Page 21 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“Why Wild Oak Woods?”

“So many questions,” he says and I wince, but he lets out a soft laugh. “Because you would have us. It was the closest village and… it’s amenable to us. Why are you here, then, little goldsmith?”

I blow out a breath, grimacing. “Because I got lucky. I had family leave me that shop, which I’m going to drag down with me if I can’t—” I cut off abruptly, and my stomach growls again.

“I don’t think you’re dragging anything down at all,” he muses.

“You’re just being kind.”

“No.” A throaty, deep laugh, and another nudge of his elbow at my side. “You’ll find that’s not quite in my character, Wren. Here.” He stops in front of a food stall, and I’ve been so lost in our conversation and my thoughts I hardly realized we’d made it to the heart of the downtown area.

At this time, early evening, the main square is packed with creatures and people, but they’re not all buzzing to get to the next place, as they might have been in my last city.

They’re lingering, the bricks underneath all manner of feet and hooves a warm, white-washed red. Rainbow buntings crisscross overhead, food stalls stacked against each other in a riot of colorful awnings. Rich spices perfume the air, with the unmistakable scent of fried dough and grilled meat and vegetables.

A dwarven machine grates a massive block of ice under a light blue tent, a flock of winter pixies flitting around it, the bite of their cold spells tingling against my skin.

I inhale deeply, suddenly so grateful for being here that I can’t stand it.

I squeeze Caelan’s elbow, at a loss for words.

He smiles down at me, and it softens the sharpness of his face, just a bit.

“Thank you,” I tell him, infusing the words with as much meaning as I can muster.

“Oh, no need to thank me,” he says, and there’s a touch of mockery to the phrase that stiffens my shoulders.

Unseelie fae, I remind myself.

Names and thanks mean different things to them than they do to us.

“Do I scare you?” he asks, and I once again wonder if he does have some kind of psychic ability to divine my thoughts.

“Scare? No, you don’t scare me.” I extract my hand from his elbow and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Maybe you should. Maybe I’m too tired and sad to be scared. I know I should be careful around you, and I’m not sure I have the energy right now.”

Surprise lifts his eyebrows.

“Well, that won’t do at all.”

“What?” Thrown, I stare up at him, tilting my head. “You want me to be scared of you?”

“I have a reputation to uphold, don’t I?” he drawls.

A laugh sputters out of me. “Do you?”

Caelan gestures to himself with an elegant hand. “Of course I do. Just look at me.”

“Oh, yes, very intimidating,” I agree, grinning widely. He’s not, though, not the way he was when I first stumbled upon him in The Pixie’s Perch. My initial shock at finding Unseelie fae in Wild Oak Woods has given way to… well, tired acceptance.

It’s not just that, though, I suppose.

“What can I get you?” The harpy behind the counter ruffles her feathers as she waits for us, skewered meats roasting on spits on both sides of her. She casts a long look at Caelan, who seems to do his best not to notice the way she’s looking at him… and the way she’s sharpening her knives.

“We’ll have two of each,” Caelan tells her, smiling broadly, his sharp fangs on full display.

I watch him for a moment as he haggles with the harpy.

Every angle of his face is a work of art, the pointed tips of his ears begging to be touched. The way he flashes his fangs at the harpy makes me wonder what it would be like to feel them in my skin.

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