Page 51 of How to Keep a Fae

I blink a few times, lost as to how I can be this forthright. It is almost a compulsion to open my mouth and offer up all the little thoughts inside.

He laughs. It is warm and rich and lights up his handsome face. “Well, we shall see what our upholster can do.”

“Why am I here?” My eyes dart to the dark-haired fae sitting on the other side of the table, who is strangely familiar.

“You have garnered the interest of an imperial,” the king says, redirecting my attention to him. “They have… discerning taste.”

“What imperial? Him?” I blurt out, wishing I could swallow my tongue. “You look like August.”

The imperial sitting opposite lifts one brow. “Hmm.”

Goodness, he even sounds the same as August.

“And you know August well?” the king prompts. His eyesare a deep, dark brown now. Did I imagine them to be blue before?

“No,” I hedge. He is doing something to loosen my tongue. Magic, I’m sure of it. “I have fed him on occasion.”

“And have you fed from him?”

My brows pull together. “What? No! Yuk!” Then heat floods my cheeks as I consider there are many ways of feeding, for magic is transferred in ways more than blood.

The king pats my hand. “That’s alright. It can happen sometimes, even without the necessary fangs.” His dark eyes glint with warmth and amusement. “We would like to test you. Aurelius only has your best interests at heart. You are a gifted healer, and by all accounts, you are one of the more powerful. You have been feeding two warriors with ease. It is not often that fae can do so with the apparent ease you do. Would you allow us to test you?”

The words come too close together for me to unpick all of them.

“Yes,” I say. It’s not like I can refuse the king, can I? I was tested as a child. They will send me to an imperial skilled in testing. She will prick a little blood from my finger and taste it. But still, I can’t see what might have changed.

“Good,” the king says, smiling. “Sometimes mistakes are made. Testing is imperfect. The imperials who perform the tests don’t always have the palette for nuances.”

A frisson of fear pokes into the calm.

The chosen lounging in the shadows of the room had slipped my mind. I start as he rises from a chair and rounds the table to approach me. His movements have a sinuous quality. My eyes skitter away from him like they are chasing a shadow.

His hand enters my view, pale and ageless; he takes mine from the king.

I look up. His face is impossibly beautiful, and his eyes are crystal blue.

His lips part over my wrist, and he bites.

I brace, anticipating pain. Nothing comes, and then he releases my hand into the king's and licks a drop of blood from his lips.

“Not an imperial.”

The imperial, who looks like August, grunts.

The chosen’s lips curve in an almost smile. He walks back to his corner of the room with the same feline grace. “Disappointed, Aurelius? Fear not. While she is not an imperial, she is more than a feeder.” He takes his seat, the shadows wrapping around him, snatching him from view. “Foresight. A rare but important gift. It will improve with training.”

“Will you sanction this?” Aurelius asks, the first words he has spoken, and they carry a distinct note of challenge directed at a chosen, no less.

My mind is floating, trying to make sense. Distantly, I know I should be terrified, that everything happening in this room, every word spoken, is important to me, yet the terror cannot manifest.

“I will not,” the chosen replies coldly and with finality. “It is not our place to interfere with fate.”

The king rises, and my hand, still in his, escorts me out of the room.

He nods at the guard waiting there and releases me. The guard must have anticipated that my legs would cut out because he scoops me into his arms.

The king’s face swims into view as I blink the fog away. “I’m sorry I had to do that,” he says. “Meeting the chosen can be an intimidating experience. Rest, feeder, who is more than a feeder.” He smiles. “I will not forget about the chair.”

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