“Because I lost my slippers.”
“How does one lose their slippers?” He walks over to the bucket of fresh water he keeps on the wooden countertop of his sprite-sized kitchen. Not that Phoebus ever cooks. The only time he lights up his coal oven is in the dead of winter, when the frigid temperatures turn the canals to ice.
The privacy curtain between where he sleeps and the living area stirs, and a male emerges. A fully naked one. Although my first glance lands on his small, rigid manhood, my gaze rapidly scales up to his face. The newcomer reddens and drops his palms to cover himself.
Phoebus gestures between us. “Fallon, Mercutio. Mercutio, Fallon.”
So this is Mercutio, the Fae with the . . . What had Phoebus said again? Godly mouth?
As I take the glass from Phoebus, I bite my lip. “Sorry to have interrupted your slumber.”
“I, uh . . . I should . . .”
“Go?” Phoebus supplies, at the same time as Mercutio mumbles, “Get dressed. And go. Of course.”
Although his long brown hair is unbound, I don’t miss the deepening flush crawling over his cheeks.
When he’s out of sight, I say, “I can come back.”
Phoebus shoves away a rumpled shirt and a plate topped with crumbs to make room on the couch for his pant-clad ass. “So can he.”
“Not sure he’ll want to after the lovely way you asked him to depart.”
“Trust me”—Phoebus smiles—“he’ll want to.”
“Careful. Your head may outgrow the rest of your body.”
He snickers. “So, tell me how you lost your slippers.”
By the time Mercutio emerges, combed and dressed, I’ve filled Phoebus in on my nocturnal dip in the canal.
With an awkward wave and more blushing, Mercutio lets himself out.
Phoebus shoots down his water and puts his glass down on top of a treacherous pile of leather-bound books. “Always up the canal without your oar.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you have an unprecedented way of getting yourself in messes.”
My mouth puckers. “The marquess attacked Minimus.”
Phoebus leans over, dropping his forearms onto his spread thighs. “This isn’t me judging what you did—I’m your biggest supporter, Fal—it was me pointing out where it landed you.”
I twirl my half-full glass, watching the water sparkle in the sunshine carving through the window.
“As for borrowing money, of course I’ll help you. Or rather, the Acoltis will be honored to aid an underprivileged child.”
My eyes flip to his. “I cannot ask your parents, Pheebs.”
“Who said anything about asking?” He winks at me as he gets up and vanishes behind his curtained-off sleeping quarters. “Give me ten minutes.”
I stare around the chaotic room, feeling an overwhelming urge to clean. “So, that’s a first for you.”
“What is?” he calls out.
“Sleeping with a pureling.” Not even before he cut ties with his family did Phoebus date pure-bloods.
I start stacking books. Sybille would be proud.
