Page 6 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

“Here,” she heard herself say, as she snatched her own supper out of her basket.

It was only a hunk of bread, but he looked down at it like she had handed him the crown jewels.

“Aren’t you afraid to be punished for helping your enemy?” he asked after a moment.

The King had declared the Fae enemies of the Crown long ago. It was the entire reason for building the wall. But Farrow had never been so sure about that.

“A lost and hungry soul is not my enemy,” she told him lightly, stepping backward.

There was something about him that made her want to go closer. But she was too wise to trust her instincts when it came to strange men.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Farrow,” she told him. “Farrow Barton.”

“Well, Farrow Barton, I am obliged to you,” he said, suddenly taking her hand, his touch making her head swim like when she stood up too fast.

The words were polite, and almost old-fashioned. But Farrow had the sudden feeling that they were not a pleasantry. It felt more like a contract.

She only watched as he closed his other hand around her wrist, then let her go.

When she drew her arm back from the shadows, she could see he had placed a flower on her. It reminded her of the thistle that grew along the road, and she gasped as it began to move.

Before her eyes, the thorny stalk with pinkish-purple blossoms curled around her wrist and then turned to silver. She touched one of the silver thorns and pulled her finger away with a start, surprised to see a tiny drop of blood welling up.

“Amazing,” she whispered, then brought her finger to her mouth to lick away the single, salty drop of blood.

“Beauty and danger so often go hand in hand,” he murmured, chuckling. “But now I will know you when I see you again.”

When?

It was highly unlikely that she would ever set eyes on this strange, beautiful creature again. It startled her that she found the thought sad.

Perhaps it was the magic they shared. She had never met someone like her before. Of course, Fae carried magic in their very blood. They were known to be masters of the natural world. Her subtle conversations with plants were nothing compared to that kind of power. But still, there was a feeling of kinship, on her side at least.

“What’s your name?” she asked without thinking, then covered her mouth with her hand.

The stories said that Fae never shared their names with mortals. To them, names had power. She hoped she hadn’t offended him by asking.

But he looked more amused than angry as he studied the band of silver that now encircled her wrist.

“You may call me… Thorn,” he said thoughtfully.

Suddenly he glanced up, but instead of meeting her eyes, he was looking over her shoulder, into the distance.

A moment later, she heard the thunder of hoofbeats.

“The Blueguard,” she murmured, stepping away from him.

Farrow left him behind, moving as quickly as she could until she reached the edge of the trees.

They were almost upon her.

The sounds of the king’s men approached rapidly. She could already feel the vibrations of the horse’s hooves.

She dropped to her knees and pretended to search the grasses as they came around the bend and into view.

“Ho there. Farm girl,” someone shouted as they came closer. “The king’s curfew approaches.”

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