Page 53 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“How old are you?” I cringe slightly as soon as the question is out there, wafting between us.

Caelan finishes tugging the boot off, silent as he slowly and gently rolls the sock off my aching foot.

“Time has no meaning in the Underhill,” he finally answers, gazing up at me with those haunting blue eyes. “But I’ve seen the rise and fall of queens and kings on your land over… what must be centuries.”

I clear my throat. “Right.” It’s staggering to think about, so I try not to, instead watching him slide his hands down my foot. His touch is feather-light, and still, I hiss as his fingers find the jagged edge of a raw blister.

“I have salve for it, you don’t have to do that?—”

He cuts me off with a stern look, and I nearly laugh at the expression on his face. “I am wooing you.”

“This is part of it? Touching my blisters?”

“Believe it or not, Miss Sassy Witch, most fae, Unseelie or otherwise,” he grimaces over the word, as if just mentioning the Seelie Court is distasteful, “care for their… would-be partner.”

Would-be partner.

I squint at him.

It sounded like he was fishing for that phrase, like that wasn’t the one he wanted, not at all.

I heave a sigh, one of relief, as he begins kneading the bottom of my foot with his knuckles, sinking back into the chair.

“What kind of salve is it?” he asks, studying the sore patch of skin on the back of my foot. His forehead creases in concern, and it literally melts any bit of my heart that didn’t quite believe he actually likes me.

“It’s in the cupboard over there, green jar, lemon balm, comfrey, and pressed walnut oil.”

He makes a face. “Comfrey?”

“I made it myself.” I shrug one shoulder. “Why? Do you have a secret ancient fae recipe for some mystical unguent that’s better?”

“We use comfrey in poisoned arrows,” he says archly.

“In high doses, yes, it’s toxic, but I’m not purposefully poisoning myself.”

“Is there a healer in this backwater town?” he asks.

“The backwater town where you live?” I huff a laugh at his indignant expression. “Yes, there is, but we don’t need to bother her for a few blisters, Caelan.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not right now.”

“But you were?” he presses, his eyes narrowed as he scrutinizes my face.

“You carried me home,” I say, suddenly exasperated with him. “I hardly had the opportunity to be in pain.”

“Why are you saying that as if I’ve deprived you of some noble quest to rub your feet raw?”

“The salve I have will be fine,” I mutter mutinously, but he just laughs.

“You deserve the best. Comfrey in some homemade salve is not the best.”

“I am a witch! I have healing training!” I cross my arms over my chest petulantly, but he just grins.

“You are a goldsmith and an enchantress of jewelry, and an excellent one at that. You are not a healing witch.”

“Fine,” I say, genuinely interested in an alternative. The salve I made is fine, sure, but I’m not self-absorbed enough to think there isn’t a better salve out there. “What do you suggest?”

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