Page 14 of Apples Dipped in Gold

The fox’s beady eyes narrowed.

“Not yet, though you soon will be. Let me lick your hand, and you shall be healed.”

I hesitated.

“Trust me, wild one. I am here to help.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I must,” he answered but did not explain.

I offered my hand and felt the rough brush of the fox’s tongue against my skin once, twice, three times before the pain in my stomach eased instantly. I pulled my hand back, examining the spot the fox had touched, but there was nothing. Then I pressed my hand to my stomach. It was no longer tender.

“You healed me,” I said in quiet wonder.

“I would not lie,” said the fox.

“Would not or could not?” I asked. The fox tilted his head as if he did not understand the question, so I asked,“Are you fae?”

Fae could not lie—it was not a choice.

The fox bristled his tail as if he did not like that question.

“I am a fox,” he said.

“I have never met a fox who could talk.”

“I am a fox who can talk.”

We were both quiet, staring at each other, and then a wave of guilt made my skin feel flushed.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Thank you for healing me.”

“Do not thank me,” he said. “Do as I say.”

I frowned at his words, but he continued quickly.

“Tomorrow, the prince will arrive to take you away to his kingdom, but your carriage will be set upon by thieves. You must not move or make a sound, or they will kill you first. Wait, and you will be rescued.”

“How do you know this?”

“I am a fox,” he said.

“That hardly explains anything.”

“It explains everything,” he said.

“If this is true—”

“I would not lie,” the fox reminded.

“Then perhaps I should not leave at all.”

“You must,” said the fox. “It has already been decided.”

I did not know what to say, but the fox rose to his feet.

“Do not forget what I have said, or tomorrow, you will be dead.”