Page 56 of A Thief Among Fae

The man scowling down at me is no longer the stranger who once thought his book was more interesting than me. Nor do I see the dry smirk and biting wit he wore when we danced at Norwynhald. No, this is the Prince of Death who warned me not to disobey his every order.

I swallow, resisting the urge to back up. “You don’t trust me.”

He scoffs. “Trust is a luxury I can’t afford. When a kingdom rests on your shoulders, one misstep can spell the death of thousands. I have no issue with keeping you in the dark. In fact, it keeps you safe.”

“If you wanted to keep me safe, you wouldn’t have asked me to come with you!” I argue. “You would’ve left me in Nettlerock with my family.”

“I can’t answer your questions,” he says, his face tight. “You keep demanding answers as though they come without consequences.”

His emotions barrage me, each taut thread of anger and shame and misery twisting around a single thought: If she knew what I am, she’d run. And she’d never look back.

My mouth falls open, but I’m too stunned to speak.

Then he strides out of the training room without a backward glance.

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I had held. The thudding of my heart begins to slow. Damn him. What gives him the right to rattle me?

Angered, I stomp out of the room and into the kitchen, where I find Maeve baking.

“He’s such an asshole!” I seethe, slamming my fists on the center cutting table. The pots and pans hanging from hooks tremble, knocking together with a clamor.

Shit. I take a deep breath and rein my magic in. Everything stills.

“Desmond?” Maeve asks, and then giggles.

“Who else?”

“He’s giving you a hard time in training?”

I sigh. “You could say that. Need any help?”

She hands me the bowl of batter and a whisk. I mix, glad that Mom taught Evie and me that the movement comes from your wrist. Evie’s always had a better knack for baking, being more careful with her measurements than I am. I miss her.

“Desmond is very focused on his goals,” Maeve says. “We’ve never had a client so involved in the planning process before. It’s driving Rune mad.”

“I could tell.” When Rune confessed that he failed to get that map, I could’ve cut the tension in the room with my dagger. “They both want to be in charge, right?”

Maeve nods. She takes the batter from me and pours it into a dozen small pans. “Desmond wanted the map by legal means, but now the heist is the only choice we have.”

That must be the one that Finnian is preparing for. “Who would’ve known that someone called the ‘Prince of Death’ would have such a moral compass.”

Then footsteps sound from the foyer. Auri strides into the kitchen, pulling Desmond’s hand to make him quicken his pace behind her. She’s laughing, her amber eyes unusually bright.

I stare, shocked that she’s capable of making such a happy sound, but Desmond’s smile is what makes my stomach drop. He looks at her with fondness, his cheeks dimpled and gaze warm.

“How could I forget that day? The white stag almost threw you off the hilltop,” Auri says to him like they were in the middle of reminiscing together. “Deitra warned you to stay away from it.”

Then she looks at me, and the humor withers into a sneer. She quickens her strides, leading Desmond by his hand into the hall of bedrooms. A door creaks open. It’s hers.

Desmond says, “Then do you remember the time we⁠—”

The door slams shut.

“They know each other well,” I murmur, staring at my hands. He trusts her. More than he’ll ever trust me.

Maeve shrugs. She slides the pans into the wood-fired oven, its fire crackling. “Finnian said they grew up together. Now she’s a High Court bodyguard, or something along those lines. I get the feeling she’d electrocute entire villages for Desmond.”

Auri has despised me ever since she laid eyes on me. She wants Desmond to know it, too. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be so obvious. There’s only one explanation for her reverent loyalty toward him and her hatred of the vow binding him to me.