Page 73 of Crown of the Fae King

The Ivy’s menu was as fancy as their wait staff. For starters, Griffon ordered something called Duck Liver Parfait, with caramelized hazelnuts, apple and apricot chutney, and toasted brioche.

Persi and I shared a horrified grimace.

She ordered the Goat’s Curd Salad with courgette ribbons, golden raisins, white endive, fennel pollen and Black Bee honey. Wickham chose the Steak Tartare with Tabasco mustard dressing, cornichons, shallot, parsley, egg yolk, Himalayan salt and toasted granary. I ordered the cheese souffle. Considering all the ingredients, I was surprised when my souffle was more substantial than anything they’d ordered.

Dinner conversation proved tame and non-threatening until Wickham asked my date what he was doing at Oxford.

“Studying, like everyone else. In the fall, I’ll be teaching again. A course on the similarities between the Fae histories and Christianity.”

“How many credits can you earn these days, studying basic heresy?”

Griffon grinned. “Just the three.”

For the next course, Eggs Benedict for Persi and me. Lobster and Tomato Linguine for the men. No one at The Ivy was in a hurry to eat or leave. Apparently, the table was reserved for the evening.

By the time my Ribeye arrived, I was almost hungry again. And for dessert, Griffon ordered for all of us—a pyramid of profiteroles. When they carried it to our table, my jaw fell on the floor.

“Don’t worry, love,” Griffon said. “We’ll all help.”

The eighteen-inch-tall pyramid of cream puffs was drizzled with chocolate down one side, caramel down the other, both of which helped the crushed hazelnuts adhere to the mountain. Wound around the pyramid like a delicate ribbon, a length of hardened sugar hovered just off the surface—an edible mesh of fine gold.

It even impressed Wickham.

Griffon suggested Persi do the honors. Without hesitation, she whacked at the mesh in a few places, then picked off the half a dozen rolls attached to it, making a miniature pile on her plate. We all followed suit, drawing the attention of other diners. A small parade of girls passed the table, gawked, then stopped and stared at my date.

“Professor Carew?”

He pasted on a patient smile, winked at me, then turned to the girls. “Good evening, ladies.”

They stepped up to the table like they’d been invited. The short blonde spoke. “We took his class on Fae lore last fall. We’re all Arch and Anth majors.”

Griffon noticed my confusion and explained. “Archeology and Anthropology.” He gestured to me. “Miss Todd and her friends are just getting started in the Fae field. Maybe you have some suggestions.”

The girl beamed. “Well, the professor’s class is a must. But if you intend to start at the very beginning, you should read The Covenant.” She turned to her friends to discuss where to find it. All the while, Wickham’s boot was pressing down on my soft Italian leather-clad toes as if he worried I’d start jumping up and down.

On the inside, I already was.

30

Screw The Profiteroles

While we waited for the girl’s attention, I glanced at Griffon to see how he was handling things, and found him squirming, probably trying to find a polite way to get the young trio to leave us in peace. But I couldn’t just let them walk away.

“That sounds intriguing, ladies. Where do I find it?”

“It’s in the Faculty Library of the Theology Department. Only members of faculty can remove it. A professor had to host us and read it with us.” Then, as if the thought just occurred to her. “But that means Professor Carew can get you in!”

One of the girls was still eyeing the damaged pyramid. Since we were desperate to hear any tidbits of information that might fall from the girls’ mouths, I invited the three of them to help us finish our dessert, despite Griffon’s discomfort.

I stroked the side of his hand and grinned. “I’ve discovered I really like to watch you squirm.”

His smile came back. He covered my hand and squeezed.

The waiter wasn’t terribly pleased our party had grown, but it didn’t take long for him and another man to find three more chairs. We all dug into the gold and chocolate messes on our plates. As soon as I could clear my mouth again, I asked, “So what is in this covenant? It’s like a contract, right? So there have to be two parties?”

A brunette pushed her glasses up her nose and answered for the rest. “A contract between the God of the Fae and the race of man.”

The blonde gasped. “He’s not the God of the Fae. He’s the king. And not the entire race of man. A select line of the race of man.”

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