For a few silent moments, I hold still, my gaze locked on his. Then, when his posture begins to relax, I slowly reach for the glass of water and bring it to my lips for a hearty gulp. In this moment, it tastes better than the most decadent wine. With a sigh, I replace the glass on the tray and return my gaze to the boy. His eyes, however, are no longer on me but the heel of bread, his tongue visible at the corner of his mouth. His face looks softer, younger, vulnerable.
Perhaps he isn’t so dangerous after all. Perhaps he’s…hungry. Keeping my voice level, I ask, “Would you like to share my meal with me?”
“No,” he quickly says, his look of yearning replaced with a scowl. “I hate human food. It’s dry and disgusting and a disgrace to the unseelie.” Despite his firm tone, his words sound cold and rehearsed.
I lift the heel of bread, frowning at it. “You’re right, this bread does look dry. Very flaky too. And is that…” I bring the bread to my nose and sniff. “Is that butter? Oh, this is too rich for me. I can’t eat it. I should simply tear it up and throw it away—”
“No!” He takes a step forward, hand outstretched, before he gathers his composure. “I…I’ll bring it back to the kitchens.”
I suppress my grin, instead keeping my expression open and innocent. “Why don’t you eat it for me?”
His eyes turn down at the corners as they lock on the bread. “I’m not supposed to. I’m supposed to watch you eat, replace your bindings, and return the tray to the kitchen. That’s all.”
“At least share it with me.” I tear it in half, finding it still warm, and inhale. “Oh, that’s good. You know what? I was wrong before. This isn’t dry at all. It’s moist and buttery and everything bread should be. Here.”
He looks at my outstretched hand and the bread inside it for only a second before snatching it from me and tearing into it with his teeth.
I take a modest bite, finding the flavor surprisingly satisfying. Perhaps my praise hadn’t been in vain after all. I watch as the boy scarfs down his last bite, then I casually ask, “How was it?”
“It was all right,” he mutters.
“You ate it quite fast. Are you well fed?”
He glares. “I eat just fine. I just…I like bread, is all.”
“I thought human food was disgusting.”
“It’s dry and gross,” he says in a rush. “Wolves are meant to eat fresh meat from fresh kills.”
“Yummy.”
“It is.” His expression falters, glare slipping. “When I’m a wolf, that is.”
“When you’re a wolf,” I say, tilting my head to the side.
“My unseelie form,” he says. “In my seelie form…well, I like bread better then.”
Unseelie. Seelie. I take the words and filter them through everything I’ve heard about the fae. If what I’ve learned is true—about the terms being the preferred definition of what some humans calllesser faeandhigh fae—then his wolf form must be unseelie, and his humanoid form must be seelie. Until now, I assumed the fae were strictly one or the other, not capable of shapeshifting between the two at will. That goes far beyond the glamours I’ve heard about. Why wasn’t any of this mentioned in the pamphlet I read when we gained citizenship to Faerwyvae?
I take a small sip of water, determined to finish my meal as slowly as possible; I’ve already learned something from this conversation, which tells me I could find out even more if I keep the boy talking. “What’s your name?”
He lifts his chin in defiance. “We don’t have names.”
I furrow my brow. “Why is that?”
His lip quivers for a moment, before he says, “We don’t remember them. His Majesty calls me Scrappy.” The last word is muttered so quietly, I almost miss it.
However, I’m fixated on the termHis Majesty. “And who is this royal majesty you speak of?”
“The king,” the boy says like it should be obvious.
“Who exactly is…the king?”
His eyes widen. “You already talked to him. He’s the Unseelie King of the Winter Court.”
I pause with a piece of bread halfway to my mouth. The boy looks fully serious, but he can’t be. This is just another part of the game, a crew of trickster fae with false personas. “Let me guess. The white wolf with three legs? The alpha male who walks with a staff?”
The boy nods.
