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LYSANDER

T he human touched me.

I clutch my drink. No one touches me. A fairy’s skin is poison, and touching it without a barrier means a quick death for almost any monster. If it had been anyone else, my magic would’ve worked its way to his heart and the beating muscle would stop from the shock of it.

But no. As a human, he’s immune.

Slowly, my fingers unclench. Human or not, I was careless — seeing him again shocked me so badly. Why is a human here , of all places?

Why this human?

I’m still not used to a world where anyone would willingly come close enough to touch me, whether by accident or otherwise.

My mother wasn’t affectionate like that, and Elsabeth took after her.

Our staff were trained for their own safety.

For the most part the monsters of Greenriver give me space, but here in Syril’s club they’re packed cheek by jowl, and when I cross the floor I have to pay close attention so I don’t accidentally brush a hand, a feather, a stray tail.

The human’s dark head moves around the bar.

There’s no amulet around his neck, so he must see us as just like him.

He leans over the counter to chat with a gargoyle, the metal in his face glinting.

He flashes a broad, white smile at the customer and starts mixing another drink.

My heartbeat picks up. He’s so animated, so alive .

When the gargoyle leaves, he looks across the floor, our eyes meeting. His fierce stare pins me in place.

When his attention is drawn back to the bar, I breathe out, suddenly remembering what Elsabeth used to tell me. Don’t get too close to them — they’re dangerous .

This human doesn’t seem dangerous, but my pulse rattles when he looks at me.

I sink back into the booth and take a long drink, letting the riigan wine settle my nerves.

I hate how everything makes me afraid. Before the azeroths found us, I took the feeling of safety for granted.

I thought nothing of the comforting thunk of the pipes in our home, the shadows outside the windows, the clatter of kitchen staff downstairs.

Now I sleep with the light on and can barely leave my room.

“Prince Lysander?” Orion’s voice startles me.

The club is busier all of a sudden — I must have lost track of myself.

I should escape upstairs. He sets a plate down, giving me a wry smile.

Even the sparks leaping from his eyes seem sympathetic.

How embarrassing. “Best eat and get back to your room. It’s only gonna get more packed. ”

I keep my hands under the table. “Thank you.”

“You’ll be alright?”

“I’ll go up as soon as I’m done.”

Orion puts another drink in front of me and whisks the old one away. He disappears into the growing crowd. Lifting the glass to my nose, I guiltily breathe in.

It smells like him. The human.

My lips press to the cool glass, the sugar dissolving under my tongue. Did he touch here? Can I feel his phantom fingertips?

If I went to the bar again, would his hand linger?

I let my eyes drift shut as I take another sip. The sweetness is exactly how I like it.