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I’ve never made a boy laugh. It’s a frivolous accomplishment, yet the crook in my mouth deepens.

Unlike me, he’s the one who is injured. Yet unlike me, this Fae’s draped himself like a careless prince. He’s a contrary chap, if there ever was one.

“In that case, I wager you’ve never met a Fae before,” he says.

“So what? I have now,” I declare.

“I’ve never met a human girl. Never seen one, either.”

He slings an arm on his steepled knee and inspects the crossbow resting at my side. I’ve been planning to add iron tips to the bolts, but I haven’t yet, which is fortunate for him.

“I have a bow, too,” he says. “It’s nicer than yours.”

“You’re trying to rile me up.”

“Is it working?”

“Why do you want it to?”

“Because I can’t help myself. You removed that bloody trap—no pun intended—without flinching. That kind of hard-boiled resilience rivals the stoutest of centaurs.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So you want to disarm me, just to know what you’re capable of.”

“Nah.” He cocks his head, the antlers tilting. “I want to know whatyou’recapable of.”

If the corner in my mouth slides any further across my face, I’ll be grinning. It’s unwise to let a satyr work his charm. The Fables say his kind are a miserable lot. The ancient pages classify satyrs as rakes, the kinds of bucks Lark fraternizes with, only a thousand times filthier. They’re masters of flattery and enticement. They do this so well, it scarcely constitutes glamour.

Regardless, they might use such cajolery to trick a human.

I exercise the muscles in my jaw until that traitorous smile is under control. Then I skid forward, the better to see those hooves. My eyes seek to verify this isn’t an elaborate hoax concocted by one of the village boys.

But no, it can’t be. The children of Reverie Hollow would never emulate one of the Folk and, thus, risk causing offense. Also, none of them would travel this deep into the woods after dusk.

Lastly, they know I wouldn’t let them get away with a prank. I never have before.

Midnight blue smudges the sky. “My family will wonder where I am,” I prompt.

His face falls, the white freckles sinking. “If you say so.”

“All right.” I shift in my seat, the grass stroking my soles. “Will you be—”

“Fine by myself?” he guesses. “I’ll live. We Faeries tend to do that.”

“I don’t like incomplete answers.”

“Such disregard for wonderment.” I glower at his teasing remark until he concedes, “I’ll be hobbling before sunrise. Trust me.”

I nod but don’t move. Neither of us does.

Truly, I have to get back to my sisters before Cove starts to cry and Lark goes on an expedition to find me. I must return before they give up and tell Papa Thorne.

Besides, if this satyr heals quickly, he doesn’t need me to stick around. Correct?

I chew on my lower lip. When Puck’s eyes track the motion, my heart gives a small bump, a little fist knocking on my chest and asking me to let it in.