He clears his throat, and I force my eyes to his, my cheeks burning. Oh, for the love of the shells, why was I looking at his legs? Or any part of him? He reaches for me, and I flinch. Only to find he’s not reaching for me at all but something on the wall next to the door. When he steps back, he has a cloth in his hand and begins wiping down his face. I grit my teeth as I catch sight of the smirk playing over his lips. When his gaze next meets mine, he repeats his question. “What are you doing here?”
I take a deep breath, inhaling the salty aroma wafting off his skin, and shove my paper bag between us. “I came to bring you this.”
He pauses in the middle of drying off his hair and lifts a brow at my offering. “What is it?”
“Lumies. I…I remember you saying you’d never had them, so I brought you some from the vendor across the street.”
“You snuck out of your room and broke church rules to get me a gift? How kind.” I can’t quite tell, because his stupid face remains ever impassive, but I’m pretty sure he’s being sardonic. Still, he takes the bag from me. Slinging the sweat-soaked cloth over one shoulder, he peers inside the bag. The smell of sugar and cardamom mingle with the salt in the air. His expression softens, as does his posture.
I wring my hands. “It’s a peace offering. I only hope you don’t think too badly of me after what happened yesterday.”
“That would imply I think of you at all,” he says dryly.
I bristle, tempted to storm away, but his lips twitch into something like a grin. Is he teasing? Refusing to acknowledge the jab, I proceed with the remainder of my well-rehearsed speech. “I wanted to apologize for…for how I behaved. And to thank you for not sending me home.”
He lifts his head halfway, peering at me through slitted lids. Perhaps I shouldn’t have hinted that I knew he’d planned on eliminating me.
And yet, he says nothing, making my pulse race as he continues to stare at me. I bite my lip, then force my next words out. “I’m sorry.” My apology is true, but only because my actions nearly cost me my mission.
He shifts his stance and lifts his chin, gazing down at me from under his lashes. “Why did you do it? Why did you try to kiss me?”
The blood leaves my face. That’s not something I can confess. But I can evade the truth with that of a different kind. “You were right when you said I don’t know much about human propriety. I was raised most of my life as a seal.”
“Right,” he says. “A selkie temptress.”
“Aselkie,” I say, enunciating the word, “who rarely removed her sealskin. This past year has been my first living exclusively in seelie form, and much of my time has been spent at the theater I work for. I confess, it isn’t the most proper environment for an unmarried young woman, but I hope you can forgive me for it.”
He crosses his arms, and it takes all my restraint not to admire his muscles again. “Why did you join the contest?” he asks. “Why do you seek to marry me?”
That’s another question I can’t answer. I take a deep breath. “Can I answer something else instead?”
After a pause, he nods.
“I did rescue you. On the evening of the seventh, I was at Cape Vega and spotted a shipwreck and a fire. I didn’t think there were any survivors, but when I saw you trying to swim for shore, I went out to help you.”
His stern mask cracks, making him look unsure. Youthful. The way he looked right before I tried to kiss him in the parlor yesterday. His brows knit together. “Why?”
I wring my hands again but force them still. It takes me a few moments to set aside everything that has happened since that night, everything I’ve learned about him, and everything I still must do. When I find my words, they’re true. “I saw you drowning and everything in my heart told me that saving you was the right thing to do.”
His expression softens more than I’ve ever seen, his lips curling into a sad smile.
I return it, my lips mirroring his. For a moment, that feeling I felt on the cliff returns. The conviction that I was about to do what was right. To make my father proud. To make myself proud. For a single inhale, I pretend I still feel that way. For one exhale, I let myself forget that he still must die.
“I’m sorry too,” he says, surprising me. He looks down at the floor between us. “I…was too hard on you. I rushed into an assumption and spoke it aloud. If I were a gentleman, I would have pretended it didn’t happen and guided our meeting in a different direction. I never should have confronted you about…doing what you did or insinuated that you were embarrassed or that you had ill intent.”
I note how he saysifhe were a gentleman. Does that mean he doesn’t consider himself to be one?
He continues. “I haven’t lived in Faerwyvae for many years now, and I confess my experiences with the fae have rarely been positive.”
My heart hardens, smothering my momentary fantasy. As much as I know I should say nothing more, I can’t help but voice my next question if only to discover what he’ll say. “Why do you want to marry a fae, then?”
He sighs and meets my eyes again. His voice is lower than it was before, hushed with secrecy. “You, more than anyone, can piece together the answer. You rescued me. You knew to take me to Saint Lazaro, which means I must have begged you for sanctuary.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember someone coming to my rescue. I remember a woman looking down at me with moonlight in her hair.” His eyes take on a distant quality, but he quickly shakes it away. “That was you, I suppose. And it’s the last thing I remember. The next thing I knew, I was in the church’s infirmary. I promise you, I had no intention of illegally crossing the border. I was meant to dock at Vanmar Island and secure citizenship the official way. But now…now, you must know the rest.”
I say nothing, keeping the truth unsaid. We both know he has only days left before his term of sanctuary expires. Then the fae will have the right to collect him, imprison him, and punish him for crossing. Unless, of course, he marries someone with at least half-fae blood and becomes a citizen, a legal pact sealed with a kiss of his new bride’s lips.
