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I don’t doubt that in fairy-speak that meansthey were bestiesor something, considering how old he is.

“So how did you and Ezra meet?” Fitzie asks probingly.

“Lysander’s staying in the hotel above the bar,” I interject. “We ran into each other one night. I sort of bullied him into being friends.”

“You were kind,” Lysander protests.

“Andyouwere too fun to resist.”And very much worth sneaking my way past the prickly outside.I don’t say that part out loud, because, well, that’s for me to know. “Okay, well, that’s enough getting to know each other. I’ve gotta take Lysander back to the club.”

Fitzie’s eyes bore into me when I turn back around.Comp-li-ca-ted, he mouths, and I make a zipping motion with my fingers. I want — no,need— him to understand, but I can’t tell him the truth about Lysander or The Sanctum. Not yet.

I hate keeping secrets from him. We’re supposed to be an open book with each other.

“He’s upset,” Lysander says in the truck, frowning.

“He’ll come around.” I try to project confidence. “He’s just not great with new people.”

First, I need to talk to Syril. Then I can explain everything.

30

LYSANDER

Ezra is going home to spend time with his friend tonight. I’ll miss him in my bed.

Somehow I never get tired of his presence. I always wantmore. The word we agreed on never fails me, and I can’t stop saying it. In my head. In my heart.

I know the fairy reputation — that we’re aloof, untouchable. Except Ezra reaches me, and he touches more than just my poisonous skin.

Is it foolish to dream of a future with him in it? Not for the first time since my undignified introduction to Ezra’s friend yesterday, I wonder if the other human’s judgement is justified. WhatdoI have to offer Ezra?

“Prince Lysander?”

I look up to see Plato smiling awkwardly.

“Sorry, can I call you that?” he asks.

“Just Lysander.” I pull my hands off the table in case he accidentally touches one.

He sets my drink down, but instead of leaving, he hesitates. “Can I sit?”

I frown. “Of course.”

“You just look a little sad. I have a lot of siblings — I know the look.” He slides into the booth across from me.

“What look?” I wonder.

“The, uh.” He gestures at his face, which doesn’t clear anything up. “The lovestruck look. The one where you’re about to convince yourself the best thing to do is break it off.” He chuckles. “Minotaurslovea big, sweeping romance, but only if it comes with a matching amount of drama.”

“Do you think fairies are like everyone says?” I blurt. “Cold and loveless. Incapable of truly caring.”

“Oh, well. Stereotypes exist for all monsters, but you can’t apply them to individuals.” He shrugs. “Take me, for example. Romance just isn’t for me. I like to have fun, meet new people, explore. You couldn’t tie me down with a steel cable. Or Bear — dragons are supposed to be serious, business focused money-hoarders —”

“Bear is pretty serious,” I interject.

“But he’s a Dom. Isn’t that kind of hedonistic? Bondage and Dominance arefun. He does it because he gets something out of it. Plus, he’s in line for the throne, but he threw it all away for a little rope shop.” Plato shrugs. “He’s an outlier, that’s for sure.”

“I guess you’re right.” My relationship with Bear has never been anything but professional, but that doesn’t mean he got nothing out of doing the show with me.