Page 18 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

Blackthorn felt an odd sensation in his chest. It was almost like sympathy, but with a bitter aftertaste.

“Then you had better get to it, girl,” the queen said.

“What if I refuse?” the girl demanded. “He is still obliged to me.”

“Then you can ask your favor to be set free on your side of the wall,” the King said. “Or we can allow the elves to continue their work and both you and your friend will perish.”

Impossibly, the girl glanced up at Blackthorn, as if he could somehow save her from this predicament. But he knew better than to cross his mother.

“What do you want her to bake?” he asked the Queen.

“Persimmon meringue pie,” the queen said, with a sinister smile. “Not too sweet.”

Hounds of hell. The queen was known to have her own cooks flogged over this very dessert when it wasn’t to her liking. The poor baker girl didn’t stand a chance.

“Fine,” Farrow said instantly. “I’ll need a kitchen and ingredients.”

“You’ll find it all in the castle, my dear,” the queen said with vicious sweetness.

“The castle is further from the wall,” the girl pointed out. “Is there a bakery in the town?”

“You prefer the rustic implements of the town baker over the castle’s superior equipment?” the queen asked with a deriding smile.

“It is what I am used to, after all,” Farrow replied with a mock politeness so subtle that the queen could hardly argue.

“Where is the baker?” the queen demanded.

The goblin baker and his wife scuttled up, bowing and curtsying all the way, so that they tumbled over each other in the gutter and ended up in a heap on the ground.

“Apologies, Yer Majesty,” the husband said.

“We are grateful for the chance to serve, Your Majesty,” the wife said, fighting a losing battle to brush the mud from her skirts.

“Give this girl the keys to your shop and the ingredients she needs,” the Queen said, turning away as if the sight of them disgusted her. “Then stay away until she is finished. Do I make myself understood? No one is to help her.”

The two nodded, then bowed and curtsied again.

“A word,” the King said to Blackthorn.

He followed his father back to the carriage, where the reindeer awaited, prancing and snorting as if they craved a longer journey.

“Did I see the thistlebaum in her hand?” the King asked.

“Yes,” Blackthorn said.

His people could not lie, and he wouldn’t have wanted to in any case.

“I do not know what is between you and the girl,” the King said in a weary way. “But you have allowed it to interfere with your duties. Giving her that flower was beyond careless. Do you wish to destroy us?”

“No, sire,” Blackthorn said quietly.

“The crown grows heavy,” his father said. “Do not make me wear it forever.”

Blackthorn scarcely had time to be surprised before his mother was marching up in a cloud of perfume and annoyance.

“She has one hour to present her work in the square,” she said, frowning. “You can use the time to explain yourself.”

Chapter 10

---