Page 9 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

She’s given them my name.

Names have power amongst the fae—especially in the Underhill.

Piper blanches.

“Wren,” the tattooed fae purrs, pinning me in place with his pale, pale blue eyes, as clear as a cold spring. “A lovely name for a lovely witch.”

I go hot and cold all over.

“Bread and salt,” Piper repeats, jerking her head at me to sit, to join them. There’s a bit of annoyance in her eyes, but she doesn’t seem overly worried.

No, my pastry-making friend seems… completely fine.

There are two Unseelie fae sitting smack-dab in the middle of her adorable black and white patterned floor, their lavender and deep purple skin complementing the few pastel frosted cakes left under the glass counter.

The massive orc stands out like a sore thumb, and I can’t help but notice the way he’s watching her hungrily.

I don’t think it’s just for the honey-soaked loaf glistening on the platter in her hands.

The tattooed fae pushes one of the heart-backed chairs out with a toe, grinning at me as I warily sit beside him.

At least this ritual of bread and salt will give us a modicum of protection, and, with any luck, the ancient custom will protect the rest of our little village. Every muscle in my body’s tense, and I focus on the serrated knife Piper expertly wields as she distributes a slice to each of the males at the table.

The men dwarf us, even the leanly muscled winged fae, and it’s hard not to be painfully aware of their daunting physical presence.

Not to mention their innate magic, the citrus and smoke flavor of it tingling against my senses.

“I’m Caelan,” the tattooed fae says after a perfunctory bite of the bread. “We appreciate your generosity.”

The winged male makes a sound of slight disgust, a noise that turns into a muffled moan a second later as the orc spears him with a furious glance.

“I’m Ga’Rek,” the orc offers after a beat, smiling broadly at Piper, and then me. “As you’ve noticed, we’re from the Underhill. We are hoping you know of a place we can stay here. Maybe some work.”

Piper leans forward, her eyes glimmering with excitement. “As a matter of fact, I need help here. I need another set of hands in the kitchen.”

“At the risk of sounding less than humble,” the table groans, the platter of sliced bread sliding towards him as he puts his weight on it, “I am a fantastic cook.”

Caelan arches an eyebrow, and the pressure of his attention finally flits away, towards the green-skinned orc. “Humility has never been one of your virtues, old friend.”

“You would be the expert on that,” Ga’Rek tells him cheerfully, and the two laugh uproariously at their shared inside joke, while the third fae sniffs at the bread before taking a delicate bite.

Piper clears her throat, wiping a crumb from her lips. “I don’t have need of three bodies in my kitchen, though,” she tells them apologetically. “Have you asked around anywhere else?”

Ga’Rek shakes his head, a smug look on his face as he studies the two fae with him. Caelan and the quiet, disdainful one who can’t seem to manage an ounce of friendliness towards us.

I scoot further away from the table, and nearly scream in surprise when a warm arm stretches around the back of my chair.

Fenn chitters an angry warning at Caelan, who, sure enough, has put his arm around my chair. I lurch forward, caught between either moving closer to his arm or closer to the table and absolutely not wanting to touch him.

The audacity.

I settle for an uncomfortable position in the middle of the chair and skewering the presumptuous fae with a glare.

“Hmm. Isley, that’s our town grocer, she might be short-handed, you could check there. She sells fresh fruit and vegetables on the square.” Piper’s gabbing away like this situation is entirely normal, like Unseelie fae are regulars in Wild Oak Woods.

It’s silly, but it does relax me a little.

At the very least, I’m not moping about the guild’s rejection. Well, I wasn’t until I remembered it, the cold words of the letter hitting me all over again, a punch in the gut.

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