“Well, anyone who knows to hop on that particular channel.”Which hopefully didn’t include the fae law-hounds, or whoever held the leash on those fell wolves.She slid him a questioning look.“You do know how an underground path-box works, right?”
“Why would I?”His tone still held all the pompous arrogance she’d come to know and—well, not love, but lust after—but he looked genuinely concerned.
“You knew how to activate the channel.”
“The magical mechanism is obvious.”He waved that off.
“You reallyarea prince.”
Now he gave her the side-eye.“Would I lie?”
“Canyou?”she asked with alert interest.The fae couldn’t lie.She tried to get a look at his ears, but his curling indigo locks covered them.Surely it wasn’t possible, but…
His mouth twisted wryly.“Not saying.What’s the BX your partner referred to?”
“Not saying.”She simpered at him.
He set his teeth, sharp-edged jaw flexing as his eyes flashed.So sexy.Alas.“It could be important to me.”
“It’s definitely important to me.”She tipped her head at the path-box.“Thus being careful.”
“Ah,” he breathed, eyeing the box.“Can anyone listen on that thing at any time?”
“Theoretically no, when it’s off-channel, but it’s made by human mages using a conglom of fae magic crafted to mimic telepathy, after a fashion, so there are no firm rules.”She shrugged philosophically.“You know how it is, when magic’s involved, all bets are off.”
A sobering thought, if the fae guard had managed to infiltrate the path channels to the extent that they could passively listen in through the boxes at any time.
Something else occurred to her.“If you don’t understand what we’re doing with handles on the path-boxes, how did you know to leverage the knowledge that I’m the Bandit?”
He gave her a bland look.“I figured you being a ‘bandit’ was illegal.I’m not an idiot.”
Abandit, notthebandit.She sighed for her own hubris.
“Handle is a code name then?”he asked, studying her intently.“What’s your real name?”
She considered lying.Reconsidered, as—who was she kidding?—everyone knew who the Bandit was.“Cha.”She held out a hand sideways, offering a friendly clasp.He didn’t take her up on it.“And you?”she prompted.
“You can call me ‘Your Highness.’”
“Ha ha.”
“It’s better for your long-term health if you don’t know,” he said, snootily as usual, but with a serious undercurrent.“What kind of a name is ‘Cha’ anyway?It sounds like a cough.Or a hairball.”
“It’s a nickname.”
“What’s your full name?”
She slid him an assessing glance.“Not telling.”
“You’re that much of a criminal?”
“It’s that much of a mouthful.”
“I can handle a mouthful.”
Was it her imagination or did his coaxing tone—far nicer than he’d been to her thus far—carry a sensual buzz?He did have a very nice mouth.“Evermore,” she confessed on a sigh.“Arantxa Evermore.The second is pretty normal.The first, however, is pronounced with a ‘ch,’but spelled with an ‘x.’”
“Ah, thus the seizing of the final syllable ‘cha’ for the nickname,” he mused.“But Arantxa is such a beautiful name.Why bastardize it?”
