Page 75 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

The fae prince sucks in a breath, flushing maroon in fury.

“Don’t fucking start, Kieran,” I warn him.

“Don’t worry, I’m done.” With that, the fallen prince stands, drawing up to his full height, power settling on him like a mantle.

The bar goes quiet, even the duo playing the fiddle on a makeshift stage breaking off their song.

Kieran takes one last conceited look around, then stomps out of the tavern without another word, the door slamming behind him.

“He’s not taking it well,” Ga’Rek observes as conversation reaches a normal pitch again, the musicians starting back up with a jaunty tune. “But he has a point. Is this what we want to do?”

“Lila and Druze are good people,” I say, turning it over. “Do you dislike working for Piper?”

The orc flushes again, running the tip of his tongue down one fang. “No.” A short, terse syllable that doesn’t leave a lot of room for supposition.

And yet. And yet… I wonder at him. The orc, who I’ve seen bathed in the blood of our enemies, a raging force on the battlefield, a berserker and a credit to his kind—now stuck in a hot kitchen for a flighty twit of a witch.

We sit in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, when it occurs to me.

What I want—that is, what I want besides Wren.

“Where are you going?” Ga’Rek asks, a laugh on his lips despite the edge to his voice. “Back to your witch already?”

“To see a man about an idea,” I tell him, smirking, knowing keeping my plan secret from him will drive him crazy.

You can take a fae from the Underhill, but you can’t take the trickster out of a fae.

CHAPTER THIRTY

WREN

By the time the book discussion wraps up, the fire’s nearly burned itself to embers in the hearth, the once-laden table now nearly bare of all the pastries and cheese and fruit.

Although I’m fairly certain the familiars helped lighten it, it’s still impressive.

Despite the fact I’ve been distracted and blushing for the past three hours, not to mention sore even in the plush chair, I’ve enjoyed listening to everyone else talk.

It’s shocking.

I’ve enjoyed being a part of this group, even if I was basically on the fringes of it, and warmth spreads across my chest at the knowledge.

There was no pretense, no snide comments or sneers. No mean whispers or pointed observations, not even one rude look.

It’s so completely different than the groups I tried to fit in with in the city, especially in my old coven, that I’m not sure what to do with myself.

It’s hard to believe it’s even possible—that a group of so many different species from so many walks of life could get along in such a way, brought together to discuss this romance novel.

The satyress waves at me as she leaves, the human couple also calling out their farewells as the door to The Listening Page closes behind them.

A steady patter of rain begins to fall on the bookstore’s windows, and the human men laugh as they run past, attempting to outrun the gathering storm.

“What did you think?” Ruby’s standing in front of me, a wide smile on her face. She pushes her glasses up on her nose, clutching her copy of the book to her chest. Maximilian winds around her ankles. Fenn jumps on my lap, yipping at the cat, who simply gives him a baleful look until Fenn quiets, twitching.

“It was… perfect.” I’m embarrassed to tell her I was so anxious about it, but I can’t deny I’m relieved. So relieved. “Everyone was so nice.”

“Not always,” Nerissa chimes in, moving a platter out of the way to sit on the table. “They’re not always nice.”

“Who is?” Willow asks her tartly, flipping her auburn hair over her shoulder. “No one is always nice, Nerissa.”

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