Page 21 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

His big body surrounded hers, filling her with a weightless sensation she had never felt before.

“Wish us well, Daydleman,” the Prince said, with a wave to his footman.

“May your journey bring you glory,” Daydleman replied.

The Prince did not kick or tug the reins. He merely whispered something to the horse and in an instant, they were thundering down the path into the woods. Every step jostled Farrow against the hard planes of the prince’s big body. The forest scent of him surrounded her and she was nearly drunk on it.

Is this some Fae magic, meant to make me weak with pleasure?

As they entered the trees, the path grew darker. But the trees were calmer now, no longer trying to warn her.

Am I safe with him?

“You came all this way alone,” the prince murmured into her hair.

“I was in the company of the elves almost from the moment I entered the woods,” she told him.

“I see,” he said, as if he were tempted to laugh at her.

“You came to my side of the wall alone,” she reminded him.

“That might be seen differently,” he said. “After all, I am a powerful Fae Prince. And you are just a pretty girl who has a way with pies.”

“What?” she demanded, feeling affronted, though he wasn’t exactly wrong.

Except about the pretty part. She was who she was, and unembarrassed of her tangled hair, burn-scarred hands from the ovens, and arms made strong from kneading dough. She was definitely hardworking, maybe smart, and she tried her best to be kind. But pretty wasn’t a word she would use to describe herself.

“And bread,” he amended. “You have a way with bread, too. Thank you for that, by the way. It put me in a fantastic mood. What magic did you sneak into it?”

“None,” she said.

“Yes, yes, you are forbidden to use magic on your side of the wall,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Most of what I bake is plain and simple,” she told him truthfully. “I only use magic to help people.”

“Like my mother?” he laughed, sounding unconvinced.

“She’s lonely,” Farrow said and then immediately regretted it.

Blackthorn didn’t reply.

“My uncle passed to the other world some years ago,” Blackthorn he said at last. “He was the only one who could make her smile.”

“Ah,” Farrow said.

“He died in one of my father’s wars,” Blackthorn told her. “My mother has never forgiven him.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” Farrow said, but something made her think that he wasn’t telling her the whole story.

“The pie made her think of him, didn’t it?” Blackthorn asked.

“I didn’t know he was lost to her when I was making it,” Farrow said immediately. “But yes. The persimmons showed me a taste of her childhood with him, and I asked them to show it to her.”

“That was very smart,” Blackthorn told her.

She hadn’t done it to be smart. She had done it instinctively, like maybe her magic had known the Queen needed it.

But she didn’t have to tell him that.

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