Page 19 of The Heir the Fae Forgot
Finch, still oblivious to what we were even talking about, sat up sharply and shook his head. The faerie wine or mead or whatever it was they drank had finally loosened his tongue enough to speak directly to the fae lord still lounging leisurely at my side, as if ordering the moving of bodies was just another task he was used to.
“What the hell are those things?” Finch asked, nodding towards one of the passing servants as he downed another sip from his glass. “I hate them. They’re always creeping about where you least expect them to be, and then popping up out of nowhere to give you towels and chocolates and face creams.”
I hadn’t thought it possible for the heaviness that had hung between us to be shattered in a single, simple sentence, but I was wrong.
Finch’s complaints bordered on insulting, and yet they were at the same time so innocent and unassuming that I found myself having to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Thankfully, it had some of the same effect on the other fae at the table.
Shiel settled back a bit in his chair, some of the fight slipping out of him as he remembered himself. Icarus, meanwhile, simply raised one of his eyebrows as he fought his own smile at Finch’s words.
“Do you…not want towels, and chocolates, and what was that…face creams?” he asked, amusement now dancing in his eyes in place of his usual intensity.
“No, I love the face creams, my skin has never been so soft,” Finch said, rubbing either of his cheeks between his palms, as if to demonstrate. “I just don’t like it when they’re served to me on bones-for-fingers by a creature that wasn’t there a second before.”
A half-snort made its way past my fingers, despite my best efforts.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, “I just…” I glanced between Icarus and Finch, their faces waiting for my reply. “He’s not wrong.”
I glanced then at the servant who had taken that very opportune moment to reappear at Finch’s side to refill his glass and gave him a sheepish, apologetic smile.
Icarus just looked on as if the whole thing was an elaborate skit planned for his own, personal amusement.
“My demons can have that effect on people,” he said, as the servant bowed and left to fill more glasses. “I can always assign a fae to tend to you, but in a court like this…you might find it difficult to get those towels, chocolates, and…”
“Face creams,” Finch reminded him.
“Well, it might take those things a bit longer to get to you. I hope you understand.”
Finch’s face screwed up for a second. “Demons, you say? Well…” he took another sip of his wine. “Better demons serving me than one of your fae.”
In an instant, the temporary camaraderie between us was gone.
Even Icarus stiffened this time, any mirth that had lit his eyes darkening in an instant.
“Have I not made every effort to show you a proper welcome? Have I not shown you a measure of respect that—let’s be honest here—no other court has dared bother to show me?”
Despite the careful measure of his voice, a familiar muscle—one I was more accustomed to see working on Shiel—bulged at the sharp angle of his jaw.
“Oh, you’ve put on ashowalright,” Finch said, the wine having clearly loosened his tongue a littletoomuch, now. There was no way he was this oblivious to how what he said affected not only Icarus, but the entirety of the court. A silence had once again fallen between the trees, broken only by Finch’s voice when he raised it yet again. “How long is thisshowgoing to last?”
“That’s enough, Finch,” Shiel growled, his eyes trained on Icarus as his hand inched ever closer to the sword at his side. I didn’t need to peek beneath the table to know Zev was almost certainly doing the same.
Only Finch didn’t seem to be paying attention. He too watched the dark fae, his eyes scanning the horns and points of his wings with a slowly growing sneer.
“Think it’ll last long enough for your forces to assemble? Or, perhaps, for word to spread that the lord of the Western Court no longer sits on his throne?”
“Finch, I said that’senough.”
Shiel’s order finally seemed to reach Finch, then. But it was too late. By the time Finch had sat back, his eyes wide as his senses began returning to him, Icarus had been thoroughly baited.
“What exactly are you accusing me of?”
For one, awful second, I saw Finch look at Icarus again. I saw him open his mouth, prepared to speak something likely to light a fire that would be unlikely to go out, given the air that practically crackled with how ready it was to be set ablaze.
“It’s my fault, I’ve been…tense,” I cut in, surprising myself as I came to Finch’s rescue.
But Icarus was not ready to be so quickly appeased. His head swiveled to look at me, the same anger burning in his eyes now focused on me.
“And you…what reason have I givenyounot to trust me?”
