Page 16 of The Hidden Fae Prince
Sharp teeth. Devouring greed.
Seren staggers under the terrible new sensation. A whimper catches in his throat. He casts around for the source of—
Nevander yanks him under an empty awning. Gentle music muffles the cacophony.
“What’s wrong, Your Highness?” Nevander says urgently. His focus is breathtaking, yet blessedly empty of emotion.
“Someone wants to eat me,” Seren says, still stunned.
“Who?” Nevander demands, finally releasing Seren’s arm. His right hand extends, poised, as if ready to call his sword.
Oh, gods. Nevander’s immediate belief is not reassuring. For once, Seren would rather be dismissed as silly. Of course nobody would want to eat him.
“I don’t know who. I can just… feel it.” Seren’s too tired to hide his truths right now. “I have this awful talent. I can sense whatever emotions people feel towards me.”
Nevander’s jaw tenses. “Does this empathy work on everyone?”
Seren’s urge for honesty forces clarification. “Everyone except for you, and I don’t know why.”
“Do you still feel the hunger?” Nevander asks, relaxing slightly.
“No.” Seren hugs himself, relieved. “Nobody’s paying attention to me now.”
Nevander’s hand lowers. “Some high fae have special gifts, especially those of royal blood. Queen Haelwen has a knack for memory. Your empathy will serve you well in court, but you should shield for tonight, even if you’re tired.”
Seren bristles at the tone. Like Nevander’s instructing a clueless novice. Even though—or especially because—that’s what Seren is. “What do you mean, shield?”
“Spirits,” Nevander swears. For one moment, his frustration is so clear on his face, Seren imagines the taste of it. Then it smoothes away, leaving only stern control. “I’ll teach you later. For now, wear this. You look too human, and that’s drawing people’s attention.”
Green-gray fabric spills from nowhere. Nevander eases the cloak around Seren’s shoulders, and it’s warm as if left in the sun.
“Where do you keep all these things?” Seren asks. Nevander may hate Seren’s cluelessness, but the only way to solve that is to learn more.
“In a carryhold,” Nevander explains, fastening the clasp at Seren’s throat. “That’s a storage enchantment. Mine is a ring, as many are.”
Seren barely hears the explanation. After fastening the cloak, Nevander gently pulls the hood over Seren’s head. His hands fall away quickly, yet his touch lingers at Seren’s throat.
The physical contact itself isn’t strange. It’s how naturally Nevander touches him. Like the fae warrior has every right to follow Seren, to pull him through a crowd, to wrap a cloak around him.
“There’s Yarrow,” Nevander says.
“Where?” Seren asks.
But the fae striding closer is impossible to miss. Other fae part before him, some bowing. He’s the tallest man Seren’s ever seen, and the curving bronze horns make him appear even taller. His hair is pure white, long, and billowing. White paint decorates his bare chest and shoulders, the rough swirls bright against his tanned skin.
Yarrow’s broad smile is for Nevander first. Then he notices Seren with controlled curiosity. Nothing intrusive. The sensations are fainter than the other fae here. Maybe Yarrow knows how to shield, however that works, just not as well as Nevander.
“Back again already?” Yarrow booms, ducking under the awning. His horns brush the tasseled edge. “We’ll get you partying soon enough.” He peers closer, frowning in exaggerated suspicion. “Really, Lord Nevander? I thought abducting humans wasmything.”
“I’m not—” Seren cuts himself off. He shouldn’t talk so carelessly in front of strange fae. He isn’t human, maybe. He isn’t abducted, either. Probably.
If Seren had resisted, would Nevander have taken him anyway?
“We need a place to stay for the night,” Nevander says, placing a hand on Seren’s back. Protective, or caging him in. “In private.”
Yarrow laughs, disbelieving. “Are you my friend Nevander or a shapestealer? Because I could have sworn you said…” The humor drains from his face. “Wait. Is this him?”
Oh, no. Seren didn’t expect people to know about him.
