Page 17 of Fated Wings
“What if your value is tied to how tradable a commodity you are? A means to someone else’s end? Does that count as bad things happening? How disposable you are?” he asked with a cracked whisper.
There was an ache in his voice, a depth that carried more than just the words. A history, a story, a pain that lived in the spaces between the syllables.
Vaughn breathed heavily through his nose, tension radiating from every muscle, praying Newt wasn’t saying what he thought he was saying. “What kind of commodity are you being traded as?”
“Marriage.”
That single word should’ve come with a profound sense of relief. Instead, understanding dawned on him. “You’re already promised to someone.”
Newt’s silence was answer enough.
“An arranged marriage,” Vaughn said flatly. “That’s what you’re running from.”
“Among other things.” Newt glanced away. “My father arranged it. I’ve never even met her.”
“Her?” Vaughn’s eyebrows rose.
A bitter laugh escaped Newt. “Yeah. Apparently my preferences don’t matter when it comes to family alliances.”
The pieces clicked into place. Newt’s reluctance, his hesitation, the way he’d looked at Vaughn with equal parts want and regret.
“So last night, when you said you had to go home—”
“I have to go back,” Newt finished for him. “If I don’t, they’ll hunt me down.”
Vaughn absorbed it all, the implications settling like stones in his gut. His mate was not only promised to another but to a woman he had no interest in, for political reasons that would sacrifice Newt’s happiness and autonomy.
“And if they find out about me?” Vaughn asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
Newt’s expression darkened. “The punishment for mating outside our kind is death.”
That hadn’t been in the realm of answers he thought Newt would give him. Death. Not banishment, not social ostracism. Death.
“That seems extreme,” he said, understating it by a mile.
“Welcome to Unseelie politics.” Newt’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Where everything is extreme and nothing makes sense.”
Vaughn stilled. “Unseelie?”
A flicker of panic crossed Newt’s face before he schooled his features. “I may have…not been entirely truthful about that part.”
“You’re dark fae.” The revelation should have bothered Vaughn more than it did. Unseelie were known for black magic, for deals that ended badly for anyone foolish enough to make them. But looking at Newt—small, vulnerable, with hair the color of cotton candy—it was hard to reconcile that reputation with reality.
“Born and raised,” Newt confirmed, chin lifting slightly. “Does that change things?”
Did it? Vaughn considered the question. He’d spent his life avoiding complications, steering clear of anything that might trap him the way his mother had. Yet here he was, drawn to a mate who came with more baggage than an international flight.
“No,” he said finally. “It doesn’t.”
Relief softened Newt’s features. He pushed away from the counter, taking a tentative step forward. “I wanted to tell you. But I’m told people tend to react badly when they hear Unseelie.”
“People are idiots.”
That earned him a genuine smile, small but real. “True. But in this case, the fear isn’t entirely unfounded. Some of us earned that reputation.”
“But not you.”
Newt shrugged, the movement making the oversized shirt slip off one shoulder. “I can barely make my magic work right. Hard to be threatening when your concealment spell turns you into a nightlight.”
