Page 12 of The Hidden Fae Prince
But there’s nothing about augrays or guardians in the water-damaged book.
His stomach twists with each bite, both starved and nauseous. Like his body resents the need to fuel recovery. His shoulder aches deep beneath the new scars.
He’s spent the past day jumping at shadows, wondering if the golden-haired fae still watches him. There’s been no sign, but Seren’s skin crawls, and his ears ring with Nevander’s final words. For once, Seren feels safest at home, where the iron rabbit above the door wards off the fae. Nevander can’t enter.
Until I come for you.
“Leave the dishes,” Alard says when Seren stands. “I’ll wash up tonight.”
“Thanks,” Seren says, and flees the room.
Gods’ mercy, it’s getting worse. Either his parents hate him more every year, or Seren is becoming more sensitive. Or everything just feels worse after coming so close to escaping yesterday.
At least he and his parents agree on one thing. They prefer arguing with Seren out of the room. Tonight’s fight will be about him, Seren’s sure. It usually is, even when they snap about other things. Alard coming home late. Edith leaving her apothecary kit open. They pick at each other instead of talking about Seren.
The cottage is two stories, barely. Downstairs are the kitchen, fireplace room, and Edith and Alard’s bedroom. Upstairs are a landing crowded with cupboards, and Seren’s attic room. That’s where he hides from the buffeting emotions. He can mend clothes or play solitary card games or read from his small library.
But masochistic interest keeps Seren on the landing tonight. He needs to know if anyone saw him leave yesterday. If anyone saw him return, traces of dried blood beneath his spare shirt.
If anyone else saw monsters stalking the woods, with shadowy fangs or endless bright eyes.
He opens his bedroom door, then closes it. Just loud enough to be heard from the kitchen. Then he creeps to the loft railing and kneels. He can’t see into the kitchen, and Alard’s rumbling words are impossible to make out.
Edith’s voice is clear and vicious. “You go ahead and ask. Except you’d rather run from everything, like always.”
“What’s the point of staying?” Alard asks, too calmly.
“Oh, fuck you.”
A pang seizes Seren’s chest. This is a deeper argument than usual. And his parents might hate him, but he still wants them to be happy. Seren bows closer to the dusty floorboards, trying not to breathe too loudly.
Alard’s next words are barely audible. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
“He’s our son,” Edith says, and she sounds sad. A chair scrapes. “I need some air.”
Oh. Itisabout him. Seren slinks away from the railing and presses hidden against the wall. Downstairs, the back door thuds shut.
He shouldn’t have listened. He learned nothing, except that his parents’ marriage is closer to fracturing than he realized, and somehow, it’s because of him. Yet they still won’t let him leave.
Seren turns to find his bedroom door open.
He could have sworn he closed it, but he must be mistaken. Nobody could have come upstairs without him noticing.
Downstairs, dishes clatter into the washbasin. Seren startles, covering his mouth. Then, feeling foolish, he sneaks into his bedroom.
Where Nevander leans against the windowsill.
Seren freezes. The sight is shocking, yet somehow inevitable. Like a blow to the head Seren saw coming but didn’t duck away from.
The fae warrior doesn’t suit the room. His features are too fine for the simple furnishings. His hair is too bright for theoil lanterns. He wears the same armor as yesterday, thousands of lacquered metal leaves arrayed like a suit of feathers. Somehow the leaves don’t clang with Nevander’s every move, and the blacksmith would love to learn that secret.
Silent. Just like the fae’s emotions.
“Are you going to scream?” Nevander asks, his voice low.
Which is when Seren realizes he’s still frozen in the doorway. Screaming may be the wisest decision. Except Seren can’t put his parents at risk.
And he’s curious, with the sort of intrigue that burns beneath his skin. He’s never met someone whose emotions he couldn’t feel.
