“A seal.”
I clench my jaw to keep from asking if he’s capable of producing any other words than echoes of my own. “I’m a selkie.”
He releases a heavy breath that seems to take some of the tension out of his shoulders. Slowly, he returns to his seat. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I was caught unaware by your…chaperone’s appearance.”
“Please don’t call me Your Highness,” I say. “My name is Maisie.”
“But you’re a fae princess, are you not? As you’re royalty, I’m expected to address you as Highness.”
“Yes, but I prefer Maisie.” He says nothing, so I add, “If it makes you feel more comfortable, you may call me Miss Maisie.”
“Very well,” he says with a brief smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “May I pour you some tea then, Miss Maisie?”
I’ve never been a fan of tea and prefer water or wine, but it does give me an idea. “Yes, please.”
He leans forward and pours two cups of tea. He hands one to me and takes the other for himself. My fingers tremble as I pretend to take a sip. Then I set it on the saucer and let out a little cough. Followed by another. And another. “What kind of tea is that?” I ask, my voice raspy.
Dorian’s eyes go wide as he assesses his teacup. “Black?”
I make a choking sound. “Water,” I say. “Mr. McCreedy, will you be a dear and fetch me water?”
The reporter pauses, his expression crumbling with disappointment. “Me?”
I nod. “Please. Freshly boiled. With salt.”
“Salt?”
“I’m a sea fae.”
The reporter narrows his eyes. Being fae himself, he might see through my ruse. It’s a risk, but one I must take. With a resigned sigh, he closes his notebook and rises. “Please cease all conversation until I return.”
I fan my face, emitting more little coughs well after Glint exits the parlor. Only when I’m certain he’s far enough away do I stop.
Dorian leans slightly forward. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m feeling quite well. How silly of me.”
He watches me for a few beats. Is that suspicion in his eyes? “Shall we wait until Mr. McCreedy returns before we begin our conversation?”
I wave a hand. “There’s no need.” I inch slightly closer, trying to make it seem like I’m simply arranging my skirts more comfortably.
“As you wish,” he says, tone flat. “Miss Maisie, do you have any other brothers?”
Shells, I hate small talk. But if that’s what it takes to distract him as I slowly inch toward him...
“I do,” I say, shifting again. “I have many, actually. They live back home at Bircharbor Palace.”
“Any sisters?”
“Yes, but they are centuries older than I am and don’t live at home. I’m my father’s youngest child. But I have female selkie cousins.” It takes me a moment to realize it’s most polite if I return the question. “How about you? Any siblings?”
“I have sisters,” he says, and his eyes unfocus for a moment. “Two of them.”
I scoot closer again, but his gaze falls to my hips. I freeze. “How old are they?”
“Sixteen and fourteen.” His face is devoid of emotion, but there’s a note of something heavy hanging in his voice. Sorrow, perhaps? It makes me wonder if talk of families makes him think of his dead father.His traitorous, fae-killing father, I remind myself. With a shake of his head, he turns his gaze to me. “What is a Sea Princess doing in the city of Lumenas?”
His question holds no hint of reproach, but it sets me on edge regardless. Mostly because I’m not sure what to say that won’t be a lie. Then again…what does it matter? It’s not like he’ll be around much longer to repeat what I say. My stomach turns at such a morbid thought, but I ignore it. “I’ve lived here for about a year.”
