Page 47 of Faking with the Fae King

Then she says, “What’s your favorite season?”

“I—” My words stumble to a halt, the facile lie freezing on my tongue. If these are things we need to know about one another for our cover story, I should be honest. “I don’t know.”

Her eyes widen. “How can you not know?”

“Avalon was cloaked in shadows until a couple of months ago. I’ve never experienced real seasons.” I shrug and sip my wine to give my hands something to do. “Ask me again after I’ve spent a year on Earth.”

The compassion and sympathy in her eyes makes me feel unsettled. No one’s ever looked at me in this way. I like that she feels kindly toward me. Yet I also don’t want to think ofmyself as someone deserving of sympathy. It feels too much like weakness.

To divert her attention, I ask, “How about you?”

“I love summer, like it is now.” She gestures toward the window and the view of the green. “The days are long, and it’s warm enough to swim in the pond by the waterfall. The kids are out of school and spend their days playing.”

It’s telling that she includes the happiness of others in her choice for herself. I’ve never known anyone with such a generous spirit.

“Next question. What’s your favorite childhood memory?” My betrothed glances up at me with an eager grin, but when she sees my blank expression, she quickly says, “Why don’t I go first? It’s actually kind of hard to pick, but it’s probably the My Little Pony party I had for my eighth birthday. All of my friends were there, and my grandmother and mother went all out. We had costumes and decorations and the prettiest cake. Nan got someone to make one in the shape of a pony and iced it in all pink, just like my favorite character.” Tender emotion tinged with a touch of sadness fills her voice.

“You loved her,” I say.

“She was my favorite person in the world.”

“I’m glad you had that.” It’s not a lie. Such a happy childhood created the joyful and open woman Hannah is today.

“What about you?” She sounds hesitant, her fingers twirling the stem of her wine glass.

“I didn’t have a childhood like yours. My parents were usually away, fighting for the Dark God, and I had mystudies.” Then I think of something I can share. “But I do remember visiting the greenhouses, which are enspelled with magical suns so we can grow food in Avalon. It was the first time I got to see so many plants in one place.”

“You loved it,” she says. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“The feeling was overwhelming, all those bits of green life calling to my magic. I never wanted to leave.” I take a drink of wine. “But growing food wasn’t an appropriate use of time for a warrior prince. I had sword work and battle magic to learn.”

Her big brown eyes meet mine. There’s that sympathy again, doing strange things to my chest. “Were you able to go back to the greenhouses at all?”

“Not often, though I snuck away when I could.” My lips twitch. “The farmers never told on me, because I healed the plants and made their crops better.”

“I can just picture you.” She grins. “Little Severin, sneaking out of the house to go visit tomatoes.”

“It was the pea plants, actually. I liked the way the vines were like my shadows.”

A tap on the glass jerks our attention to the window. A group of people stand on the sidewalk, watching us with wide grins. Hannah smiles back, and I make a point of reaching for her hand and gazing at her as if she has my full attention.

“What are you doing?” she whispers from the corner of her mouth, trying not to move her lips. Her fingers tremble under mine.

“I’m staring at the woman I adore.” I pull her hand to me and kiss her knuckles.

That overly candid face of hers looks shocked instead of happy. This will not do. My tongue flicks out, sliding into the crease between her fingers. Hannah sucks in a startled breath, a touch of heat enters her eyes, and her cheeks turn pink. Yes, that’s much better.

The people outside laugh and elbow each other before giving one last wave and ambling down the sidewalk.

“What was that?” she hisses.

“My tongue.”

“I know it was your tongue!” She tugs at her hand, but I don’t let it go. “Why was it onme?”

“To aid your acting, of course.” I brush my thumb over the damp spot. “Should I do it again? You don’t exactly look enamored of me at the present.” I flick my eyes toward the rest of the restaurant.

Her gaze darts around the room. “Oh, god,” she moans. “They’re all watching us.”

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