Page 51 of Destined for the Fae King

Tharin fully enters the room, closing the door behind him. “No,” he says as he crosses the room to us. “This comes from Prince Lysandir.”

If it wasn’t for the makeup Fia had just applied, I’d probably have turned as red as my dress. If anyone has any suspicions about something between us, this isnotgoing to help.

“The prince?” Fia looks as wide-eyed as I feel.

Tharin comes to a stop in front of me and holds out the box. “Lady Mira?”

“Thank you.” I take the shimmering gold box and set it in my lap. It snares my full attention. A curiosity and damnation at once. If the box had just appeared in my room, I’d be giddy. That fluttering joy is in there somewhere, but my nerves swallow it up.

“Why would the prince send a gift?” Fia asks, clearly skeptical. God help me, I don’t have a good answer for her.

God doesn’t answer, but Tharin thankfully does. “He must favor or admire her,” he replies. “And don’t you think that’s a good thing, Fia? Whoever will be our future queen should be well-liked by the rest of the royal family, wouldn’t you agree?”

Despite the words out of his mouth, it doesn’t feel like he agrees with them. Does he not like Lysandir? But the other night in the library, I’d have sworn they seemed familiar with one another, more than just casual acquaintances.

“Oh! Well, of course!” Fia twists my direction. “Then this is a great turn of events!”

She nearly vibrates with enthusiasm, but it’s to Tharin I glance. His lips twitch up in one corner. He knows, damn it. Somehow, he knows and yet still managed to lead Fia to a different conclusion with a few clever suggestions that I have no doubt he thought up before coming in here.

“Well, Lady Mira. Why don’t you open it?” He doesn’t seem the type that wants me to be uncomfortable or thrust into an awkward situation, but he’s certainly making a show of this gift.

“Might as well,” I reply.

The box isn’t tied up with ribbons or sealed any way that I can tell, so I grab the lid and slowly tug it off. Fia stretches on her tiptoes and leans in for a better view—not that she can’t see perfectly from where she’s standing just two feet away.

Inside are three long, skinny tubes of varying colors fitted down into a silken pillow of sorts. Each one narrows to a metallic point at one end.

My breath catches.

Not tubes. Pens. He got me pens.

I pluck the center one from its cushioned holder and hold it up to the light. A shimmering substance, this one in varying shades of green and gold, fills the glass chamber.

“What are those?” Fia asks.

But I ignore her and swirl around in my chair toward the desk, careful not to spill the box and its precious contents. I gently set it on the desktop and grab a piece of paper. My heart races as I touch the tip to the page and write the first thing that comes to mind: Lysandir.

Tharin chuckles behind me. “Pens. Though it seems Lady Mira figured that out quickly.”

Lysandir’s name shimmers in tones of sparkling gold and green that blend effortlessly as the pen shifts from one color to the next at random.

He didn’t just get me pens.

He got me special fae, metallic pens, like the ones he’d mentioned in the library.

Emotion burns at the corners of my eyes. I pull my lip between my teeth, holding it in. It’s so simple and so thoughtful at the same time. Between his reaction to the kiss and this gift, one might think he was trying to win me away from his brother. But that can’t be right. Fae just like to give gifts. Everyone says that.

Still, it fills me with a deep warmth that I know will linger just as long or longer than the feel of his lips on mine.

“Should I tell the prince you appreciate the gift?” Tharin asks.

I stare at Lysandir’s name on the page, suddenly embarrassed at my choice of words for testing the pens. I add a comma after his name, a short and swirling “thank you,” and then sign my name, like I’d meant to write it as a letter all along. I quickly fold it up and hand it to Tharin. “Yes, please pass along my thanks for the thoughtful gift.”

With care, I set the pen back in its box so that I don’t clutch it to my chest like the treasure it is and give myself away further.

“Do you have any other letters you would like sent?” he asks.

Guilt swells again at the thought of my mother and brothers. Selena too.

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