I’m so grateful she was able to teach me some guidelines before all of this happened.
I’m less grateful that my abductor acts like he’ll die if he doesn’t tap a kiss to me every few minutes. This time, it’s the top of my head before he sweeps back into the kitchen to bring out the food.
After he’s finished adorning the table with everything he’s cooked, he loosens the cord tying back the long sleeves of his robe, stuffs it in his pocket, and removes the stopper from the pitcher of mango juice. I watch as he determines the position of my glass before pouring, then I cross my ankles as he sits beside me—on my left, which seems relevant, somehow—and begins buttering toast. For me. Apparently.
“One or two slices, my feather?” he asks.
“One is fine.” This is more food than I’ve had in my entire life.
“And your eggs, love?” He scoops a heaping helping onto a wooden spoon. “How much?”
“Uh…maybe half that?”
He corrects the portion, ascertains where my plate is, and delivers.
If I absolutely had to get kidnapped and become a faerie’s pet, I guess it is nice that I’ve been kidnapped by the kind of pet owner who would microwave their dog’s wet food dinner.
Worse things have happened.
And I’ve definitely been subjected to them.
Carefully, I pick up my fork and eye my faerie kidnapper, to make sure I’m allowed to start eating.
Without warning, he merrily consumes three entire eggs in a single bite.
My eyes widen.
He scoops another obscene portion into his mouth, chewing delightedly the entire time.
He is…so blindlyhappy—no pun intended—that it’s actually starting to make me question whether I should be concerned at all about any of this.
Generally, people are overjoyed whenever they get a new puppy. If faeries regularly adopt humans as pets, maybe this situation is comparable to that one. After all, he’s displayingI have a new puppylevels of joy.
He is also displayinghas not eaten in three years.
My word.
I thought the dozens of eggs and a skillet the size of a small country was extreme.
Silly me.
It’s…kind of cute how happy he is, rocking back and forth as he stuffs his face with food.
Realizing I’m already heading toward Stockholming myself into submission, I focus on my own food and poke at my eggs before nudging a few onto my toast.
Carbs. Butter. A full plate. It nearly makes my eyes water.
This is luxury unlike anything I’ve had before, and my warden sure is cute enough, isn’t he? What more could I ask for if not that Stockholm syndrome might take away my apprehension in full?
In all fairness, complacency is probably the best case scenario for my mental health here. It’s not like I have the opportunity to run away again. The only reason I could the first time is because I had Frelsi’s magic, but Frelsi was born in my bedroom. She doesn’t know what’s out here in Faerie, and I sure don’t. We both only know it exists because it’s one of those things the fae are born with—their name, the rules, and a sensation thathomelies just beyond the fabric of reality.
If the goblins in my kidnapper’s palace are like dogs, wild goblins would be like wolves.
My choices are: being ripped to shreds in the woods…or…enjoying silk jammies, big breakfasts, and flower petal baths.
More complacent than ever, I sip my mango juice.
“Here you are!” Frelsi cries, zipping through an archway that leads into this pristine dining room. Like the rest of the places I’ve seen here, it’s all tile floors, ebony stones, and dark wood, but it’s in this moment I realize my black-tipped pixie really seems tobelongamid all these shadowed shades. Colliding with my cheek, Frelsi gives me a hug. “I overslept. Our bed is so comfy, and we haven’t had a real bed for weeks.”
