His mouth twitched in amusement. “Tell you what, you answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
Truthfully, I didn’t want to talk about me—about what becoming fae meant. But the truth was, I didn’t have any fight left in me. Not on this. Not after what I’d just learned.
“Have you ever heard of the wordhiraethbefore?” I asked, looking to him.
“No,” he said with a small shake of his head.
“It’s an old word from one of the isles. There’s no direct translation, not really, but it’s a feeling of deep longing in your soul for something that is irrevocably lost—like a bone-deep ache for a lost love, or a homesickness for a place you can never return to.”
His expression shifted, and I could’ve sworn my words touched him in a way only those who’ve experienced it could understand, but he stayed silent.
“I’m not sure who, or what, I am,” I admitted, and a chill danced down my spine at the remembered words whispered to me. “I’m a child of everything. And a child of nothing,” I breathed, and his brows furrow. “So, I don’t know ifyoumeans fae, andusmeans human. I don’t even know whatImeans right now.”
He seemed to ponder this before nodding, and something in his acceptance of my answer eased a weight I hadn’t known I carried; as if he’d somehow given me permission to not have all the answers.
I leaned back on the heels of my palms again. Endymion tracked the movement and placed the tome down with the others before shifting his own body to match mine. His white shirt pulled at his biceps and chest, the muscles shifting with the movement, and I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen him in civilian clothes. And damn, if I were him, I’d never wear a shirt again. My traitorous eyes wandered down his torso until my body tensed as if I’d been doused with glacial water—apparently it wasn’t just another’s touch my body would deny me.
Dragging my gaze up, I froze as Endymion watched me with an intensity I hadn’t seen from him before. A blink, and it was gone. His throat worked before he said, “Caius sent someone to fetch me.”
“I’m sorry?” I said.
He smirked. “You asked me how I got back so fast. Caius sent someone shortly after you left.”
Right. I shook my head, trying to refocus. “Well, that was nice of him,” I said with a nonchalance I didn’t feel.
“No, it wasn’t. Artton leaving me there was just a dick move.”
I smiled, and his smirk shifted into a half-smile of its own.
“What’s the deal with you two?” I asked. Clearly there was some history there, and something that almost bordered on animosity—or rivalry, perhaps.
“That would be two questions for you and only one for me,” he said, keeping score like the general he was. “If I answer, do I get another?”
My eyes narrowed slightly, and I considered if I should step fully into the game I’d unwittingly started with him. “That will depend on the questions,” I countered, feeling as if we were establishing house rules.
“I can abide by that condition, as long as it applies to both of us.”
“I think that’s fair,” I said, then indicated with my hand for him to go on.
“I’ve known Artton for as long as I can remember, longer than Caius even. He doesn’t agree with me going back to the Autumn Court since I brought you back here—and lets me know how much he disagrees every chance he gets,” he said, giving no indication of how he felt about it.
“Why not stay?”
With a raised brow and a mischievous smirk, he said, “It’s my turn.”
“Fine,” I said with a slight pout as I sat up and rested my arms on my bent knees. “Ask.”
The lines of his jaw seemed to sharpen, and his eyes hardened. “Why didn’t you protect yourself in the woods?”
My stomach dropped as his question hit me with the stern accusation he’d intended—the one I’d already hurtled at myself. Unable to handle his scrutiny, I looked toward the lake and watched its perfectly still surface ripple as a flock of large birds planed across it before settling in.
“I tried,” I whispered.
“You did?” Surprise slipped into his voice.
I nodded.
“I see.”
