Page 21 of The Cursed Kingdom

The man clears his throat and steps away. He looks nervous, which isn’t the reaction I’m expecting. I’m so confused, I could cry.

“Are you not searching for a mate?” he asks.

A mate? What the hell is he talking about? Like a mate, mate? That term is popular in the fantasy romance books I enjoy reading, but there’s no way he means it in the way they use it. Lill’s listened to me talk and complain about my books hundreds of thousands of times, and there’s no way she wouldn’t have mentioned faeries having mates.

It would be absurd not to mention it, especially when we’ve had millions of conversations about how romantic the concept is.

The man runs a hand through his hair, still looking confused.

“You’re not wearing gloves,” he points out.

If this is the reaction my bare hands are going to get, I need to find a pair of gloves as quickly as possible. I’m not against seducing a man if it’ll help me get to the Redstall Forest and find some damned delysum, but I don’t want to be walking around signaling to the entire faerie realm that I’m a prostitute in search of a mate.

“Have dinner with me?” the man abruptly asks, changing the subject. “You clearly don’t belong here, but if you eat with me, I’ll answer your questions and give you a pair of gloves.”

I scrunch my brows, having trouble believing and trusting him. I’ve known him for two minutes, and he’s already asked if he could touch me. That’s abnormal behavior.

The man sighs quietly before sliding his gloves back up his hands.

“I’m Samuel,” he says, introducing himself. “And I didn’t mean to frighten you. Unmated faeries always wear gloves, and it’s tradition to remove them when encountering another with bare hands. It signals that they’re open to finding their mate.”

His voice grows quiet, and he looks mildly uncomfortable as he rubs the back of his neck.

“People will think you’re flirting with them if you aren’t wearing gloves,” he explains. “And you should know that faeries don’t care what kind of trouble you got into in the human realm. Being honest that you’re here to escape punishment will be better received than your half-concocted, transparent lies.”

I press my lips together, unsure what to say. Samuel has no problem filling the silence for me.

“Besides”—he chuckles—“I’m not in the business of questioning the decisions of the faerie powerful enough to bring you here. Opening a portal between our realms is serious work.”

My mind is racing a million miles a minute. This guy thinks I came here to escape punishment in the human realm, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m sure not going to tell him that, though.

He just gave me the perfect alibi.

He also inadvertently told me that only powerful faeries can open portals between the human and faerie realms, which I assume means getting home will be a nightmare. That’s a tidbit of information I won’t stress about until later, though.

“How about that dinner?” Samuel repeats his earlier invitation.

I hesitate, still not liking the way he asked to touch me. It may be a common question amongst the faeries, and I may have accidentally provoked it by not wearing gloves, but it was still unnerving.

“Why?”

Samuel shrugs. “Because I’m hoping you’ll allow me to touch you afterward.”

At least he’s honest. That’s more than I can say for many of the human men I’ve had the misfortune of knowing.

“Where do you want to touch me?” I ask.

He knows I’m new here, so there’s no point in pretending to know anything about their customs. Besides, I’m not going to agree to a damn thing until I’m sure he isn’t going to try to shove his hands down my pants the second we finish eating.

I’m only considering this because I’m starving.

Samuel gestures to my hands. “Mate bonds are triggered by touch. It’s traditionally intimate, a caress of the cheek or a kiss, but I’ll know if you’re mine by feeling your hand.”

I pause, mulling over his answer. He buys me food, answers my questions, and gives me a pair of gloves, and all I have to do is let him touch my hand? That sounds too good to be true.

“Touch my hand with what?” I ask.

Samuel’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink as he realizes what I’m asking. If he tries telling me I’ve got to put my hand on his dick, I’m out of here.

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