He looks down at me then, reaches out, and brushes a loose curl of red hair from my eye. “Frostwyn is a thrall house,” he says. “We live and die by the word of House Taramethos. They can do whatever they wish.”
A chill settles low in my stomach. “So what happens now?”
He rolls his shoulders, arching his back as though trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him. “I prepare the castle. Atilia will assist, whether I welcome it or not, and I will put the miners to work where I can.”
“I can help,” I say quickly. “I’m organized. I could plan the entire event if you want.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. He sits beside me on the bed, and his gaze drops to my hands, still twisting nervously together. Gently, he slides his larger hand between them, lacing our fingers.
“Your help will be invaluable,” he says.
Then he pauses.
I lift my head, heart pounding, waiting.
“But you must understand,” he continues, his voice more careful. “Whatever this is between you and me… it can exist only in private.”
My chest tightens.
“Fae and humans,” he finishes, eyes steady on mine, “we cannot be more.”
I shake my head and reach up, touching his face before he can say another word. “I am not some love-sick maiden. I am very aware of the world we live in. But I am still in your service, so let me serve you the best I can.”
His grin widens. He leans into my palm and presses a kiss to my wrist.“Are we still talking about the banquet?”
I frown. “That depends on whether or not you say something stupid again.”
His head tips back and he groans. “Oh, I am certain I will say something stupid again at some point. Especially if it earns me another slap across the face.”
I roll my eyes and shove his shoulder, but he catches my wrist and hauls me back toward him, sudden and effortless, stealing the breath right out of me.
“You should be grateful I am such a gentleman,” he murmurs, close enough now that the cold of him bleeds into my skin. “Otherwise I would have had you on your back in that hay, fucking you until dawn.”
My mouth goes dry. Heat coils low in my belly, and I stammer for some sort of coherent response.
“Your head,” he says suddenly.
I blink. “What?”
He releases my wrist at once, the shift in him immediate. His hand lifts to the back of my head, hovering carefully over the tender spot, all hunger gone.
“How bad is it? Do you need attention?”
It takes me a second to remember how to think. “Um. I’m not sure. It’s not bleeding anymore, but it still hurts a little.”
He inhales quietly. “It doesn’t smell infected. That is good.”
Right. His heightened sense of smell. I remember.
“Atilia will send a physician from her court,” he continues.
“Why would she help? She doesn’t like me anymore,” I say.
His mouth curves. “You are adorable for assuming she ever liked you, Neve Devlin. But she knows something is going on, so now she dislikes you even more.”
“Because I am human,” I say, even though I already know. The next words slip out before I can stop them. “Because I am not Aluna?”
He straightens.
