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The skin of my forearm prickled. I dare not uncover it in public, but the continued sensation unsettled me. Magic had passed between Rue and me when she grabbed my forearm, yet it had felt different from any sensation I had ever experienced with my mother or her fae friends who occasionally visited.

Mother’s magic was consistently soothing, firm, or efficient as circumstances dictated. Her friends had all felt different, as though their magic reflected their personalities. But none of their magic had left a residual effect on my skin.

Plus, I had no idea what the magic had done to me to cause this reaction. Was I allergic to Rue?

Across the room, Rue appeared in the kitchen doorway. The mug in her hands shook slightly as she contemplated Yurtin, but she persevered and approached him.

Yurtin leaned back in his chair and jutted his chin at Rue as she approached. “About time.” After she slid the mug onto the table, she hastily backed away.

The man’s assessing leer moved from the top of her head to her feet before he leaned forward. “You could get more tips if you dressed better, urchin,” he commented as he claimed the mug. “A bit of color would brighten you up considerably. A smile or a saucy wink occasionally to encourage a man and you might get more attention.” Bringing the cider to his lips, he grinned. “I suspect you could be quite attractive if you tried.”

As if anyone would want more of his attention.

“Do you wish to order food?” Rue asked coolly. Not a hint of an expression betrayed the discomfort she had radiated moments before.

“No smile?”

Rue didn’t respond. Instead, she regarded him blankly.

“Cottage pie, another draft of this cider, and a smile from you.” He leaned toward her across the table and lowered his voice to a volume other humans wouldn’t have been able to hear. My fae hearing caught the words just fine. “I will get a smile out of you by evening’s end or so help me, you will regret it.” He hissed the threat with vehement intensity.

Rue flinched before composing herself again. “I will bring the food out to you in a moment.” She turned back toward the kitchen with her head held high.

Glaring at the poor excuse for humanity seated across the room, I barely noted Misha approaching before she stepped between me and my focus.

Thrusting her hip out, she rested her fist on it and gave me a flirtatious smile. “What is it going to be today? Cottage pie or roast boar?”

I frowned at her. “Cottage pie.”

“Cook made some sweet currant buns special for the staff, but Rue has already eaten them all. I saved mine aside for you. I can bring them out with your meal if you wish.”

“No.” I motioned for her to move aside. “I need to pay attention to the others.”

“You mean glare at Yurtin for flirting with Rue.” She huffed.

“Threats are not flirting.”

Misha laughed as Rue emerged from the kitchen, a serving of cottage pie in her hands. Tossing her hair, Misha smiled slyly over her shoulder at me. “That just shows how clueless men are. Harmless flirting never hurt anyone.” She sashayed away with an extra sway to her hips, probably intending for me to watch her go.

I didn’t. My eyes strayed to Rue standing right outside the kitchen door. Her blank expression betrayed nothing as she watched Misha approach her.

“Where is my food?” Yurtin demanded. “A woman should see her man eats.”

Instead of responding to him, Rue’s assessing moss-green gaze fell on my features as she scrutinized my expression for a heartbeat before turning toward Yurtin with a slight flinch.

“Finally,” Yurtin declared loudly. When Rue set the dish on the table, he caught her wrist.

I tensed.

“It is cold.” He pulled her down so that she had to lean in or fall over.

Rue gasped in pain, and I was half out of my seat before I processed my intention to intervene. The diners at the table next to me gasped, which brought me to myself. My forearm burned like I had held it to a fire. I intentionally slowed my movements to human speed and strode across the room to loom over Yurtin.

“Release her,” I ordered in a low voice that promised great violence should he not comply at once.

Apparently, this human had no preservation instincts. “No.” He lifted the hand gripping Rue’s wrist, twisting it as he did so.

Rue whimpered as Yurtin’s fingertips turned white with the force of his grip on her arm.