Page 60 of How To Please A Princely Fae

His wings reflect the light, illuminating variegated patches of greens and purples all over the walls and floor.

He brushes a kiss against my forehead. “Come on, green witch, it’s time to eat. You can admire me later. I’ll allow it.”

A sly smile quirks up the corner of his mouth, and he sets our bowls on the table. A crusty loaf of fresh bread still steams between our plates, and he’s poured two generous glasses of red wine, too. Rich yellow butter sits on one of my favorite colorful ceramic plates, and I sigh happily as I sit in the chair next to his.

“Thank you for this,” I say. My throat goes tight with unexpected emotion. “For the whole day, really.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I will always thank you.” I squeeze his forearm, tears threatening. “I will never take a minute of your attention and care for granted, and if I do, you have permission to remind me of how lucky I am.”

His low, thick laugh reverberates around my kitchen. “Oh, and how should I remind you of that, exactly?”

Feeling slightly mischievous, I simply raise one eyebrow at him and lift my soup spoon to my mouth. It’s delicious, the flavors melding to perfection, and I groan as the meat falls apart on my tongue.

Kieran groans too, but when I glance over at him, he’s not eating—no, he’s watching me with a desperate look. I frown, confused… because more than anything, he looks scared.

Afraid.

A gust of wind pulls my attention to the window over the sink as the shutter outside unlatches, crashing against the wood frame.

When I look back at Kieran, he’s smiling again.

I must have imagined it, or maybe he was simply reacting to the storm outside.

“I don’t remember a winter storm this early—not one like this, anyway.”

“We didn’t have storms in the Underhill,” he says casually.

The casual comment triggers a strange feeling in the back of my mind, like it’s important somehow, but the shutter crashes against the window again, and my attention scatters again.

“It must be the magic of the Elder Gods, or, ah, elementals? Whatever they call themselves, I think this must be part of what they’re saying they protect against.”

“Or it’s just an early storm,” I say, spooning more of the incredible soup into my mouth. “This is so good.”

“I followed the recipe, but I added a few more herbs to it. I also felt like it needed more of that tomato paste you have jarred, so I put in another half.”

“It worked perfectly.” I bite my lip, watching the shutter flap outside. “I should go secure that. I don’t want the window to break. That would be a pain to clean up.”

“I’ll do it,” Kieran says, standing abruptly, all but sprinting across the kitchen.

“Wait,” I cry out, but he’s already rounded the corner. “I didn’t mean right now.”

The words fall on an empty kitchen, and I can’t quite shake the sense that something is different about Kieran.

Maybe it’s the storm.

I mull it over, trying to put my finger on what it is, exactly, that’s bothering me. The soup is the perfect accompaniment to my deep thoughts, as is the bread, and I’ve finished the bowl and a quarter of the loaf.

Kieran pops up off and on through the window, securing the shutter outside.

His weirdness and discomfort must be because of the storm… though he didn’t hesitate to brave the heavy snow drifting down to fix the damned shutter.

I mean, he did say that he had never experienced a storm like this before.

He didn’t have storms in the Underhill.

I blanch, feeling the color drain from my face. My spoon clatters into the bowl, my stomach turning as the truth hits me.

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