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“Do you like it?”
“Yes.” I eyed him and broke off another bite. The fae had missed the concept of silverware somewhere along the way. “You brought this with you?”
“You’ll like this too.” He poured me a glass of honey-gold wine.
I tasted it cautiously, in case it turned out to be more of the Kool-Aid they called wine here. I sighed at the delicious flavor, true ambrosia. “This is all part of the seduction, isn’t it?”
“Every weapon at my disposal, sweet Gwynn. Wearing away at your immovability.”
“If you keep feeding me, I’ll become an enormous object.”
He laughed at that and allowed an image of a very pregnant me to drift my way.
“Now that was a miscalculation on your part. I do not find the idea of pregnancy even remotely attractive.”
“Why is that, Gwynn?” His tone was conversational, as though wondering about my inclination for white wine over red.
“You’re asking about my preferences, all of a sudden?”
“I am,” he replied evenly. “I want to know your objections to having my child.”
“Because you think you’ll chip away at those too.”
His blue eyes glittered in the candlelight. Even in this affable mien, the imperious dark side of him showed through, a glimpse behind the mask.
“Allow me the opportunity at least.”
“Okay.” I sat back, wiped my mouth and fingers with the black napkin. “Let me count the ways. One, it’s my body and I decide about whether I want to have a baby. Two, I have never wanted children. Three, I’m not thrilled about giving birth in what amounts to a Third World country, even with the magical healing, since I likely can’t afford it. Four, I am not the mistress of my own fate and thus have no ability to promise my child a secure life. And no, having you as the sugar baby-daddy does not count as security. Finally, I don’t believe I’d even have the opportunity to raise the child because you’d take it away.”
“To where?”
“Well, now. That’s the question, isn’t it? Why don’t you tell me what would happen to our hypothetical child?”
Rogue drank from his wine, his mind very quiet. Carefully making sure I caught no glimpses of his true thoughts. “Why do you assume anything would ‘happen’ at all?”
“You’re answering a question with a question. That means you’re dodging.”
“Maybe your thinking is foreign enough to me that I need more explanation.”
Fencing. Time for a different attack.
“Let’s try this question. Why do you want this child? Or is it really the Queen Bitch who wants it and that’s what she meant with her tick-tocking?”
He started to push a hand into his hair, but he had it neatly tied back. Instead, he ran it over the glossy smooth surface and cast his gaze to the ceiling. The light had truly faded now and the rain had slowed to a soft patter. When he met my eyes again, his glimmered with that odd combination of regret and irritation that arose when I pushed him on his intentions toward me.
“I can’t tell you,” he finally said.
“Can’tinstead ofwon’t.”
He nodded, a bare dip of his pointed chin, and held out a hand to me, palm-up. Finding myself unable to refuse the invitation, I slid my hand into his, the unnaturally long fingers familiar to me now.
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“All of us answer to someone, my Gwynn. None are free of all obligations.”
“Is it her?”
He rubbed a thumb over my palm, lips curving when I shivered at the touch. “Now do you really think I’d tell you that, when I can’t reveal anything else?”
