Oh my god. “Hanry,I have a pet head. Did you seriously think that being royal fairy spawn was a dealbreaker?”
“You hate the paranormal community.”
The mime-fairies gasp silently. At least, most of them do; one of the five breaks his miming duties to scratch his aquiline nose.
“Hate’s a strong word,” I say. Although he has a point.
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Hanry says at length. “You were always talking about leaving Salem, anyway. Weirdly, our time together made me more interested in Salem than I would’ve been without you. So thanks for showing me around. Introducing me to the night market, the wharf…”
“You’re welcome. And now that we’ve cleared everything up, it’s time to get you out of here.” I point at my wrist, making thetick-tick-ticknoise. I’m not sure Hanry can read time from glow sticks, but you never know. “We’ve got two, three minutes left at best.”
Hanry glances at his guard-mimes. On cue, they begin hum-growling with emphatic menace. At least to me, it’s intimidating, though Hanry’s broad-shouldered enough that he could probably snap one of those fairy dudes in half.
“Back at Sidney’s wedding,” says Hanry, “I told you my mom and I’d had an argument.”
I nod, remembering. “I’m guessing it was about getting hitched. Was she pissed when you told her no?”
“Not exactly.”
“Ah. Sad, then?”
Hanry hesitates. And—oh god. Hanry, for all his burly manlinessand kindness, has one flaw. One even he described as a flaw, on our first date: a tendency to slip out and avoid uncomfortable things.
“Hanry? You… youdidtell her you didn’t want to get married, right?”
The miming fairies, agitated, increase the speed of their rapid wall-building.
“Knock it off,” I snap at them. “Tell me I’m right, Hanry. Tell me.”
“I was trying to tell her!” says Hanry weakly.
Trying?
Heat rising in my head, I look at Hanry again.Reallylook this time. For a prisoner, he’s well-rested. And heisdressed up, without mussed hair or bruising or scratches. I glance down at his handcuffs. His wrists are pale, with no signs of chafing or blood from attempts to claw them off.
In fact, the manacles look like bracelets.
Royal bracelets. Beautiful royal bracelets, without sharp, serrated edges, or any flecks of dried blood. The only thing they have are insignias carved into the gold.
This… this absolute trash human. This lumberjackass. Hanry hasn’t attempted to escape; he doesn’twantto escape. While I spent all night making plans, all morning tearing out my hair, somewhat literally, trying to keep my cool while I found out where he was being kept prisoner, he hasn’t done athingto stop this?
Down to this very moment, when he’s letting himself be imprisoned by off-brand mimes?
“Hanry.” I feel my nails digging into my palms. Apparently, I’m curling my fists.Apparently, I am 10/10 pissed. “How do you ‘try’ to tell someone you don’t want to get married?”
“Well—”
I bounce from the settee to my feet. “Last night, I saw you running at arrow-point. Arrows, Hanry. Pointy death sticks. You were naked. You asked me to help you.”
“Yes,” he sighs. “I never liked that after-dinner party game.”
I throw an egg tart from the dessert tray at him.
“Hey!”
“I stayed up all nightplotting a heistfor you!”
“And for that, I thank—”
