“What the Resistance did to you doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter?” Mabon shrieks.
Oh crap. I could have worded that better. Especially since the Resistance stole all of Mabon’s jewellery, which I presume included his translator. He is having to muddle through a second language, which can’t be easy.
“Mabon, please don’t fly off the handle,” I beg hurriedly. “I meant, fuck the Resistance.”
He goes very still. “I don’t want to fuck them. They are mean.”
I suck in a big breath. “No, I mean the Resistance are shit. They don’t matter. Ignore them. Forget what they did to you. It’s meaningless.”
A heavy silence falls. It fills the room. It clouds the air. I’m breathing it in and it is everywhere.
“Just like your braids are meaningless,” he says quietly.
“What?”
Mabon sighs despondently. “I know you don’t understand what they mean.”
I swallow. “I’m starting to. A little.”
Another silence. This time it is brief. A pause in time while fate rearranges itself. Then slowly, but decisively, Mabon lets go of his hair and all his silken locks fall free. It is so very, very pretty.
Dutifully, I urge my fingers to start working and I begin twisting his hair into a braid. I’m going to have to get him to teach me how to do this properly.
He sits motionless as I work. I’m not even sure if he is breathing. I tie off the braid with the shoelace and he inhales sharply.
“It is supposed to mean that you claim me. That I’m yours, even though I have been disgraced. It shows that you choose me. Want me.” He draws in another shaky breath. “That you like me.”
My heart pounds, low and heavy. My mind latches on to the last thing he said because that, that one, I understand. That one I have a hope of dealing with.
“I do like you. I told you last night?”
Is he really still so insecure? I thought he was an arrogant, narcissistic prince. I never in a million years would have thought he’d find it this difficult to believe that someone cares for him.
“You like my body,” he huffs dismissively.
“I do like your body,” I confess. “I also like you.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t sound as if he is fishing for compliments. His tone is pure bewilderment. It is shattering my heart into a tiny thousand pieces. How can anyone be this convinced that they are unlovable?
“You are passionate about everything,” I say. “You get excited about shiny things. You fix trees. Sometimes you scare the crap out of me, other times I want to hold you tight and keep you safe. You make the world a brighter place. My life was quiet and dull before I met you. Now it is full of colour.”
He turns slightly. He looks over his shoulder at me. His amethyst eyes are bright and astonished. My hand finds the nape of his neck and I lean in for a kiss. My lips brush over his, and suddenly everything is fire and need.
He turns more towards me and his arms wrap around my neck. His kiss is passion and hunger. Tenderness and yearning. Just like before, he melts into it. As if kissing me is the only thing he has ever wanted. As if he has been waiting his whole life for this.
I hold him in my arms and kiss him with all the feelings that are pouring out of my heart and soul, despite the fact that they don’t make any sense at all.
He was my captor. He is my enemy. He has become my everything.
We kiss and kiss and kiss. Then I pull away, but only because I need to breathe. He keeps his arms around my neck and stares up at me with a look of pure adoration.
Seeing that look in his eyes is overwhelming. My stomach flutters. My guts twist. I’m elated, overjoyed. And terrified.
Fey aren’t human. They are mythical, magical, powerful beings. I’m starting to suspect that their emotions run deep, fathomless. As endless as the void. If Mabon truly falls for me, what will it do to him? Will love tear him apart? Destroy him in its intensity?
