Page 74 of Fae Crown

“Edsel,” Dashiell said in the gentle tones I’d only ever heard him use with the king.

Eager for the distraction, I stared at them, blinking away the tears that had been too close to the surface since waking.

“You can’t leave,” Dashiell told Edsel.

The goblin finally shrugged the man’s hand from his shoulder and stepped away—to continue packing.

With a furious purse of my lips, I hurried to blink away the sting in my eyes. He wanted to leave me? When I obviously still needed him?

Fine. It isn’t as if I’ll care. I only just met the irritable oaf.

“Edsel,” Dashiell called over to the goblin. “You can’t go.”

Edsel spun around. “Of course I can go. The Crown doesn’t own me anymore.” He whirled back toward another case and proceeded to stack a pile of wooden bowls into it, their powdered herbs still in their wells.

“I’m a free goblin,” he added on a growl. “Or have you forgotten all I went through to earn my freedom?”

Dashiell’s gaze dipped to the goblin’s prosthetics. Then he took a tentative step in his direction butstopped, appearing uncertain, a look I’d never seen on the king’s most trusted advisor.

“No,” he said gently. “I haven’t forgotten. I’ll never forget.”

Edsel didn’t slow his packing efforts. They grew jerkier and more rushed still.

Whatever. He can go ahead and leave if he wants to so much. It’s alright.

I was lying to myself.

It will be alright, then.

I hadn’t had my mother in the first place, so I wasn’t truly losing her. And Edsel had never become a caring grandfather—granddoody—figure to me, just a paid caretaker.

Arms at his sides until Dashiell apparently couldn’t stand the stillness, he clasped his fingers in front of him and said, “You can, of course, choose to leave. But I ask you, please don’t.”

Edsel ceased his harried efforts. He lowered a mortar and pestle into a case and waited.

“She needs you,” Dashiell implored.

“No she doesn’t. She’ll survive now. She’s past the worst of it.”

“But she won’t recover as well or as quickly without you.”

“True, of course. I’m mighty good at what I do.”

“The very best.”

“Flattery doesn’t suit ye.”

“Not flattery. Merely fact.”

Edsel didn’t deny it, though he did pull his handsaway from his cases to run them along the length of his breeches. Perhaps he’d gotten the dust of crushed herbs on them.

“If His Majesty isn’t paying you enough,” Dashiell added, “then he’ll pay you more.”

Wrong thing to say, Dashiell, I thought even as Edsel stiffened all over again.

“Ye think this is about treasure?” he snarled.

“Isn’t it?”

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