Page 9 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

He reached into his pocket for the deadly blossom and found it empty.

How very odd.

Had he dropped it?

Blackthorn chuckled at himself, shaking his head. It had clearly been too long since he’d had any fun, if the first sight of a pretty girl had him dropping his weapons in the field.

He let out a sigh, and then leapt to his feet. His father would wish for a meeting this evening. And between now and then, Blackthorn needed a new plan, one good enough to appease the old man after the failure of this one.

The thought of it was tiresome.

Though his father ever yearned for revenge, Blackthorn had begun to find the idea of it empty. If this mortal king was removed, another would just take his place. The mortals bred like field rabbits. Surely, there was something more to existence, some meaning and satisfaction to be taken from life, beyond these endless schemes.

The Fae King would never agree with such thoughts. He would only be furious that Blackthorn, who never failed him, had not completed this mission. It was unusual to send an Fae prince on a thief’s errand. For the prince to have flubbed the job would be an outrage.

Yet as he strode through the undergrowth, Blackthorn realized his heart was still lighter than usual, as if he were a child the night before the Moving Day feast, full of wonder and anticipation.

What was it about that woman that made her so different from the rest? For the first time in ages, his mind had a worthy problem to puzzle over.

For the first time in ages, Blackthorn felt alive.

Chapter 6

Farrow

Farrow arrived at the bakery the next morning after a restless night of tossing and turning.

There had been nightmares, but all she could remember was running through a forest, and gray eyes, as intense as storm clouds.

I met one of the fair folk.

The thought was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. He was supposed to be an enemy of the King. But she hadn’t turned him in. She had helped him.

In her heart, she knew that poor man in his tattered clothing was no threat to her world. But it was impossible not to imagine what would have happened if the King’s men had realized she was giving him succor.

Her hands shook as she turned the key in the lock.

As usual, the familiar smells of the bakery made her feel calmer and safer. She took a few deep breaths and then set about starting the ovens and grabbing ingredients.

When the first batch was ready to knead, she noticed the bracelet around her wrist again.

She had tried to take it off before slipping into the house last night, but it wouldn’t budge. It didn’t even have a clasp.

So, she had pulled her sleeve down over it, hoping her parents wouldn’t notice.

Naturally, her mother had spotted it immediately and asked to see it.

Farrow told her it was from the street vendor in town, feeling miserable about the lie, but not willing to part with the truth. It wasn’t even that she was afraid of getting in trouble. It was more that if she didn’t speak of it, her encounter with the Fae man remained hers alone. And she liked that idea.

Ma had given her a strange look.

There wasn’t much money, and Farrow wasn’t usually given to silly nonsense like jewelry or paints.

But she worked hard and asked for little. She saw the thought go through her mother’s head. Then the long-suffering woman had flattened her lips and decided not to comment.

So, Farrow had slept with the bracelet on, somehow managing not to scratch herself on any of the thorns, and now she figured she would have to wear it while baking, too.

The odd thing was, it didn’t feel tight on her arm. It looked like it would slip over her hand easily enough. It was only when she tried to take it off that it seemed to hug her more tightly, which made the silver thorns dig into her flesh.

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