Page 4 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

I cast a sidelong glance at Kieran. The prince has never been outside the palatial halls and luxuriously appointed rooms of the Underhill’s palace. Even as the fourth spare to the throne, the fae prince was spoiled rotten by his doting mother and all the two-faced courtiers hoping to score her favor.

Sighing, I turn my own fish over the fire.

Might as well get both sides evenly burnt.

Ga’Rek hums under his breath, and Kieran skewers him with a look the huge half-orc changeling is only too happy to ignore.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were happy to be out of the Underhill,” I say, finally giving up on an even char on the damned trout and popping a piping hot piece in my mouth. It’s not bad.

It’s real, at least, not the sawdust the Queen would be making us eat as prisoners of her magic beneath the palace.

A shiver goes through me.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” The orc squares his shoulders, sizing me up. “Would you rather be rotting in her dungeons?”

Kieran sighs, and I immediately roll my eyes at the now-familiar sound.

“I was just defending myself,” he says, and there’s a petulant whine to the comment that sets my teeth on edge.

It’s what he’s said, over and over and over again, since the night he nearly gutted his eldest brother and heir to the throne.

It is true, which is the only reason, I suspect, we were allowed by Her Dark Majesty to escape to the above world, to the mortal realm, several days ago.

Days, which are still a strange concept, still feel odd, even though I’ve been topside before, to wreak havoc and mischief on the mortals who live here.

I am used to the endless dark of the Underhill, of the Queen’s black moods and midnight predilections.

Even now, though, I can feel her presence, a dark shape in the shadows of the trees around us, though it’s weaker now, during daylight hours.

Maybe Kieran’s words aren’t the only thing rubbing my nerves raw.

“Fish is good,” Ga’Rek says, grinning broadly at me, his tusks gleaming in the small daytime fire.

“Better than sawdust and bonemeal,” Kieran says wearily, echoing my own thoughts. “What was I supposed to do, let him kill me?”

I want to stab the pointy stick in my hand through his royal eye, but I grit my teeth and keep the urge to myself.

Kieran, for all his faults, is my friend.

“You survived.”

“Why do you say that like it’s my fault?” he asks.

“Well, technically, it is your fault. This is all your fault. But you made the choice to live, so now we have to deal with it.” I shrug one shoulder, the stiff leather jerkin creaking slightly. “You can either drive us all crazy by repeating the same drivel over and over again, or you can shut up and decide to make the best of it.”

“That’s no way to speak to a prince.” He sounds completely mortified.

Ga’Rek bursts out laughing, and a flock of birds scatter overhead in terror. “You’re not the prince of shit anymore, Kieran. You can either be a dead prince or a living outcast. I know what I’d prefer if I were you.”

He sniffs, clearly annoyed with both of us but unable to argue.

“This is a good place,” Ga’Rek announces. “Besides, I know of somewhere for us to live. For a time, at least.”

If they think we’ll be in the Dark Queen’s good graces and allowed to return to the Underhill again anytime soon, they are sorely mistaken. I am saved from voicing the thought by our much-maligned fae Prince.

“What, in some hollowed-out tree with a bullfrog for company?” Kieran snipes. His bright green wings scrabble against each other, the buzzing a sure sign of his annoyance.

I resist the urge to stab him. Truly, good for me.

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