“I’m sorry.”
The gold of his eyes flickers. “Are you?”
“I didn’t mean to?—”
“You didn’t mean to look at me like I’m a meal you’re waiting to consume or you didn’t mean to be caught?” He turns to face me fully, water lapping at his waist. “How refreshing.”
I don’t have an answer to that.
He wades closer to the bank, and my eyes go back to the marks on his skin. They trace up from his hips, curl around his ribs, climb his chest. Dark lines that look like thorns, or vines, or …
“What are those?” I don’t really expect him to answer me. I just want to turn the subject away from him thinking I was looking at his body for other reasons.
“My rank. My victories.” He lifts one arm, turning it so I can see the pattern that winds from wrist to shoulder. “Each one earned. Each one stolen when they put that collar on me.”
“Stolen?”
“The iron burned them away. Scoured them from my skinalong with everything else.” His jaw tightens. “But they’re coming back now.”
He wades out of the water. I look away …too late. I’ve already seen more than I should have …again.
When I turn back, he’s dry.Completely dry. His skin, hair, everything. As though he was never in the water at all. His hair is untangled, falling around his shoulders. Silver light dances around his fingertips as he pulls his shirt back on.
I stare, lips parted. “How did you?—”
“Magic.” He pauses, eyebrow arching. “Why? Was I not naked for long enough? Would you like me to strip again?”
My cheeks flame harder, and I swear I see a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“You’re enjoying this. Making me squirm.”
“Yes.” He doesn’t deny it. “I spent three hundred years giving humans what they wanted. Smiling when they told me to, sex when they demanded it.”
Sex when they demanded it? Not when he wanted it?
Before I can speak, he rises to his feet and steps closer to me. I have to fight not to step back. “Forgive me if I’ve lost the inclination to comply.”
He moves past me and back up to the road without waiting for me. After a moment, I follow.
We walk for hours. The road travels past orchards heavy with autumn fruit, alongside streams that glitter in the sunlight. It’s beautiful, but I don’t pay attention to any of it. I’m watching him instead, because I think I know where we’re going.
The Dell. He’s returning to the Dell.
I think about what waits for him there. The guards. The wards. The huntmaster with his iron collars. When he’s caught, they won’t just kill him, not after what he did. They’ll make an example of him. They’ll string him up somewhere public and let him die slowly, a warning to any other fae who might dream of escape.
“Are you going back?”
He doesn’t answer.
“They’ll kill you.”
Still nothing. Just the soft thud of my boots against the ground.
“Cairn.” It’s strange hearing his name come out of my mouth. “If you go back there, they willkillyou.”
He stops, and for a second time, I almost crash into his back. He stands there with his back to me, the wind stirring his hair. Then he turns, and the look on his face steals my breath away.
“They will try.” Three words, delivered flat and cold. There’s nothing in his expression that suggests he’s even considered the possibility of failing.
