Page 3 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

She looked around and realized the butcher block was covered in flour and cast-off ingredients, as well as a half dozen glass spice vials. Bowls and pans filled the copper sink.

“Oh,” she said, surprised.

“Means you’re lost in your work,” he told her as he walked around to the sink. “Sign of an artist.”

She grinned at him and tried to whack him on the behind with an empty flour sack. But he hopped out of the way just in time and shot her a mischievous wink.

All told, there were plenty worse men to fall in love with, if a young woman wanted to fall in love at all. Jericho was tall, and well-built, with beautiful brown eyes like dark chocolate. His clothing was worn, but well-kept and clean. He was not prone to drink or vulgar language. And he loved the shop and her parents.

He certainly measured up. At least, as far as she knew.

The trouble was, Farrow didn’t have much to compare him to. She had seen no more of this world than what lay between the village and the wall.

How could she commit to raising her own daughters in the fragrant bakery without knowing what else was out there?

Farrow watched him scrub the first pots for a moment, and then turned back to her own work. It was satisfying, but so very plain. And that wouldn’t do at all if she hoped to have any chance in the competition.

Chapter 2

Farrow

The morning passed quickly, as it always did when Farrow was hard at work. She had just enough time to try one experimental recipe before her father arrived to open the shop.

“What do you think?” she asked Jericho, handing him the tiny pastry.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing… special,” she told him carefully.

Jericho didn’t know about her magic, only in so much as she hadn’t specifically told him about it, and they didn’t talk about it either. But the baker’s boy wasn’t blind. He had spent too many early mornings with her not to notice there was something special about some of her baked goods.

But not this one.

Doing well in the competition was important, but she didn’t dare risk using any magic in her entry if she didn’t want to wind up run out of town, or worse.

Jericho took the little square from her, and she held her breath as he took a bite.

His eyes widened slightly as he looked around the room. He took one step toward the trash bin, but then swallowed the bite with a grimace. Jericho was never going to be good at cards, but at least she had an honest answer.

“No?” Farrow asked, disappointed.

“What was that?” he asked as he got himself a cup of water.

“Chocolate tomato-basil,” she admitted.

“Why?” he moaned. “Just… why?”

The strapping young man had such a petulant, childlike look on his face that she almost laughed at him.

“I figured no one else would be doing it,” she shrugged, suppressing her smile.

“Hopefully not,” Jericho said firmly. “You’ll come up with something. Keep it simple.”

He took a long sip from the water cup and swished it around his mouth before swallowing.

“Simple doesn’t get attention,” she said.

“It does if you do it well,” he pointed out. “And if other people are getting too experimental, it might be just the thing to stick with the classics. The King is old-fashioned. He might not appreciate your culinary… boldness.”

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