Page 62 of Bride of the Fae Prince

I chuckle despite myself. They seem sweet, and they’re all alone. Besides, now I’m curious about these caves. Surely children aren’t too much of a threat, right?

“Maybe another time,” says Ash. “She’s busy at the moment.”

Three pairs of eyes blink at me. “She doesn’tlookbusy.”

Ash lowers his brow, then slides across the bench to wrap his arm around me, making me stiffen. “See? She’s busy. With me.”

“Dithguthting,” the blue boy grumbles.

“But the caves are so pretty!” cries the girl.

I’m not sure I can handle their pleading much more. Besides, I need to learn to understand this world. I scoot so I can whisper in Ash’s ear: “Is it safe to play with them?”

He flinches, then shivers—and clenches his jaw.

That is not the reaction I was expecting.

“She touched his ear!” one of the children loud-whispers to the other. They stare in shock at me, at Ash. Then down at their own feet.

I blink.

Ash shoots to his feet, looping my arm through his elbow. “Maybe another time, children,” and drags me back onto the path toward his quarters.

I glance back at the gaping children and the cub gnawing on the blue-skinned boy’s trouser hems. Then I look up at Ash’s clenched jaw. “What just happened?”

“Nothing,” he says. It’s obviously a lie, but his face shows no sign of reacting to the taste of iron. Does he lie often?

“I just b-broke e-etiquette I don’t know a-about, didn’t I?”

“I suppose you make a regular habit of touching and whispering in men’s ears, then?” It’s almost a growl.

I’ve offended him. Embarrassed him, if the color rising into his neck and cheeks is any judge. “N-no, of course not. It’s just . . . I think it means different things in our cultures.”

“What does it mean in yours?” he asks, almost scoffing.

“It means I don’t want anyone else to hear what I’m saying.”

He scoffs again.

“What?” I demand, frowning.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone can still hear it. So is it a human thing to just go around whispering in ears?”

I suppose I did forget about fae hearing. “Well . . . we u-usually only do it to p-people who are r-relatively cl-close to us. Or if it’s very important to k-keep something quiet—”

He stops. Spins toward me. Lifts a hand and traces the pad of his thumb down the arch of my ear. It’s so unexpected, and his touch is so teasing and light, I shiver.

“Ha!” he bursts, triumphant. “See? Your ears are sensitive too! And here you are saying I’m overreacting!”

“It’s a little sensitive, but not much!” I insist right back.

“Not much?” He scoffs again.

“Try again. See if I react this time.”

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