Page 13 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)

Cocking his head at me, he nearly looks... charmed . “ You are correct, aren’t you? Aidyn.”

I blink. I didn’t expect such an easy offer. It feels important, and I open my mouth before closing it, lost for a way to respond. Finally, I manage, “ Aidyn.”

His eyes drag down across me, settling on my nervous hand wringing. “ Are you frightened?”

Fae cannot lie. Likewise, they know we can and must know when we are, considering how old and wise he likely is. Lying to his face is quite too much for my nerves. “ Yes. ”

Perhaps I expect him to mock me, knowing the tales of the noble folk. Instead, his eyes might soften for how gentle they are—strange and frightening, but gentle. “ I will not harm you. But what am I to call you?”

“ I wouldn’t mind ‘ human ,’” I say, because from his mouth it might sound like a compliment.

He wrinkles his nose, unexpectedly crinkling his eyes warmly. “ No, no. You do not have a pet name your friends call you?”

I shake my head, which is a lie, but it feels less so with no words spoken.

“ Hmm,” he says again. He gestures to me, then to the kittens. “ I will have to come up with my own.”

It does not sound threatening—not in his gentle voice. He is merely considering, and I creep up to his side and peek at the little animals squeaking and crawling across one another, eyes mostly closed. Without meaning to, I smile. Picking one up, I let it nibble on my finger.

“ They are very picky creatures,” he muses, cocking his head at the ones still in the basket.

“ They will not eat human food, and the food they eat from Faerie must be fresh. It must be soft things, but not more than a day or two old. Sweet things, more than meat until they are grown.” He shakes his head.

“ You were fighting an uphill battle taking them into your home. It is well you returned them to me. They would have died.”

I nod, unable to keep from glancing up at him. He is unfairly tall, and I can see the wires of muscle in his neck. Everything about him is graceful and delicate and ethereal... and powerful.

How would he appear at full strength? I am seeing him weakened, injured, possibly kinder than he normally is. My fingers tremble a little, and I distract myself with the kitten’s silky fur.

He lets off another sudden chuckle. “ Shall I call you B luebell, since you will not give me a name?”

My cheeks warm, and I say, “ Bluebell? ”

He gestures to my dress. “ This is the third blue dress. Different hues each time, but this one looks like the bluebells that grew outside the walls...”

I look down at my skirts, considering his trailing words. He almost spoke of his home, which is not here, and stopped himself. What is haunting his steps? Hopefully not monsters.

“ I don’ t mind, ” I whisper, cheeks still hot.

He looks quite pleased with himself but leans against the wall again.

Is he only standing so long because I am here?

I don’t want to leave, not when he has not answered my question, but I am also hesitant to mention anything of his obvious weakness.

He did not appreciate it last time, and I can hardly blame him.

How do I find a way to help without saying so?

Perhaps he was only angry because I startled him—

“ What is it?” he asks.

I start. “ What?”

“ You look to be trying very hard to think of a way to say something.”

“ Oh.” Am I that obvious?

“ Ask. I will not yell again.” He seems so genuinely regretful that I feel bad for even being frightened. It may be an act, but if he’s lying by dancing around the direct truth, he is doing a fine job of it.

Still, he said bluntly that he will not yell, so that must be true. “ I was just going to ask... if you want to sit down?”

He looks at himself, then smiles without humor. “ It is good for me to take a little walking about.”

Not truly an answer. But the suggestion was made, so I don’t push further.

“ What are you feeding them?” I ask. When he blinks at me, I clarify, “ You said they’re picky eaters.”

“ Ah, yes. There is a beehive out into the woods a ways. They seem quite happy with the honey.”

Something about the image of this pretty man accosting a beehive has me biting the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh.

“ Though I should find them something else,” he muses. “ It is a rather small hive, and I don’t want to upset the bees.”

“ What other kinds of things?”

He shrugs. “ I don’t know. I’m not enthusiastic for long hikes at the moment.” He gives me a wry twist of the mouth that has me smiling in the same way.

“ I could help” almost leaves my lips, but snooping around an old library on the edge of Faerie with a single mostly friendly faerie is far different from venturing deeper.

And I don’t want him coming with me. No one shall accompany me into the woods again, particularly not whatever rabid creature lurks beneath the beautiful face across from me.

But I want him to tell me what he knows about the monsters. Something about his silver eyes when he cradled my scarred hand told me he knows more, that he is as haunted as me, perhaps more. I glance at the walking cane he leans heavily upon, at his clothing likely hiding some injury.

“ I could help you get the honey,” I offer. “ Where is it?”

He cracks a smile, which seems genuine enough. “ I believe I can manage that quite well on my own... unless you’re looking to see more of Faerie?”

I’d like to say no, but I’m still not comfortable lying to his face. “ I am, but I also don’t want to get eaten by anything. Or... ensnared.”

His smile is soft. “ I wouldn’t let that happen.”

It doesn’t feel like a threat, but neither is it comforting. On the other hand, it is not a lie. Perhaps he would not let it because he would only do it himself.

If he wished it, I would have long lost my own mind.

He gives another little smile, carefully replacing the kitten and taking my hand, leading me out with sudden quickness.

Startled at the cool contact, I follow him.

His two fingers curl gently into my palm, soft but with obvious rough patches.

From a sword? I cannot much imagine him chopping wood or washing clothes enough his palms became rough.

And he mentioned fighting . I don’t ask—not yet—and instead trot after his long stride.

He leads me not down the main hall but off to the left, deeper into the upper story.

A door sits at the back, and he leans against its handle, opening onto a metal swirl of a staircase returning us to the forest floor.

“ Come, come, ” he says, pulling me carefully along.

Chewing my lip, I cast a look back into the safety of the library, then follow him down. This staircase empties onto the opposite side, so I cannot see the honeysuckle from here, just smell its presence in the air.

Open trees loom, otherworldly in their silence. Ancient. My steps slow to a halt as he wanders ahead.

“ How far is it?” I ask.

He flashes a smile, and I am very aware of the way the sunlight catches his eyes. “ Frightened of the woods?”