Chapter 8 In Which I Have an Enchanting Encounter #2
As we approached the tunnel in the hillside, he took on a voice like a sports commentator or a particularly enthused tour guide.
“This is the entrance to the Princeling’s Court,” he said.
“It’s very old, and carved with arcane magics.
Every one of his predecessors for the past six hundred years at least have sat in this Court. ”
“Predecessors,” I said. “I thought faeries are immortal.”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am,” he said, like a good southern boy. “They just live much longer than humans.”
“Did you spend time in the—in the US?” I asked. “Your accent—”
Milo nodded, steering us into the hallway, and cut me off again. “This is the central hall,” he said. “It runs through the Court, and if you follow it all the way up, you come out on the other side of the hill, where the river runs. And yes, in Texas. But I’ve been in the Court for ten years now.”
As soon as we stepped into the hallway, the temperature cooled—something I hadn’t noticed previously but that made me shiver now. Milo caught the gesture and slid his arm out from under mine. He slung his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.
I stumbled a step. This was a lot of touching. A twist of fear caught at my throat, an almost animal panic that hurt my teeth. It threatened to paralyze me.
I pushed it down. Faeries seemed to be touchier than humans. I modulated my steps to match his and let his arm hang heavy across the back of my neck.
“What did you do in Texas?”
“I coached kids’ football,” he said. “Nothing as nice as tossing the pigskin with the boys.”
“Maybe for you,” I muttered. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he ran one fingertip up and down my arm.
“This,” he said, pulling me down one of the hallways, “is the area designated for Court business. You’ve got the scribes’ rooms”—he gestured to a door on the left—“the throne room”—the wooden door inset with jewels, which I recognized from the day before—“the meeting rooms, a bathroom. And finally, down here is the courtyard.”
This corridor was very short and ended in another open archway; this one led into what I thought might be the heart of the Court.
When we stepped through it, we were greeted by the same sunless blue sky: a little disk of blue peeking at us as we stood in a well of light several stories down.
Windows looked in at us from every direction.
In the center of the courtyard, I recognized the cicada-adjacent faerie from dinner last night.
He nodded a greeting, opened his mouth, and shrieked.
“Oh, that’s the guy who screams at irregular intervals,” I said.
Milo nodded. “I know what you want to ask.” He started us back along the corridor. After a few awkward beats, I fell into step next to him.
“You do? How?” Definitely a mind reader.
“Because it’s the human question,” he said.
“Okay, sure. What do I want to ask?”
I tilted my head to look up at him, at the long line of his jaw and the golden stubble that coated it.
Milo shrugged. I felt his arm shift against my back. “Why he screams.”
“Are you saying a faerie wouldn’t ask that?” I wasn’t sure what to do with my own arm, and settled for holding it behind my back.
When Milo looked at me, his blue eyes were twinkling. “Definitely not at first.”
I pretended to frown. “Fine, I’ll bite,” I said, in the best bored voice I could muster.
“Please do,” Milo interjected, smirking at me.
“What would a faerie ask first?” I continued, steamrolling over him.
“Why he screams in the courtyard,” Milo said, and grinned at me.
I laughed. “I didn’t know faeries had a sense of humor,” I said.
“Everyone has a sense of humor,” he said, looking confused.
We turned down another corridor, but this time he didn’t say anything. I looked at the names on the doors as we passed, the tiny wisps that floated near the ceiling, providing shifting flickering light.
When he stopped in front of a door with the name Milo on it, I wasn’t entirely surprised.
“I stay here,” he said. “So you can find me, if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate it.” I wiggled out from under his arm and put my back to the wall next to his door, trying to give myself a bit of breathing room.
He half turned, so that he faced me fully.
His eyes were blue like lightning, mesmerizing, and I couldn’t look away.
He took a step toward me, one hand coming up to rest on my shoulder.
His thumb brushed my collarbone where the dress left my skin bare.
It was too heavy, a bruising weight. I could hear my own harsh, shallow breaths.
He leaned down so that our noses were almost touching.
Was this faerie about to kiss me?
“Miri,” he said, “I’d like to be kind to you. You deserve kindness.”
I flushed. There was something intimate and painful about hearing those words from someone who couldn’t lie.
“Milo—” I started, as the sound of pounding footsteps came down the corridor.
To my utter shock, Sahir flung himself around the corner and careened toward us, wearing a gray suit and panting. “Miriam,” he called, and threw himself at me, tackling me to the ground.
We fell in a tangle of limbs, his arms coming up to cradle my skull. I landed under him, my hands against his chest as he pressed me to the wooden floor.
“Ow,” I said.
“I sensed you were in danger,” he said, curling into a protective shell around me. “I came to save you.” He scooped me so that I was trapped in the place where the wall met the floor, pressed down by his body.
We stared at each other, nose to nose. His breath smelled of cinnamon, hot against my lips.
“What on earth is this doing against a potential threat?” I shoved my hands into his shoulders, and he shot to his feet, remembering himself. I stayed sprawled on the floor, dress around my knees, glaring up at him. “And where were you last night when I got poisoned?”
“Poisoned?” Sahir repeated.
Milo held a hand out to me. I reached for it, and Sahir slapped it away. “He’s the danger!” he exclaimed, animated.
“Milo?” I said. “Milo’s just been showing me around.”
Milo and Sahir stared at each other for a second. Milo blanched, the color leaving his ruddy cheeks in a rush. “I should really be”—he glanced around for inspiration—“going to sleep,” he said, jerking his thumb at his bedroom door. Looking mildly ashamed for abandoning me, he slunk inside.
Sahir whirled on me, wild brown eyes and wilder black curls haloing his head. “What did he tell you?” he growled, pulling me upright by the upper arms. His long fingers curled into my biceps, pressed the meat of my arm sharply against his palms.
“Ow, Sahir, I don’t like it when you grab me like that,” I said.
He froze. “Have I hurt you?” His grip loosened slightly, a solid touch instead of a squeeze.
“No, but I don’t want to be yanked around.” I brushed down the front of my dress. After an uncomfortable silent moment, I looked up at him between my lashes, like they would offer some protection against the intensity of his earthy brown stare.
He nodded, a sharp jerk of his head. “I apologize, Miriam. But that human is dangerous,” he said. “Stay away from him.”