“You know what it is to go without. I see it in your eyes. It’s a need, a hunger that never fades,” the gnome said, reaching out a tiny hand to stop the brush from scrubbing. The bristles pricked his skin, the wounds seeming too large on his hand. “Not many Sidhe would treat a human with the reverence you just showed. Even less would deign to speak to a gnome. Let alone a Sidhe who is the mate of a Prince.” His hand left the brush, and I resumed my cleaning. My gaze fixated in on the bristles against the metal, on the crystal-clear task in front of me that did not involve the complications of
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