I shift and pull the robe around me, covering my back completely. “Yes, but I don’t exactly run in their circles.”
“Right. We stay separate. Safer that way.” She rests her chin on one hand, her elbow on her knee. “Do you fear the high fae?”
Something about her question makes me wary. “What do you mean?”
“I mean do you like the way they lord over lesser fae and changelings?”
No, of course I don’t. But what is this? A trap? Are the guards standing behind a tapestry waiting to take me to the dungeon if I speak against the nobles?
She taps the side of her nose with one of her shorter arms. “Smart. You’re smart to be silent. But keep in mind that no matter how close you get to the king, he’s still the king, still a high fae, and you’re nothing more than a servant. A pampered pet that he’ll discard when the new wears off. No offense to you, my dear. I rather like you, but I’m simply saying that high fae can’t be trusted, especially not a royal high fae who pines for his immortal mate while dallying with a changeling.”
“What are you getting at?” I can’t read her, and I’d like to think it’s because of the glasses, but I wouldn’t be surprised if, when she took them off, she was just as obscure as she is now.
“Getting at?” She leans back, as if the subject is closed. “Nothing. Just a friendly discussion of our shared situation. We’re done for the day. I need to keep refining my loose sketch, but I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
“All right.” I want to get out of here. The sunny room doesn’t seem quite as friendly, not after her odd questions. I rise and take a few quick steps toward the door, my gaze going to the priceless art supplies thrown hither and thither.
“Take what you like, my dear.”
I turn, but she’s no longer sitting by the divan. I don’t see her at all, and I didn’t even hear her move.
“I know a fellow artist when I see one.” Her voice fades away. “So take whatever you need to make your canvas sing.” A door closes at the far side of the studio.
Take what you like. I stare at the miles of canvas, the carnival of colors, and an array of brushes I couldn’t have dreamed of before this day. With a little cry, I grab up a selection of items and hurry out into the hall. Lucidia is nowhere to be seen, but the guards grudgingly direct me back to my chambers, my arms so full I’ve no doubt I look like a particularly bold thief. Once inside, I lay out all my goods and squeal with delight.
“Paints?”
I jump out of my skin and whirl.
Solano is standing behind me, his golden brows raised as he peruses my colorful cache.
Pulling the robe tighter, I bite my lip. Is he going to take it all away? Brunilla said there are rules about art here. Can consorts paint, or is that against the rules, too?
He steps closer, his golden eyes bright. “So you paint?”
“Yes.” I hold my breath.
“Interesting.” He looks over my little collection, but he doesn’t seem displeased.
I give myself permission to breathe again. “I used to paint in the Nightlands.”
“Whom did you study under?” He turns and looks down at me.
Somehow, when he looks at me like this, like we’re friends … like we’reclose, something inside me unwinds and becomes languid and warm.
“I didn’t study under anyone.” I tuck my hair behind my ears.
He follows the movement with his gaze and steps closer. “Self-taught?”
“I wouldn’t say that either.” I shrug. “I’ve just always enjoyed color and creating something from nothing, even if I’m not particularly skilled at it. Mama always frowned on it, especially when I spent time drawing rather than stitching.”
“Not only an artist, a misunderstood one.” His lips quirk into a smile.
The warm feeling drains away when I realize he’s mocking me. Why does it sting? This isn’t the first time a high fae has mocked my ambitions, such as they are, but his disdain is like an arrow through me.
“Well, I suppose my meager efforts are nothing to a high fae like you, especially when only other high fae get the honor of your portraiture.” I suppose Brunilla was right about Solano and all the high fae. We’re just bumbling fools to them. Turning to go to my room, I squeak when I’m whipped back around.
He releases me quickly, as if he’s just as surprised as I am that he grabbed me. “I didn’t mean to cause offense.”
