Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
The young woman stands before Finn with her head bowed. “Please don’t send me back.”
Finn tilts her face up to him and studies her. “You don’t understand what you’re offering.”
“I do. I was born and raised in Faerie, and I know how this works. I am not a typical human.”
“What if I sent you to the Wild Fae?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “Would your life be so bad there?”
The girl swallows. “I do this for my brother—my half brother. He was Unseelie, and the only person who truly cared about me.”
“Where is he now?”
She ducks her head. “He died, my prince. He shouldn’t have, but the curse . . .”
“I understand.”
She pulls a pile of stones from her pocket. “Please?”
“What can I give you in return?”
She shakes her head. “I see all you do for the Unseelie. This is how I can help. I want to do this for you and for them.”
“Surely there’s something?” His voice is thick and scratchy.
She gives him a small smile. “There’s nothing.”
She reaches out to cup Finn’s face and leans toward him, her lips inches from his. His eyes remain open as he slowly lowers his mouth to hers.
The moment their lips touch, something dull and ragged tears through my core.
I turn my back on them and leave the library. I tell myself I’m upset for Pretha. Not that I’m even sure they are . . . involved. But it’s the only reason I should feel anything at the sight of Finn kissing someone.
I sit in the garden, looking up at the sun sinking low on the horizon. For the first time all day I want to return to the palace. I don’t want to be here while Finn takes his . . . tribute. I want to ignore this feeling in my chest that I can’t name. Is it jealousy? No. I don’t want some broody fae prince.
I don’t want him.
So why does seeing him touch someone else so tenderly hurt so much?
It would be easy for me to disregard my emotions as gratitude toward someone who is helping me when I desperately need it, but what about the connection I feel to him? What about how my power seems to surge when he’s close or the way it feels when we touch?
What if all that means something? What if Finn is more to me than a teacher and a friend?
The thought feels like such a betrayal to Sebastian, I wish I could physically pluck it from my mind.
“Are you ready to head back now?” Pretha asks from the doorway. She’s been trying to get me to return to the palace all afternoon.
“Do you not care that he’s in there touching that girl?”
Pretha blinks at me, her shoulders seeming to sag in . . . relief? “I didn’t even feel you move past my shield,” she mutters. “Impressive.”
“He kissed her. I’d think you’d care about that.” I sound as catty and cruel as my cousins, so I shake my head and soften my tone. “I mean, I thought you’d want to know.”
She frowns, and then realization strikes and she smiles. “You think I’m with Finn?” She laughs. “Where in the world did you get that idea?”
My cheeks heat, and I try to swallow my embarrassment, but it’s useless. I’ve made assumptions, and now I look like a fool. “Lark has his eyes.”
She shakes her head. “Lark has her father’s eyes. Finn’s her uncle, and he’s free to kiss whomever he wishes.” She mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like Likely thinking of someone else.
“What are tributes? Why do you need them and what happens to them? Why did that girl have a handful of stones in her pocket?”
Pretha folds her arms. “We’re trying to be your friends, Brie. Friends don’t spy.”
Chapter Eighteen
“FIRE GIRL. WAKE UP,” a raspy voice says by my ear.
When Pretha returned me to the palace, I went straight to bed—upset with myself for spying on people who have trusted me and more upset with myself for feeling . . . whatever it is I felt when I saw Finn kiss that girl.
“Fire Girl.” A pointed nail grazes the shell of my ear, and my eyes snap open.
King Mordeus’s goblin is crouched over my pillow.
Finally.
“What’s taken you so long?” I ask in a hiss as I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“The king has had matters to deal with, girl. He works on his own timeline.”
I snort. All faeries seem to work on their own timeline. I blame immortality for their lack of urgency. “Let me get dressed.”
He shakes his head. “No time.”
I look down at my thin sleep shift. “Are you kidding me? I’m not going like this.”
“Now or wait another week. It’s up to you.”
Glaring, I grab my satchel from where I tucked it beneath the mattress. Before I can turn back to the goblin, his cracked fingers wrap around my wrist. The room disappears around us.