Page 17 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

A minotaur raises his hand, staring at me pointedly, the gold hoop in his nose catching the candlelight as his nostrils flare.

Right. Back to work.

I paste on my best subservient smile, which, considering the way the minotaur glares at me, must not be very convincing.

“What’s it that’s brought you to Wild Oak Woods?” the minotaur asks in a northern accent so thick I hardly understand him.

I pour a fresh jet of boiling water into their empty teapot, carefully doling out the specific ratio of chamomile and mint this table ordered.

The minotaur stamps a hoof impatiently, making the floorboards shake.

I give him a mild look, and when I let a bit of fang slip, he quells slightly.

“A change in my fate, I suppose,” I finally answer. “Funny thing, that.”

He makes a noncommittal grunt, and I glide away from the table to check on the sylphs, who titter and order more of the enchanted pastries we stock from The Pixie’s Perch.

And run into Lila’s hard gaze. She was brave enough to give me her name the day she hired me.

Brave, or foolish… though I’m leaning towards courage when it comes to her.

“Don’t scare the minotaurs,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “We don’t need a stampede.”

I snort. “Me, scaring them? They’re twice my size.”

It’s not quite true, considering my fae blood gives me muscle and height, but she can’t deny that they are larger than me.

She doesn’t, either, instead giving me a curious, scrutinizing look that makes me feel small.

“She doesn’t want you to upset anyone.” Druze, her husband, a green-skinned dryad, wraps an arm around her and kisses the top of her head.

An ache goes through me, and I rub at my chest.

“Have I upset anyone?” I ask smoothly, attempting to recover. “Have there been complaints? Tell me how to improve.”

I’m perturbed. Annoyance ripples along my skin.

I try to make myself small for these villagers, try to fold into myself, hide what I am, keep them comfortable and collect all the tiny clues of themselves they’re only too happy to shed like breadcrumbs.

And this is how they thank me?

With coy accusations of making their patrons uncomfortable?

“I’m only too happy to hear your advice,” I force out.

Lila gives me a look that tells me she’s not buying any of my brand of bullshit today. I glance behind me at the minotaurs’ table. Maybe she’s more in the mood for their brand of it.

“Caelan,” she says, flicking her long white hair over one shoulder. “Do you need the afternoon off? You seem more out of sorts—” She cuts off her words, but I hear what she was going to say.

Than usual.

More out of sorts than usual.

An Unseelie fae from the Dark Queen’s court, forced to wait hand and foot on these overland peasants? A certain blonde witch haunting my sleep and my waking thoughts?

My nostrils flare.

Of fucking course I’m out of sorts.

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