Page 90 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

One might expect the parlor to be scrupulously tidy and organized.

It was…not.

Something Lachlan was clearly realizing for the first time. She watched his eyes widen as he took in the general chaos. “Have you been raided by goblins?”

Pippa stepped over a basket of discarded shawls but did not deign to reply.

“Boggarts, perhaps?” he suggested, righting a bench that was inexplicably upside down. Three goblets, sticky with mulled wine residue, were precariously balanced next to a tray of return slips. She merely scowled at him. They knew exactly where everything was, thank you very much.

Except for the Red Grimoire, of course.

Lachlan shook his head and sat in the only chair not piled with baskets of scrolls or spelled ink bottles or abandoned teacups. Apprentices were meant to gather the cups and plates every evening, but the winter solstice had made it more difficult to keep up. It was one of the tasks Mrs. Pettigrew regularly assigned to Pippa because it was first-year work. “And you called me a monster,” Lachlan said.

“You had a three-hundred-year-old book open face down on a dusty table!”

Even now, he sat with his boots propped up on the table, dangerously close to a sixteenth-century grimoire of a witch known for her temper. His otherworldly eyes tracked her. One of the other Librarians on duty hurried past, casting a surprised glance at Professor Thorn loitering by the card catalogue.

He did rather stand out.

Even without the magic of the Fae, he was like an oil painting, all shadows and surprising shimmers of light. It was a fair bit distracting. Pippa frowned over at him. “You cannot just sit there all day looking at me.”

“But I happen to like looking at you.”

Her frown deepened to a glower, but unfortunately, her cheeks also pinkened.

He smiled, slow and delighted. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“I do love it when you blush, wisp.”

She huffed out a breath. “You do not. Stop being so…” She waved a hand.

“Handsome? Compelling? Delightful?” he supplied.

“Odd,” she corrected him.

He looked charmed. He was a feared and respected professor, a Fae king, and he looked charmed. By her.

“Did you drink fairy wine?” she asked suspiciously.

“No, Lady Thorn, I did not.”

She shot him a telling look when two of the Library ghosts drifted closer, whispering with knowing smiles. “People will think…”

“They’ll think what?”

“You know what.”

“I do?”

She sighed. “I do not think being a king has been good for your disposition.”

“Likely not, love.”

“Stop it. People will think you’re courting me.”

“And that would be bad, would it? Seeing as we are already married.”