Page 32 of Immortal Sins
Flynn’s blue eyes grow a shade darker, and I wait for him to mock me, but he carefully pries the necklace from my neck instead. “You can’t wear the cherry-wood in the palace. That’d be like wearing gold to a goblin’s wedding.”
A shiver runs through me. “What’s to stop them—or you—from lulling me into eternal servitude?”
Flynn skims my wet curls with his hand. “And we’ve got to do something about your hair.”
“My hair?”
“It’s too wild for the castle. Spin around.”
I obey, and Flynn untangles the knots gently. When he separates it in three different strands and starts braiding, I gulp.
“You know how to braid hair?”
“I have four sisters.” He works quickly and efficiently, adding hair to each twist. “What’s up with your hair anyway? I’m certain you didn’t have this purple lock yesterday.” He dangles the end of a purple curl in front of my face.
I paw at my head. “That’s new. I usually only get red ones. Is it big?”
“It’s not discrete. Hopefully, the guards will think that you’re trying to look like a Fae—not some magic weirdo who changes color overnight like a mood-ring.” He laughs at the last part, pleased with himself.
A shaky breath flies out of my lungs. “How come we have to do all of this? Can’t you just explain to the guards who we are? I mean—they don’t know me—but you’re Cole’s friend.”
“The Seelie court doesn’t care much for friendship, just power and pedigree—and I have none.” He tugs a little too hard. “I’m no one, okay?”
I press my lips together.
“I’m nothing. I’m a peasant who lucked out.” He works my wild mane into a thick braid that falls over my shoulder to my front and ties the end with a golden ribbon. “The Academy only had space for one regular bloke like me because of the new policies. Talented Fae were turned down because of you, your sister, and the other mortals.”
I pat down the flawless braid, shaken by his soft touch and angry words. “I’m no less worthy of an education than your Fae friends because I won’t live as long. Fae might have a better affinity for magic than mortals, but talent can be found in many places.”
“These Fae will fight the Unseelie without the elite training that could have spared their lives. Do you know how many of us die each year?” His voice cracks.
In the soft tremble of his voice, I detect a hint of grief. “You lost someone in the war.”
“My father, but he wasn’t exactly Dad of the year,” he says, failing to hide a sniffle.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The nape of my neck tightens into goosebumps as I entwine our fingers.
These last, wild days in Faerie blew me away. Flynn blew me away.
Gone is the savage, cruel bully I used to know, and the memory of him is not enough to tame my heart into submission.
He squeezes my hand, and I place a soft, chaste kiss on his lips.
He freezes—his entire body still, not breathing.
My lids flutter, but his remain closed, a marble statue of the David in front of me. The immobility unnerves me, so I press my lips to his again.
“Wow, you’re useless without the cherry wood,” he sighs.
Am I kissing him because of the compulsion of Fae magic? I think he’s just too stunned to contemplate the alternative.
A shudder quakes through him as I trace the black tattoos on his chest, the ink visible through his sheer white shirt.
“What do they mean?” I ask.
His lips quirk up, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he pinches the end of my braid. “Come on mortal, let’s take you to your prince.”
