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Saoirse's blood dances with iron and trickery, a secret she has managed to sheathe from all faery alike.
Until now, that is.
When Saoirse's cunning and charade is shredded to bits by the malevolent interfering of fa...
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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THOUGH HER THOUGHTS WERE SCATTERED EVERY WHICH WAY, and her grasp on her focus and magic tenuous at best, Saoirse was keenly aware of The Alder King's every change and motion.
Thus, when his brow furrowed for the umpteenth time, a touch of disdain miring his lithic, arresting features, Saoirse gave pause to her work.
"Pardon my intrusion, My King" Saoirse interrupted at long last, "but is there something you wish to ask of me?"
"Rather, I think there is something you would wish to ask of me." His voice was like a large, sprawling, vast oak tree: strong, enduring, and with roots buried farther than an eye was capable of beholding. His eyes crawled over her features, roaming, searching. "Speak," he demanded.
A number of questions bloomed on the tip of her tongue. Why was she given the room that she had been given? Did he know of her magic, her heritage? Would he be pleased with the portrait? What had the Spring Court done to elicit their punishment?
But instead, she asked only one question. "Have you spent much time with Mortals?"
His gaze seized her, a dark current passing in their depths, sweeping with it the impatience that had prompted him to speak, leaving behind the vestiges of what had long been buried. "I do not see how that pertains to your duties at hand." He evaded her with a sharp, brusque utterance.
"It does not, My King." She answered honestly. "I had only thought to sate my curiosity."
He hummed, eyes glinting, talons clicking against wood, as he regarded her. "You take many liberties, Changeling. You oft tread on perilous grounds."
A sly note rang strong in her voice, "and why is it that you allow me to take such liberties without punishment, My King?"
Mirthless amusement plucked at his mouth, painting an involuntary smile, one he might otherwise wish to beat away, on his features. "You interest me, Mortal. You dare too much. You have no innocence about you. Your strength tempts too much, I fear."
"You think me to be insolent?"
"I think you to be different, Mortal." He spoke decidedly.
"I think different is good. Would your Court have determined that I participate in this trial had I not been different than other Mortals?" Saoirse studied the Alder King.
The Alder King smirked suddenly. "Do not take their actions to heart, do not think yourself special. They wish you to make a fool of yourself." His teeth glinted sharply with his grin. "They wish to feed you to a veritable beast for their own enjoyment."
Saoirse's gaze was steady. "I am aware of that. I simply think they will be proven incorrect. I think my daring tempts you. I think I am reminiscent of someone, another Mortal perhaps, and for that alone, you would grant me my desire."
