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I release the woman’s hand and look at her. She has a sharper tongue than some fairies I know, but her features hardly match her mouth. Wideset eyes, heart-shaped face, and smooth, ivory skin surrounded by wild red hair. It’s a very pretty face, a very pretty, innocent looking face.

“Fair point,” I admit.

I stare at her a little longer. She’s piqued my curiosity. Though I’ve spent years saving mortals, I haven’t ever actually stopped to talk to one. And now here I am, surprised that this human woman can actually grab my attention with her words.

Making a decision, I nod to the now empty table I sit at. “Want to join me?”

In response, mortal begins to sit on my lap.

“No.”

I might want to talk to this human woman, but I don’t want her touching me. I don’t wantanyhuman woman touching me. None except for …

A cynical smile almost slips out at the half-formed thought; apparently I’m saving myself for my mortal bride. How quaint.

The woman takes a seat across from me and grabs a nearby ale stein that one of the other soldiers abandoned. She trains her gaze on me while she takes a swallow.

“Where are you from?” I ask her, my eyes sharp.

She sets the drink down. “You really want to talk?” She looks surprised.

“If you’d rather not …” I gesture to around the room, where several soldiers still sit. I’m sure someone will take what she’s offering.

Her eyes flitter about the room before returning to me. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You’re the entertainment. You tell me.”

I’m being a dick. I don’t care. This is not how I envisioned my last night here.

“Surprising as this might be, I’m not being paid totalk,” she says.

“You’re not being paid at all.” Another shitty comment. But it’s also the truth.

Her eyes thin. “How was your d—”

“Boring,” I interrupt her.

She looks affronted. Fragile human egos.

“How did you become a slave?” I ask.

“I was captured as a baby.” So she’s a changeling.

“And then?” I ask.

“… And then I was raised to please fairies.”

… Lying …

I narrow my eyes at her. “No you weren’t.”

She hesitates. “No,” she agrees, “I wasn’t. My master taught me all sorts of things you’re not supposed to teach slaves.”

“So how did you end up here?” I ask.

“My master died without releasing me. When her estate went up for auction, I was sold to the crown, and here I am.”

She raises an eyebrow at the war band I wear. “A medaled soldier. What did you do to earn it?”