Page 48 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

But there was nothing more for her to say. He had seen what he had seen. She could not deny it. She wasn’t a highborn lady, but being caught in a compromising situation with a strange man would still wreck what little reputation she had.

“You,” Jericho growled at Blackthorn.

He looked like he was ready to fight. Farrow moved to get between them, but before she had a chance, Blackthorn spoke in a calm voice.

“I love her,” he said simply. “I will do the right thing.”

Farrow’s heart pounded in shock.

Fae can’t lie…

Jericho narrowed his eyes, studying Blackthorn’s face.

Whatever he saw must have convinced him. The fight went out of his posture, and he stepped back.

“Come on then,” he said. “Now. And no more of that. She deserves better.”

“I agree,” Blackthorn told him.

The three of them headed back to the tent in silence.

I love her. I will do the right thing.

Her hand went to the flower bracelet he’d given her. A symbol of the favor he owed. Why else would he have given it to her? And why else would he take so long to fulfill his obligation if he didn’t want to spend time with her?

But he couldn’t mean it. Not really. Blackthorn was Fae royalty. He was only saying those things to gain her friend’s discretion until he was gone.

But after that… What were the chances Jericho would keep her secret?

She knew he had feelings for her. That was clear by the way he came in early each day to help her, the way he looked at her. And all her parents’ hints over the years must have encouraged him.

What if they found out about her and Blackthorn? What if they found out the whole truth about him?

She felt a pang in her chest for her childhood friend having to help her keep a secret that might cause him pain.

But there was nothing to do but go back to the tent and bake.

Chapter 21

Farrow

Farrow looked up from her work for a moment, scanning the tent and trying to catch her breath.

The two bakers at the tables in front of hers were working diligently. This round required more effort as the desserts needed to be large enough to serve not just the King himself, but also the lords and ladies who would be present at the twilight fete.

While the others might have practiced, and might have the means to have a shelf of spare ingredients on hand, Farrow had neither. She had made it this far on what she hoped was instinct and skill, but thought it was more likely just dumb luck. She prayed she would not bring shame on her parents with her baking.

She had done enough to bring shame on the family with her other activities.

“Go outside and take a breath,” Blackthorn said quietly. “I’ll finish the dry mixture. I’ve watched you do it once today.”

“Are you sure?” she asked him nervously.

“Farrow, go breathe,” he told her. “I’ve got this part. You’ll feel better in a minute, just pretend to look at the ovens or something so they don’t think you’re forfeiting.”

He smiled and winked at her.

Does he love me?

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