“Let them. I give them enough magic to earn the occasional…indulgence.” He spits out the words, his anger pulsing with each beat of his heart against my back.
“My apologies for running off before,” he says. “After breaking up the fight, I thought it best to let my head clear.”
“You owe me no explanation.” Despite enjoying his closeness, the way his spicy, rich scent envelopes me, I should not allow myself to be distracted. I still have five blankets, two shawls, and a dozen pairs of socks left to sell, and while we are so far north that the sun this time of year is near constant, the market could end at any time. The King and the Prince have been known to ring the bell to stop all sales on a whim.
They have moved on, now three stalls away, and I find the strength to extricate myself from Roarke’s hold.
Digging his hand into his pocket, Roarke comes away with five silver coins and presses them into my hand. “I will take this beautiful specimen,” he says as he nods at my most expensive blanket—a deep purple with white snow-capped mountains along the lower edge. It’s the largest in my collection, and I worked for months on it.
“Roarke—“ I’m well aware of how he finds an outcast each market day and plies them with coins on the condition they purchase something from me, and I cannot allow him to continue this foolish pursuit.
“Do not argue, my darling,” he murmurs as he runs his hand over the blanket, then folds it twice and tucks it under his arm. “The snows will be here before we know it, and this will ensure I do not freeze while I amalonein my cottage.”
“I find it hard to believe you are ever alone. Unless it is by choice,” I tease. Roarke is, by far, the most desirable man in this realm, and both outcasts and wealthy alike vie for his attentions. I do not know why he continues to waste his time with me.
With a quick glance at the Fae, he leans in. “I want only you, Aurelia. One day, you will agree to be mine.” Taking my hand, he brushes a kiss to my knuckles, and then strides off with the blanket, leaving me speechless.
* * *
With only a fewof my wares left, I smile at every passerby, hoping to tempt one or two more. Until an angry, slurred voice breaks through the din of the crowd. “My credit has always been sufficient before!”
I cringe as my father snatches a basket of eggs away from another outcast—a chicken-tender named Giselle. He stumbles, and one of the precious brown globes falls to the ground and shatters.
Giselle calls for aid, and by the time I make it out of my tent, my father has attracted the attention of not only the Fae guards, but the King and Prince as well.
“You will stop this nonsense immediately,” the King orders in a thundering voice. “On your knees, human. Or you will spend time in the dungeons.”
An egg flies across the aisle and hits the King in the chest. The yolk stains the white stripe down the side of his black tunic, and he stares at my father with pure rage in his eyes.
“You keep us trapped here,” my father spits as he throws another egg. “Most of us can barely feed our families. We work day and night, andyoureap the benefits—feeding off of our misery, of our pain. And then yougraceus with your presence on Market days and expect us to bow down to you?” A third egg smacks the Prince in the cheek, and the King’s guards grab my father’s arms and pin them behind his back.
“That has earned you a death sentence,” the King roars.
“No! Stop!” I skid to a halt in front of the King and the Prince. They’re both impossibly tall, and without a table of goods between us, they seem so much more imposing.
Falling to my knees, I clasp my hands in front of me. “Do not kill him, please. He is all I have left in this world.”
“You are the spinner,” the King says. His son leans closer to him and whispers in his ear. “Ah. Lia, is it?”
The nickname grates along my spine, but I keep my voice neutral. “Aurelia, my liege. My father has had too much to drink, and he knows not what he says or does. I will take him home and ensure this does not happen again. I have several blankets left and I offer them all to you.”
“Silence!” With a wave of his hand, the King steals the air from my lungs. I choke, my fingers clawing at my chest and my throat until my vision starts to darken. Just before I fear I’ll pass out, he snaps his fingers, and I can breathe again. “Stand, woman.”
I scramble to my feet, though I’m dizzy, and when I throw my hands out to try to stabilize myself, it’s the Prince who takes hold of me. “Lia would make an acceptable mate, Father.”
A mate? I shake my head, certain I must have misheard, but the King grins, a perfectly straight, blindingly white smile. “You wish her for your own?”
“I do.”
“You will have to win her.”
My anger flares, and I struggle, but the Prince’s grip is too tight. “I am not a prize.”
The King’s eyes narrow, and he grabs my chin hard enough I fear he’ll leave bruises. “That is exactly what you will be unless you wish your father to die this night.”
“Aurelia,” Father cries as the guards shove him to the ground. One places a booted foot on the back of his neck. “Give him what he wants.”
Tears burn my eyes. How can he say such a thing? I begged for mercy, and my father is willing to simply trade my life for his?
