Page 16 of Tempting the Fae Lord
“Only you.”
“Only me.” His pupils dilate, drawing me in. “And how did that come to be?”
Right. So, the long version, then. “Do me a favor?—”
“Anything,” he offers far too quickly.
“Wash up, put on something warm, and get into bed.” I reach for the babe, and he hands her over. “Let me get her settled with Eulayla, and when I return, I’ll answer your questions.”
“All of them?” he asks, eyes sparkling.
“Heavens, no.” I’m not the smartest man alive, but I’m smarter than that. “You take me for a fool?”
“Never. Ten questions?”
“No.”
“Five.”
“No.”
“Three?”
“Gale.”
“Oh, come on. Three’s not that many.”
I shake my head and laugh. “I’ll tell you the story of how you came to be called Gale, and in return, you will go to sleep without pestering me any further.”
“Me?” He clutches his chest. “Pester you? I wouldn’t dare.”
“Liar.”
“I’m hurt,” he says through grinning lips. “You’ve hurt me.”
“Say it with a straight face next time, and I might believe you.”
I leave, put the baby in with a sleeping Eulayla, hoping they both get more rest before the need to feed arises again, then head to the kitchen to fetch Gale a hot drink.
It’s been years since I’ve seen him with a hot cocoa, but he loved the treat as a child. Spiced wine or warm beer on an empty stomach is a disaster waiting to happen, so cocoa it is.
As the milk warms, I remember that night. The little fae babe with more power in his pinky finger than most sorcerers this side of the gate. The winter storm with its wind and hail. The human babe I tucked to my chest, wailing louder than the weather, furious at having been plucked from sleep and taken so far from home.
I don’t often dwell on the minutiae of my duties. I guard the gate. I swap the babes. I endure. It would be Gale who forces me to ponder. To relive the deed. To dig deep into uncomfortable detail.
Ah, well. I owe him that much.
When I return, his tidy room is warm, a fire crackling steadily. Gale is tucked into bed as requested, nestled under a pile of old quilts sewn by an army of women come and gone over the many years I’ve been master of these lands.
I’m relieved to note his lips have gone from a sickly blueish tint back to their normal, healthy pink. His eyes retain the ever-present glitter, focused on me as they usually are. As I prefer them to be.
“Did you bring that for me?”
“Mmm.” I set the steaming mug on his bedside table.
He picks it up and takes a sip. “Oh, cocoa. My favorite. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I bring a wooden rocker closer to the bed, sit, and cross my legs. Where to begin?
