Page 8 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

Chapter 5

Blackthorn

Prince Blackthorn reclined on a long, smooth stone that jutted out over the river. Massive oaks formed a tree canopy above him, and the gurgling of the sweet water filled his senses.

But his mind kept going back to the girl…

He could feel the eyes of the forest creatures, who were under his domain, watching him from the undergrowth.

This was his favorite place to hide from responsibility and relax with his thoughts. But today, it brought him no peace.

The fair folk could be war-like, cunning, and cruel. But as far as Blackthorn was concerned, the worst thing he had to contend with, being Fae, was the insidious boredom of being long-lived.

Some days it was depressing, requiring him to meditate into a state where his awareness expanded so that he could experience the worlds of the birds and the flowers to occupy himself.

Days like today, it was dangerous.

After an endless parade of sameness, the girl was something different - charming, strange and… forbidden.

A distraction, his father would have said dismissively.

He thought back to her bright hair and the way his flower had encircled her slender wrist as if it had always been there.

Like all the poor young girls of the village, she had worry in her eyes. But there was also curiosity, and something that felt almost like longing.

And something more. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

He felt in his pocket for the bread she had given him.

Mortal foods were dry and flavorless, but he had heard the man shout out that she was the baker’s daughter. That meant this bread had been made by her hand. Perhaps he could taste something more about her from the fruits of her labor.

He examined it, noting the even texture and the sheen on the crust. The color was brown and rustic, as if it were made of simple ingredients. But it was clearly the work of someone who knew what she was doing, and took pride in her work.

Lifting it to his face, he inhaled.

The scent brought him back to the castle kitchens in the afternoons when the bread was being baked. As a boy, he had snuck out of his bed at nap time to lurk in dark corners and nab treats from the sleepy cooks.

He took a bite and was pleasantly surprised. The flavor was rich, and the bread was light and sweet.

As the birds gathered singing in the trees above, and the fish danced toward the surface of the water, fighting the current to be near him, Blackthorn ate every bite and then licked his fingers.

And as he relaxed, he found himself thinking about the girl again, wondering if the strands of her fiery hair were as silky as they looked.

He had ruined many a village girl in the days before the wall went up. And though this one had showed no sign that she was attracted to him, she still seemed… receptive.

She might not be receptive if she knew what I was there to do.

Though she had clearly been afraid her King’s men would go after him if they found him, it was actually the other way around.

Prince Blackthorn had crossed the wall to kill the king of men.

As the guards passed with the cook in his wagon, he had intended to slip a poisonous flower in with the rhubarb that would be cooked into the king’s favorite dessert. The flower was harmless enough on its own. But as it was cooked, the heat would bring out a deadly toxin that would be the end of the man king, once and for all. And the best part was that it would just look like a mysterious, wasting illness had done the job, removing any suspicion from Blackthorn or his people.

It was the perfect plan.

But the girl had arrived just in time to foil it.

No matter. It was only a small delay. He would go back soon to finish what he’d started. The man king was bound to have another occasion to celebrate before too long. Blackthorn could wait. In a lifespan counted in centuries, what was another few months?

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