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“And considering your face isn’t purple, I am to believe you have spoken only the truth since then?” Kent asked.

Greyson leveled a mildly amused gaze at Kent. “Yes.”

“Have you tested this, Mother?”

His mother laughed, and Greyson’s amusement deepened. “I did,” Kent’s mother confirmed.

Kent relaxed slightly, but he didn’t lower his arms. “I will only answer questions if you will answer some in return.”

“Agreed,” Greyson replied readily. “May I begin my turn now? You have had quite a head start on the questioning.”

Kent nodded.

“Have you ever met your father?”

Kent shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. According to my mother, she hasn’t seen his face since her expulsion from the fae borders before I was born. And she has kept no image of his likeness, so if I had met him, I wouldn’t have known.” Leaning forward, Kent rested his folded forearms on the tabletop. “My turn. Why were you so upset at the sight of a human child in my arms?”

Greyson nodded as though he had expected the question. “There has been an increased trade in human child abduction among the Unseelie, and I feared you allied with the smugglers supplying children to the slavers.”

“I thought the fae had banned human slavery.”

“They have.” Greyson’s mouth tightened as his brows lowered in a great frown. “But outlawing a behavior and preventing illegal practices are two different things.”

“Why does it matter to you?” I asked because it clearly did. His anger as he had realized Mela’s species struck me as fierce and genuine. “You are fae. Every fae I have encountered couldn’t care less about humans.”

“Not every fae,” Kent inserted.

I sighed. “I didn’t mean you.”

“Words matter,” he protested.

“They do. And binding words even more.” Leveling an annoyed glance at him, I pressed my lips together.

“Those words, I meant them.”

“No more bindings. I told you,” I shot back.

Kent attempted to appear at least a bit repentant. “I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.”

“And what impression would that be?” I asked. “That we are bound more tightly than we are?” The implications of a binding made me uncomfortable after being on my own for so long.

Before Mela, no one cared about what happened to me; no one depended on me, and I had learned to accept that.

Then Mela arrived at the foundling home. Her needing me had been a drastic change in my life. She’d needed care and love, and I knew Mistress Prout wouldn’t offer that. So, I stepped in and provided what Mela needed.

To my complete surprise, Mela loved me in return. I had grown comfortable with that arrangement, and then Kent—I shook away the thought. We were bound now, and although I wasn’t sure I liked it, I needed to accept it and move forward.

Kent cared, and I understood that his actions were coming from a kindness I could barely understand. But I couldn’t believe that it would stay that way. People changed. Situations changed. Nothing stayed the same.

Kent frowned at me as he rubbed his forearm. Only then did I notice he hadn’t shed his gloves when he took off his cloak. Glancing over at Greyson, I noticed he still wore his gloves as well. Was it a male fae thing to wear gloves all the time?

Cradling a large mug of steaming liquid in his hands, the Dullahan sat observing the pair of us bickering like children with a spark of amusement in his gaze.

“Don’t you have more questions?” I asked him far more sharply than I intended.

“Many.” He took a sip of the liquid in his mug.

“Shouldn’t you ask them?”