Page 13 of How To Please A Princely Fae

“You’re a healer?” he asks, picking up one of the crystal potion bottles that lines a small display on the counter.

He puts it down carefully, studying the collection of shelves that rise from the solid oak floors.

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head and hoping my blush has subsided. “I'm a green witch.” I shrug one shoulder. “I'm good with plants. I grow ingredients for healers and sometimesconcoct potions for them… but I don't have an affinity for it. All I have an affinity for is growing things.”

“A green witch,” he repeats, genuine interest all over his face. “I've never met anyone that could do that.”

“It’s not a common Unseelie talent, from what I know,” I tell him. I don’t bother to add that he very well may have met another green witch, but he just doesn’t remember it. I’m not in the business of casual meanness, and even though Kieran has unwittingly hurt me more times than I can count over the last few weeks, I can’t find it in me to return the favor.

“That is very impressive,” he says, leaning over to inspect one of the twilight hostas growing in a large planter beside the counter.

“The plant? It’s an old?—”

“No, you. You’re impressive. To be able to grow things and grow them well…” He pauses, now squinting at the rows of cork-topped glass vials and dried ingredients.

I try to see the shop through his eyes, to get a glimpse of whatever has him so entranced, but all I see are shelves that could use a dusting (again), plants that need charmed watering (again) and the fact we’re low on lacewing eggs and dragonflies.

“And you do all of this by yourself?” he asks.

The new note of respect in the question nearly makes me preen.

He runs his long purple fingers over the leaves of seedlings I keep on hand to sell as basic spell ingredients.

“You help me, now,” I say, biting my lower lip.

He laughs at that, glancing back at me in a way that makes me blush all the way to my scalp. “I have a feeling I have never been much help, and am even less of it now.”

There’s a self-deprecating sense to his words that I recognize all too well.

Kieran wanders over to where I house the more expensive ingredients, along a much less packed set of cabinets. I can’t drag my gaze away from him, though I really should get back to my to-do list.

I scrawl the words “find out what’s wrong with Kieran” across the top of my list and glance back up.

He touches a sparkling cut-crystal vase that houses powdered unicorn’s horn. Next to it, a glowing phoenix feather rests on a navy velvet pillow, and beside the feather, a brass box full of glittering dragon scales.

“This is really something,” he says. “You have quite a collection.”

“Ah, thank you,” I tell him, feeling pleased despite myself.

I know that he's not in his right mind… but it's nice to be seen.

My throat closes up, and he turns back to the shelves of ingredients and plants and potions.

It's nice to hear someone appreciate the work that I do, and the little shop and little life that I've built for myself. It’s not much, and I know it.

An odd emotion sweeps through me, and I cross my arms over my chest, careful not to stain my overdress with the ink quill in my hand.

Being a green witch isn’t nearly as flashy or impressive as Nerissa’s prognosticating and spell work… or as lucrative as Wren’s jewelry-making business. I don't have the incredible people skills that Piper does—in addition to creating some of the best food I’ve ever eaten, she has an uncanny knack for suggesting exactly the right thing to make someone's day a little brighter.

All I do is grow plants well and make things from them. I’m not particularly good with people, and I certainly won’t win any awards for showmanship.

Kieran’s clear admiration for my work makes me feel seen in a way I don’t think I have felt before. The other witches have never made me feel less than, have never made me feel like anything but one of them. Like a friend. It’s not that I need admiration, but it is nice to see my hard work acknowledged.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “That means… That means a lot to me,” I admit. He glances back at me, his wings rustling again, the iridescence catching the light streaming through the round window that helps the plants in this room grow.

His expression is open in a way I don’t think I’ve seen before. It’s almost as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, the way he moves around the shop looking at everything with the fresh eyes of someone who’s never been inside of it before and can’t quite believe what they’re seeing.

It’s strange, the way it makes me choke up a little. I wonder when the last time it was that I looked at anything with the type of wonder that’s so clear in Kieran’s face in this moment. When did I last look at the world with childlike appreciation?

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