Page 71 of A Thief Among Fae

“Hi,” I sing-song to him. “I know you. I remember you.”

“Then who am I?” he asks. The words rumble through my hands.

“You’re a prince! If I kiss you, will it break a spell?”

He recoils like I’ve said something cruel. “There are no spells on monsters, only curses.”

I follow the furrowed line of his brows down to the resignation in his eyes. “Then can I break your curse?” I whisper.

“If you believe the stories, a fair maiden’s kiss can save even the prince of monsters. But they’re just that—stories.”

“I do believe in them,” I argue, because something inside my heart stirs and tells me they’re true. “If you were a monster, would I do this?” I lean toward him until our noses bump, but our lips are still one gentle tilt away from touching.

He tenses as if on the edge of a precipice, his breath held and body unmoving. As I thread my fingers into his hair, his breath stutters and his lashes flutter, so long and dark.

“If you believed I was worth saving,” he whispers. Then he pulls away from me. He untangles my fingers from his hair and places both my hands in my lap. “Now sit still. You’re not in your right mind.”

I purse my lips into a pout. “But you didn’t let me kiss you.”

He grabs my jaw and hooks his thumb between my lips. His calluses scrape against my tongue, just the right amount of friction. He must want to kiss me after all. I moan, my eyes fluttering shut as I lean toward him, taking more of him into my mouth. Soon, he’ll pull away to seal his soft lips to mine. I wait, leaning so far that his hand grasps my shoulder to steady me. Any second now⁠—

I flinch as he spoons salt onto my tongue. “Ergh!” I try to spit it out, but his hands clamp my mouth shut.

“Swallow it, Cynthia.” The voice is so authoritative. I listen, even though I don’t want to. He taps the spoon to my lips. “One more.”

I open my mouth wide and swallow the second spoonful. It tastes dreadful, and I ball my hands in the grass in protest. “Why’d you make me do that?”

“Because it counteracts fae magic, including those damn blackberries.” He sighs and runs his hand through his curls. “You’ll be glad when you come back to yourself. I was when my sister did the same for me.”

The world is too bright, even as the sun dips beyond the forest canopy. I retch into the grass, and he hands me his flask. Instead of tea, it holds an astringent liquid that I wash my mouth out with until all I taste is mint. Then he leads me on my wobbly feet to a hilltop, where we stretch out and watch peony-pinks chase clay-reds across woolly wisps of clouds.

A headache rages behind my eyes, but the salt has cleared the murkiness away. I look at the man who helped me and remember who he is. Then I realize what he is.

“You’re not pure fae,” I whisper to Desmond.

The statement floats in the sky above us, between us. There’s no other reason why fae berries could intoxicate him.

He gazes up at the sunset, quiet for a moment. “My father was human.” He says it slowly, as if he isn’t used to saying the words aloud.

“But your ears are still pointy.”

“That’s a dominant trait. My fingers are shorter than most fae’s.”

“Show me.” I grab his hand and ignore his grunt of protest. His eyes widen as I fan his fingers out and press my hand flat against his. “They’re still longer than mine.”

For the first time since he fed me the salt, I sense his emotions. He’s flustered, his hand as tense as a board against mine. “And you’re still inebriated,” he says, but there’s a breathy hitch to his voice.

“Perhaps.” I stroke the calluses that encircle his palm. He tenses, his teeth running over his bottom lip, as though the sensation shoots through him.

Then tears prickle my eyes. They sting, too salty and hot, but they don’t stop falling.

They wash the last wisps of fog from my mind. I remember each detail of Auri’s little ‘prank’, and shame burns through me. I recoil from Desmond, letting go of his hand.

“Damn them both,” I curse, but it’s warbled by the lump in my throat. “I trusted them. What was I thinking?”

Desmond’s hand flexes once. Then he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes away my tears. “Don’t ever let yourself forget what we are.”

My throat tightens. “I won’t.” It feels like a vow.