Page 8 of My Fae Lady

“Very well, then,” I said, lips quirking. “You may tend to them.”

Giselle unbuttoned her sleeves at the wrist and rolled them up to her elbows. Orderly Seelie magic replaced the tools on the tray. Instead of soaps and oils, instruments sprang into existence, some of which looked more like tools of war than healing. Jars of ointment appeared as well.

The bath changed around me to suit our needs. It shrunk and raised me so that Giselle would not have to bend in half over the water to reach me.

She ordered me to soak for a while, to soften the skin. Then she covered my scars in a scented ointment that turned my flesh tingly and numb, though it did nothing for the deeper ache which twinged when she touched me.

She set to work, first with a thick-bristled exfoliating tool. I gritted my teeth against the pain as the tub filled with scaly calluses, flecks of blood, and drops of pus. Rook Manor had to drain and redraw the hot water twice, I made it so filthy. Giselle pressed on without comment, breathing heavily.

I gripped the sides of the bath and bit my tongue against the building urge to beg her to stop as black blood and dead flesh followed.

Giselle set down the exfoliating brush, splattering the tray with fluid. She picked up another metal tool with a short handle and a long sharp blade like a straight razor I might shave with.

She used it to remove the thicker calluses. My claws scrabbled at the green tiles, and my legs began to tremble in the water.

“I’m impressed, Lord Sylvan,” she said, still shredding away the thick, scabby tissue. “I didn’t think you’d be able to handle getting it all done in one go, and yet here we are. Almost finished at last, and you haven’t complained at all. You’re an excellent patient.”

My chest swelled with pride at her praise, which made the next, sharper pain as she separated further damaged and dead tissue from the live flesh much more tolerable.

“It’s not so terrible,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, a gesture I immediately regretted as it pulled at skin that stung. “You can put your back into it, if it’ll get it done quicker.”

She laid her hand over mine on the side of the bath, the pressure light and pleasing. “You’re certain?”

My claws loosened. I studied her hand atop mine for a moment, and my thumb slid briefly against hers. “I’m certain. Get it done, my lady. Then you can torture me in other ways.”

“Worse ways,” she threatened playfully.

I sucked in a breath as she put her back into it with gusto and didn’t let up. The house had to drain and refill the water one last time as Giselle cleaned the wounds and packed them with a warm compress, then slathered all of it in more numbing ointment. My limbs were shaking, too rubbery after all that to be useful. She washed my face, neck, and arms, even my chest, before I recovered enough to do the rest. Giselle scrubbed my feet, and filed down my toenails.

“You’re a mess,” I teased her afterward.

She sat down heavily on a stool Rook Manor conjured for her. Sweaty strands of mahogany hair fell across her gleaming brow. She blew it out of her face with a breathy laugh. “We haven’t even started on your hair yet, and I already feel like I’ve been to war and back.”

“I’m still not letting you cut it,” I retorted. Then the most delicious scent wafted to me, carried on the steam. I sniffed at the air, isolating the competing scents of the soaps and oils to find the ones that appealed to me most. “What is that?”

“Supper,” she said coyly, “for my future husband.”

My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. Angry grizzly bears made less noise fighting than the chorus rumbling away in my stomach. “I’m your future husband.”

Her eyes dragged over me, still that determined shade of blue. “Not looking like that, you’re not.”

I glared at her. Then my nostrils flared, my senses filling with the smells of roasted pheasant and savory spices, gravy and potatoes and assorted vegetables. A much better feast than berries and dandelions.

“I’m unable to endure anymore of your torment without sustenance,” I said slyly. “Once I’m well-fed, I suppose I could be convinced—under those circumstances alone—to allow my future wife to tend to my hair. Just a bit.”

She found a knotted tangle the size of a small nest in my tresses, and she pulled it around to show it to me. “Look at this. I can’t even wash your hair until I’ve cut some of it.”

“Those are my terms,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “Take them or leave me as I am.”

Four

Giselle

⊱❀⊰

The ointment I had applied to Lord Sylvan’s wounds promoted healing, but he was right that his body needed sustenance. Even I was starving at this point.

“Fine,” I conceded. “We will eat first. But I will be cutting your hair before this day is done. Get dressed and meet me in the dining room.”