Your bruise wouldn’t have anything to do with the Faerie King’s various injuries, now, would it? I pop out a hopefully very convincing, “Nope.” The way my father’s lids squeeze has me thinking he isn’t convinced. If he touched a hair on your body, so help me, Mórrígan, I will— “It was an unfortunate run-in with a ship mast,” I say. “Entirely accidental. You know how distracted I can get when I fly.” My mother suddenly gasps. “What happened to your face, Konstantin?” “Slipped in his steam bath,” my father replies, barely separating his lips. “All these inanimate objects besting supernaturals
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