Page 24 of The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods 1)

“Lord Ambrose’s room,” he says without apology, dragging me inside and locking the door behind us.

“Why do you have it?”

“It doesn’t seem like something that should be lying around while the marquis is away.”

I hold out my hand. “Give it to me.”

Laughing as if that idea is ludicrous, he drops it down the front of his jacket.

“What are you doing?” I demand. “Why should you keep it?”

Not as careful to keep his face in the shadows now, the bandit stalks across the room. He wears a smile that steals my breath. When he’s very near, I take a step back. He continues forward, stopping only when my shoulders bump into the door.

I gulp as I look up at him, wishing he’d remove the mask.

“For occasions exactly like this,” he says darkly, lowering his face close to mine.

My voice is too high as I ask, “And what, exactly, is the occasion?”

He’s going to kiss me.

“For when you lock yourself out of your room,” he teases near my ear. He then pulls back, walking toward the fireplace.

“Tell me your name,” I demand, feeling lightheaded…and maybe a little disappointed.

He takes a seat on the chaise longue and crosses his arms. “Why do you want it so desperately?”

“I just…do.”

He watches me intently. “I’ll make a deal with you, Alice. If you let me take you back to your people, and you swear not to tell a soul, I will give you my name.”

“You’re very persistent.”

“The same could be said about you,” he points out.

With a sigh, I sit in the chair across from him. “Lord Ambrose doesn’t want me here either. He said I am ‘uncomfortable.’”

The bandit smirks. “That bothers you?”

“Of course it bothers me!” I exclaim. “Who would want to be called that? He might as well have said I am a hideous creature—an unpleasant human.”

He laughs as if enjoying the conversation. “I do not believe that is what he meant.”

“What else could it mean?”

“Maybe ‘uncomfortable’ is another way of saying you are a nuisance.”

I wrinkle my nose, not liking that much better.

“You don’t like being disliked, do you? A pretty girl like you must be adored at home.” He watches me closely. “You have dozens of friends, don’t you? Suitors as far as the eye can see as well?”

“I had both of those.” My mood darkens. “But they disappeared just as quickly as my fortune.”

The bandit is quiet for several seconds before he asks, “Are you truly here for your brother…or are you running away?”

The words are a sharp dagger to my pride. Instead of answering, I hide my pain and latch onto the least important detail of the conversation. “So…you think I’m pretty?”

He looks taken aback, almost as if he’s wondering how to deny it. “Does it matter what I think?” he finally says.