Page 38 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

“Our pleasure, son,” Farrow’s father said, making her wince with shame.

Were they really so eager to marry her off? Was she such a burden to them?

“You two have a nice day,” her mother called out, smiling coquettishly.

Blackthorn had already moved to the door and was holding it open for Farrow, while he smiled back at her mother.

Had she not known he was one of the fair folk, Farrow might have been won over herself. There was something truly lovely about his easy way.

She shook her head, trying to clear it, and handed her mother the coffee cup.

“Take your cloak,” her father reminded her.

She nodded and took her cloak from beside the door on her way out, ever the dutiful girl.

“Stay well,” she told her parents on the way out the door.

“And you, wee one,” her father said, winking at her.

“Oh, and stay away from the wall,” her mother called out, as if just remembering. “The Gregor boy was on the watch this week and said there’s been activity.”

“Don’t want to get caught up with any of ‘em types from the other side,” her father said, nodding sagely.

“Right,” Farrow said, wondering how offended Blackthorn would be by that exchange.

The activity at the wall had doubtless been her own. The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine. She had been so incautious…

“Right then,” her mother said, nodding encouragingly.

There was nothing to do but go. Farrow slipped out the front door. Blackthorn followed, closing it carefully behind them.

“Types from the other side?” he echoed as soon as they were in private.

“We don’t know many of your kind,” she said, trying to make light of things. “It’s not their fault that they fear what they don’t know.”

“Their own daughter has magic in her veins,” he said coldly.

She glanced around instinctively, though of course no one would be hanging around their little farmhouse waiting to hear her secret.

“They’re convinced my magic is nothing,” she whispered to him.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Do you think your magic is nothing?” he asked.

Her magic was a part of her, a part she was secretly delighted with and proud of, even if it had to be carefully hidden.

But this was all a part of his seduction. She had to be strong.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she told him carefully. “I am a mortal, mortal-born and mortal-raised. Whatever anyone thinks of it, my magic must stay hidden. I am a baker, no more, no less.”

“You can’t really believe that,” he said, stopping dead in his tracks. “You cannot deny a part of yourself.”

“It is what I have always done,” she said. “You landing here for a few days doesn’t change my obligations.”

His mouth turned into a thin line, and he walked on, a swirl of dissatisfaction surrounding him like a small thunderstorm.

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