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The most honest people in the world were liars.
Mother had three cardinal rules: 1. Never make a bargain with a fairy. 2. Never enter the Waywoods on a hunting day. 3. Never give the High Fae a reason to notice you.
At a distance, Prince Bael was beautiful. Almost angelic. His perfect square jaw, sensual mouth, and bouncing red-golden curls gave him the look of a tragic hero in an oil painting. As he got closer, however, that cherubic facade cracked. There was something unnerving and predatory about his cat-like, yellow eyes. Something cruel in his razor-sharp smile that sent shivers down my spine.
“Never cry out for help in the dark. It makes you sound like prey, and you never know who might be listening.”
“What violent tendencies you have.” He cocked his head at me, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “You’re a little monster.”
The forest was filled with the imprints of lost souls, shadows of dead things between worlds, and whispers of passionate emotions stuck in the bark of the trees. Every oak and pine we passed had something absorbed in one of its rings, some ripple or disease or knot in its trunk caused by thousands of years of trauma.
Still, I wasn’t worried. I didn’t fear the dead. It was the living that scared me.
“Because, you need to know I’ll kill anyone who hurts you, little monster.”
“You are far too breakable, little monster.”
“I have no idea what Prince Scion needs, beyond a swift kick in the ass and some etiquette lessons.”
“Quill, like–” “Like a feather quill?” I interrupted, before looking up at the bird. “If you are angry, I can see why. That’s like naming a bull ‘Leather.’”
