Page 21

fifteen

Pixie Etiquette

H eather faced Skye. “Care to explain what that was all about?”

Skye’s ears warmed visibly as he rubbed the back of his neck. His bergamot scent filled the space, but Heather refused to be calmed this time. “Are you doing that on purpose?” She pressed him.

“I beg yer pardon, not really. It’s simply instinct.” He replied, shrugging the wide expanse of his shoulders guiltily.

“Instinct? Is it also instinct to truss women up and whisk them away from their homes?” she inquired and arched a dark eyebrow at him.

“I brought yer home with us,” Skye gestured to the hall.

Heather tutted, then laughed, crossing her arms. “You know what I meant.”

“Yes. I mean, no. Well, partially. It’s instinct for me to protect but not usual for me to act rashly.” Heather couldn’t help but notice the silence from the other side of the hall from where the two winged males remained, boldly eavesdropping on their conversation.

“If you had waited but a moment to allow me to speak with you last night, you would’ve realized that I was more than willing to depart with you,” she said pointedly and crossed her arms. But really, she had already forgiven him.

She was exactly where she wanted to be. As far away from the human court as possible.

“I was hoping that you would come back, true to your word. You don’t even want to know what I was about to do before you arrived,” she admitted quietly.

She looked down and trailed her pointer finger along the dining table edge, a flimsy attempt to keep the thoughts of that deadly drop she avoided at bay.

Skye froze on the spot. “What do ye mean… what were ye about to do?”

“I had to get away somehow, I figured out how to use the bed linens to deflect my fall. I was beyond elated to see you. I was already smarting from the jump off the balcony earlier in the day!” she exclaimed as she returned to the table and fell gracelessly into her seat.

Her attention caught on the plate Skye made for her, and she waited in apprehension for her stomach to churn as it usually did at court.

Skye remained standing, looking down at her, dumbfounded.

“I take it back. I didn’t act rash at all.

” And then he folded his arms across his wide chest. The muscle in his sharp jaw flexed.

“Is that how ye thought you’d get down from the table?

Were ye trying to get yourself killed?” His wings rustled along his spine in agitation.

“It would have worked! What else was I to do? I had to escape before the king sold me!”

Tarragon and the other male approached the dining table. Both sets of their wings flared. The three males towered over her. But their presence wasn’t looming. She felt a sense of safety she was unaccustomed to.

“Sold ye?” repeated the blond, his voice a growl.

“That bastard!” Skye’s wings fluttered so rapidly his feet lifted from the ground. His right hand went to the hilt of his rapier. “I knew they were up to no good! I haven’t slept a wink since I left ye.”

“Is that why your mother’s worried about hibernation?” she inquired. The other males snickered in unison. Her brow creased. She was at a loss with what was going on. It didn’t feel like a laughing matter. His mother sounded concerned, and so was she.

Skye sputtered and sat back down beside her, leaning on his left elbow.

“No.” With his right hand, he clasped his chiseled throat as if he was struggling to speak.

He shot the other males a glare. She watched his Adam’s apple bob.

She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth.

The top button of his jerkin was undone, offering an alluring eye full of the small triangle of flesh of his chest. She had a sudden urge to bestow a kiss there.

She quickly shook the bold thought from her mind.

“Although the root cause of both is the same.” He admitted, much quieter, his voice pained. She waited for him to elaborate, but he placed her plate at her place setting and stated, “Eat.” The command was firm but gentle.

“I’ll eat if you answer some questions.”

“Consider it a bargain.”

“You haven't introduced me to your friends.” She said as she lifted more of the fruit to her mouth. It was rude to keep referring to the second male as ‘the blond,’ even if it was only in her mind.

“Heather, this is my fly or die, Tarragon Hazelwoode,” the dark headed male bowed towards her.

“And Rhoden Roanwoode,” the blond clasped her hand, lowering at the waist to place a kiss upon it but was impeded with a pointed snarl from Skye.

Rhoden decidedly bowed instead, a broad grin gracing his handsome face.

Tarragon and Rhoden both held back smug looks, and the snickering returned.

Heather was mystified. She didn’t think she would ever understand these faeries.

“It’s nice to meet you. As I was explaining to Skye, I was relieved to see him last night, but he failed to give me the chance to explain I was ready to accompany him to faerie.”

Heather sat back down, and Skye reclaimed his seat at the table. The two males claimed the seats Skye’s family vacated moments before.

“This is an abundance of food. Please join us,” she gestured to the feast. They appeared hesitant to take a plate, looking at Skye for permission.

She found herself once again at a loss concerning faerie etiquette.

With a brisk dip of his chin in acquiescence, they made quick work of shoveling the fare onto the empty plates before them.

Their behavior shadowed the human court, where no one could eat until the king selected his first bite.

She took another nibble of the melon and decided that it was a new favorite.

It was sweet, but not overly so. How long had it been since food even tasted like something other than ash in her mouth?

It was messy to consume, though. The juice leaked down her hand.

Not wanting to waste a single ounce, she impulsively licked the liquid running down her smallest finger…

and realized she had an audience. Three sets of eyes appraised her.

She was going to pass to the Summerlunds from mortification!

She lowered her gaze to the table, overcome with shyness.

Skye growled low. He leaned forward across the table and threatened the two males opposite, “Get OUT.” His tone offered no concessions.

The males dropped their forks, faces bearing wide grins.

Their actions confusing Heather. Skye had just roared at them.

Why were they grinning? They rose from their seats in a half jump, half flutter.

After bowing shallowly, Rhoden pushed open a window, and the two of them leapt into flight from the chamber.

Their loaded plates remained piled high and untouched.

Heather blinked in exasperation. “They didn’t have to leave!” she wailed. “I was the one with the ill table manners.”

He looked at her calmly, “Trust me, my Lady, they did.” His voice leached of all the previous warmth.

“I don’t understand!” she cried and threw up her hands.

Skye ran his hand down his face, as if exhausted. “I know, my apologies. This is part of courting for the fae. I’ll try my best to explain everything, but it may prove difficult.”

“Courting?” she encouraged. She smiled up at him through her lashes.

He stood and took her hand in his, kissed the palm of her hand, “May I have yer permission to court ye?”

She smiled. “I thought that was what we were already doing?” she goaded. He chuckled, reclaiming his seat.

With a great sigh, she admitted, “I have a confession, however.” She was reluctant to have this fairytale end.

Surely, he wouldn’t want to court her once he knew she was merely a scullery maid.

Aster’s use of the title ‘lady’ impressed upon her that there was indeed some form of hierarchy in faerie.

She shuffled the food around her plate once more, postponing.

She was happy to be anywhere other than the human court.

She’d wash his family’s dishes if that was what was required of her to remain.

She looked up at him, memorizing the handsome lines of his face. Willing this moment to last.

“I’m not a princess… I’m not even a lady.” The admission escaped her in a tumble of rushed words. She felt her shoulders rise to her ears, already feeling smaller now that the truth was revealed. Would he be angry, misbelieving she deceived him?

He turned in his seat, with his body facing her, his hand reaching out to caress the curve of her cheek. Tenderness, filling his stare.

His words came out gruffly, “Heather, ye are my lady, whether a human royal court has failed to recognize it.” A muscle in his strong jaw twitched.

Wide eyed, Heather’s eyes looked up to his, and she swallowed thickly.

He had given her something that she didn’t know she desperately needed.

Affirmation. Heartbeats passed in silence.

Neither of them possessed the fortitude to break their joined gaze.

“By the way, where is my ribbon?” she quirked an eyebrow at him. “The last time I saw it, you wrapped it around your neck.”

He coughed, clearing his throat. He reached into his gaping neckline and pulled her pink ribbon from the inside of his tunic.

She took it from him, realizing that it bore the heady scent of bergamot, what she now came to consider his signature cologne.

Disbelieving she could treasure the wish ribbon more, she was happy to be proven wrong.

“Thank you,” she said as she clutched it to her chest. “I saw Tarragon shrink this castle to the size of an acorn. Can you also alter a human?” Heather lifted her fork from the table and shuffled the food around her plate.

Skye went pale. “Do ye not wish to be here in faerie?” His wings lowered, flush to his back.

She didn’t answer but posed another question.

“Do you know how I came to be pixie sized?” she slowed her fork’s pace.

“No.” He gazed at her worriedly.

“I was the king’s taste tester, forced to sample everything on his plate as an appraisal for poison.” She clutched the ribbon harder in her left hand, as if it were some sort of talisman. Skye went preternaturally still. Warily, she eyed the food on the plate before her.

“I was living each day as if I were marked for death.” She swallowed thickly, the words refusing to be uttered.

“Our sovereign was loathed by plenty of people who wished to see him dead. No one believed it would be long before there was another attempt on his life. Thrice a day, for over a month, I sat before the king’s manservant, Uster, nibbling on the king’s servings.

Like a mouse.” Her voice was nearly a whisper.

“None giving a damn if the scullery maid lived or died.” A pathetic, self-deprecating laugh stole from her lips. “They even had a wager over how many days I would survive.” Her eyes appeared to glaze over, lost in memory.

“Naturally, it twisted my relationship with food. I didn’t have any hope for the future, only dreams and wishes.

And music.” After a deep inhale, “Someone cursed the king’s favorite dish, the wild mushroom pottage.

I was an average human, but the curse shrunk me to this size.

I had made up my mind to trade this ribbon for the return of my old life. ”

She paused in reflection. Looking up from the plate, she met his gaze.

“But I don’t think that I want to go back.

” She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to seal in the tears gathering there, and inhaled the bergamot deep.

The calming scent slipped into her skin, leeched deep into her bones, loosening her stiff muscles.

Skye’s eyes were a thunderstorm of concern.

He clasped her hand, rising from his seat, and pulled her to her feet, wrapping her in the warmth of his embrace.

Her head was nestled up under his chin. The intimate sound of his heartbeat flooded her ears.

For once, in forever- she allowed herself the comfort of someone else’s strength.

She heard him say softly. “Had I known… aye, I would have hauled ye, kicking and screaming, out of there when we met. Ye were in more danger than even I was aware.”

Heather exhaled heavily. She grew lax in his arms.

“What else troubles ye?” he asked. She pulled away from his chest, peering up at him.

“It makes me ill to think my dearest friend, Jessa- she’s the reason I couldn’t join you before- she remains in danger of saints know what.

I fear what the king will do when he discovers me missing.

You were right, the king’s court is a deadly place.

They’ll all be desperate soon, if they aren’t already, with the crops failing.

And who knows who His Majesty has appointed as my replacement.

” She thought of Jessa at court with no one to watch her back.

And all the vile things Uster was capable of. “He could choose Jessa.”

She leaned back in his embrace as her gray eyes searched his.

“Is there any way we can help her?” she beseeched.

Skye reached out and tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear. “I’m confident we can. Our magick reduces the size of objects and humans alike. Tell me where we’d find her, and I’ll ask Tarragon to see to it.” He paused.

“But… ye must eat.” He commanded, as his arms loosened around her. “Ye are in no danger here.” They reclaimed their seats at the table.

“Do you happen to have some mint tea? It’s the only thing that helps settle my stomach.”

Heather resumed her meal and proceeded to tell Skye all he needed to know to locate Jessa.