Page 50 of The Hidden Fae Prince
“Nevander?” Seren asks, when he’s quiet too long.
Jerking away, Nevander hands over the elixir. “Use this on the worst wounds. It will work properly here.”
Seren sits back, closing off again. He must feel Nevander’s withdrawal—with ordinary empathy, if not magic. But it can’t be helped. Nevander doesn’t trust himself to tend Seren’s wounds without surrendering to this strange compulsion.
Not so strange. Seren is gorgeous. A heady blend of power and innocence. And Nevander has been obsessed with him for a very long time.
Except the obsession used to hurt. This doesn’t. Nevander doesn’t know what to do with that.
Orange leaves flutter on their slow descents. Autumn colors are usually a warning of decay and madness, but there’s beauty in this figment.
If the other realms never vanished, there would be three more courts of whims to contend with. Three more courts of enemies to protect Seren from. Or perhaps the other courts would prove useful distractions. Let Elladar’s high fae look outward for their vicious amusement.
Planning against hypothetical threats eases Nevander’s discomfort. He’s almost calm again when the griffon stands. Its sleek, slow movements no longer register as dangerous.
The griffon prowls into the dappled tree line. There it stops.
“It’s waiting for us,” Seren says, scrambling to his feet. “Here’s the elixir.”
“Keep it in your own carryhold,” Nevander says. Because he wants Seren to have it, not because he’s afraid of brushing Seren’s fingers.
Seren puts the elixir away, and smiles in delight when the carryhold magic works. He grabs the shirt next, thankfully.Nevander has spent decades in Elladar Palace. He shouldn’t find bare skin so distracting.
Yet the shirt only worsens matters. Too large, it flows halfway down Seren’s thighs. The unlaced collar threatens to slip from one shoulder, leaving a deep valley of exposed chest. The fine fabric hints at birdlike bones.
“Let’s go,” Seren says, leaving the shirt unlaced in his haste.
Nevander shakes himself into action. “Stay behind me just in case.”
Their strange procession is brief. The copper trees give way to a small clearing, and the griffon halts. Its wings spread in a glorious tapestry.
Then it vanishes in a swirl of magic. In its place stands a golden door, shaped with sinuous vines and feathers.
Seren steps forth, cautious. “Will there be one last trial, or is this the door home?” he asks loudly.
There’s no answer. Just the wordhomefalling like a leaf in Nevander’s heart.
“One way to find out,” Seren mutters, reaching for the door.
Nevander takes hold of Seren’s wrist before remembering he’s trying not to touch him. But doorways between realms and pseudorealms are special circumstances. This isn’t inappropriate. Just a sensible precaution.
The door whispers open, and Autumn trees unravel into absence. A veil of nothingness brushes past, too quickly to react to. By the time Seren presses against Nevander’s side, they’re back in the royal library.
Primrose stands nearby, eyes glowing gold. She blinks, and her eyes are deep brown again.Did you enjoy the lesson?
“That’s not what I meant by teaching him magic,” Nevander says coldly.
Nor did I,Primrose says, unflinching.The lesson took shape according to the student. There would be no test if Seren hadn’t yearned to prove himself.
The lack of intention only deepens Nevander’s anger. Once more, Seren’s blood stains his hands. “You can test without harm.”
In this court?Primrose asks, to which Nevander has no reply.
Seren steps between them. “It’s all right.” His crown of flowers is gone, but a healing cut still decorates his brow. Nevander’s shirt still flows around him. With perfect, regal posture, he bows to Primrose. “Thank you. I learned a lot.”
Primrose sits back, clearly stunned.Oh, youarebetter behaved than Tansy.
Seren straightens with a riveting smile. Counting heartbeats, Nevander braces his mental shields.
