“Devil…” I murmured, “I should be the one apologizing. You didn’t—”
“I know, but I will anyway,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Now, what can a creature with nothing to his name besides a tree and a few trinkets offer a princess of the Arden to make amends for his shameful behavior?” He gave me a doe-eyed look and batted his eyelashes to diffuse the tension. I allowed myself to laugh, falling back on the blanket and tucking a hand beneath my head.
“Hmm. Nothing to your name, but you still have not even told me your real name,” I said, watching his face carefully. He quite literally lit up, sending a few fireflies dancing across the grass.
“Well, I know how much you love a good story, and thisisone of the best, if I do say so myself. Do you remember your first day in the Arden—”
“When youkidnapped me?”
“Your tone implies that you did notbegme to kidnap you.”
I rolled my eyes, but grinned. “Fair enough. Go on.”
“You asked how stories about the Devil of Arden could be generations old, when I myself am not.” I sat up on my elbows, interest piqued, as he continued. “The reason is that there were others before me. Robin Hood, Robin Goodfellow—they began this long and glorious tradition. I merely took on their names, just as I took on the responsibility of their bargains and legacies.”
“What happened to them?”
“Some Fair Folk do die of old age, you know.” He picked up an apple and twisted the stem off. “But…the Robin I knew, my predecessor, died during the invasion of the Arden, when I was just a child. On Oberon’s orders, I took up his mantle.”
My heart sank. “But…all those stories about people being mutilated or hurt by the Devil of Arden. Was…was that you?”
He met my gaze with a non-committal shrug. “I have done what is necessary to protect my home, as any creature would. The stories keep humans out of the forest, but the stories must have some basis in truth, or no one would believe them.”
“Oh…” We fell into a tense silence, which I finally broke for my own sake. “And what about Puck?”
“Ah.” Devil pursed his lips. “That is simply what Oberon calls whichever of his servants he happens to rely on the most. It is…more of a title than anything else. A way to call us up quickly, the same way a hound is called ‘boy’, regardless of his given name.”
“But…yourgiven name…” I said slowly, trying to prompt him. “Yourrealname…”
He merely shook his head, and I thought I felt my heart crack just a little as I sat up and wrapped my arms around my knees.
“You don’t have one, do you?” The question came out in a whisper. “No one ever bothered to give you one…”
“I promise, May, it does not matter,” Devil said, but I could sense his desire to simply push it aside. For a moment, the tender side of me battled against the side that needed to tease him in order to disguise my own discomfort. Typically, the latter won out.
“Well, if you have not chosen a name by now, then I think you are simply indolent,” I replied with a light smirk. “Perhaps that is why you allow everyone in the Arden to call you something different. Sheer laziness, that’s what I say.”
A faint smile bowed his lips. “Or perhaps I am not the sort of creature whoneedsa proper name.”
“Need or not, everyonedeservesa name of their own choosing,” I said softly, allowing my tender side to win one battle. “If you had your choice now, what would you be called?” For the thousandth time, he tucked an errant curl behind my ear, then allowed his hand to linger against my cheek.
“I would be called yours,” he murmured. “If ever I could choose something for myself, May, it would be you. Puck belongs to Oberon. Robin belongs to the storybooks. But Devil is yours. Yours alone, and forever.” He watched me closely, odd eyes full of hungry hope, and I was engulfed again. It was not the same feeling I’d had the night of the party—not a feral, animalistic desire—but a softer, more affectionate warmth, like I wanted to sink into him and disappear.
Instead, I just breathed in his scent and said, “You should not speak that way.”
“Why not?” Devil asked, leaning in and tilting my chin up. Our noses brushed together and the heat of his mouth hovered not an inch away from mine, waiting for permission. My eyes fluttered closed of their own accord.
“People might think you are in love with me,” I whispered, and the movement caused our lips to graze. But instead of kissing me, he pulled away. I cracked my eyes to see his head tilted to the side, like some quizzical, red bird.
“May…” he laughed faintly, “Iamin love with you.”
It was so matter-of-fact that I almost took him at his word, but softened my voice to ask, “Devil, do you even understand what those words mean?”
“Why would you suppose I do not?”
“Well…I-I only…I thought…” Unsure how to answer without offending him, I just let out an awkward, pathetic laugh. “Because love comes from…fromknowingsomeone, seeing who they are, even at their worst, and still choosing them anyway. You hardly know me at all.”
He gave an even more confused look. “I do know you…”
