Chapter 9 What Pleases Mortal Women?

Lorcan

“My Nanna always told me not to make a bargain with a fae.”

“I imagine she also told you not to step into a fairy ring,” I say, a small smile pulling at my mouth.

She huffs and cuddles her basket closer. “Yeah,” she mutters. “And look where ignoring that landed me.” Her lower lip trembles, and it does something irreversible to me. It’s not lust, though there is certainly that. Not merely curiosity either. Something more inconvenient. I want to soothe her. Stranger still, I want to keep her safe. How odd. “How about no official bargains?” I ask lightly. “Just two people helping each other. How does that sound?”

Her blue eyes shoot up to mine at once, and the hope in them is so open, so immediate, that I nearly regret offering it. Nearly.

“Really?” she asks. “Are you allowed to do that?”

A laugh slips from me before I can stop it. There is something dangerously charming in her innocence. “We are allowed to do many things,” I tell her. “You need those roads opened. So do I. Why not work toward the same goal with no trickery between us?” I lift my hands slightly, empty, easy, harmless, but she narrows her eyes at me.

“Why do you need the roads opened?” she asks. 

I study her for a moment, this tiny mortal with her bruised nerves and stubborn little spine, and decide she deserves enough truth to keep her talking. “Because roads left wild are dangerous,” I say. “Too much power in the wrong hands can destroy courts, and the prince below would rather keep that power buried with his people. He would keep it rather than let the rest of us protect both our world and yours from what might come through.” Her brows knit together. “I believe,” I continue, “that there is a reason you were drawn here.” She still sits in her chair, fingers tightening around the basket handle.

“A reason?”

“Yes.” I move back toward the table and rest my hands lightly against its polished edge, giving her my full attention. “The roads have ignored us for years. They have answered blood and pain with silence. Then, all at once, one opens, and through it comes you.” Her throat works as she swallows, and I lower my voice. “A human girl. Alive. Unbroken. Dropped almost into his hands. I would like to see what happens if you help encourage him to open those roads for me.” I expect fear, perhaps disgust. What I get instead is a look so sharp I nearly smile. She sets the basket down on the table with careful precision and folds her hands over it.

“If,” she says slowly, “I decide to help with any of that, there are conditions.” 

Conditions? No one speaks to me this way. No one in Bright Thorn dares look me in the face and start arranging terms as if we sit across from each other as equals. And yet here she is. Tiny, lovely, mortal, and bossy enough to make something dark and delighted unfurl inside me. I say nothing, and she takes that for permission and barrels on.

“No bargains,” she says first, lifting one finger. “Not official ones. Not secret ones. Not weird fae loophole ones.”

I fold my arms loosely and let myself enjoy this. “A sensible start.”

“Second,” she says, lifting another finger, “I want an actual bedroom.” I raise a brow. “With a door,” she adds. “That closes and locks. Privacy is important.” My mouth twitches. “Third, no weird captivity.”

“Define weird.”

She glares at me. “No chains. No cells. No locking me in some tower and calling it hospitality.”

She has such spirit when she’s not scared. It flashes hottest when she is angry, and I, it turns out, like to watch it burn. “Anything else?” I ask.

“Yes.” She straightens a little in her chair. “If I do try to help get these roads open, I do it my way. No torture. No bleeding him onto that stone. No hurting him.” 

Ah. That last one interests me most. Not because of the demand itself, though it is a bold thing to fling at a king in his own rooms. No, what interests me is the heat behind it. She still believes cruelty can be reasoned away. I let the silence stretch a moment longer than necessary. She shifts under it, but does not look away—beautiful little fool. At last, I incline my head. “You may have a room.” She blinks, her lips parting slightly. “You may walk freely within Bright Thorn and its grounds, but no further. There are too many risks to a human beyond them.”

Her nose scrunches, but I lift a hand before she can interrupt me. “You may try, in whatever way your mortal instincts suggest, to encourage the prince below to open the roads. Speak to him. Sit with him. Feed him berries, if that seems to be your preferred method.” Her face goes scarlet. How fascinating. I like that colour on her cheeks. “For two weeks,” I say. “If, after that time, the roads remain closed, then we move on to my method.”

Her brows knit together again. “What is your method?”

I smile. “All in good time.”

She stares at me as if she would very much like to throw one of those blackberries at my head. I find the image unreasonably charming. At last, I push away from the table.

“Shall I show you to a room?” She hesitates, clearly deciding whether agreeing to this is wise or merely the least terrible option available. Then she nods once and stands, basket gathered tightly back against her middle. I move toward the doors and open them for her myself. She does not step through. Instead, she turns her head over her shoulder and looks back at me, honey hair sliding over one side of her face, those bright eyes wide and wary and far too alive for the rooms of Bright Thorn.

“Which way?” she asks.

I cock my head at the tiny human who walked out of a fairy ring and into my kingdom, refused my hand, denied me her food, set terms in my own chamber, and now stands waiting for me to lead her somewhere safe as if I am merely another man she can order about. I smile and gesture for her to walk ahead of me. “This way, Sunny.” And to my own quiet astonishment, I am already thinking of what I might place in her rooms to make her stay there more willingly. I wonder, what pleases mortal women?