Page 24 of The Little Shop of Grand Curiosities

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Playing with fairies must be lovely.”

Apollo rolled his eyes at the boughs. “Not thefunkind of playing, Nepheli.”

I cast him an incredulous look. “Then how come no book has ever mentioned this?”

“Lore changes from place to place because fairies change too. It’s easy to wrongly conceptualize a species that is so unpredictable.”

I slid a finger beneath the warm metal of my pendant, anxiety creeping into my heart. “Have you crossed Fairyland before?”

Apollo gave a curt nod. “I’ve gone through this forest about a hundred times. There is no way around Fairyland.”

“Okay,” I whispered, chewing at my lip.

As he turned his head to me, lace-like shadows sculpted his face softly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I’m fine. Although I am curious—”

“You? Curious? I’m floored,” he deadpanned.

I tried to slap him on the arm, but he slipped sideways with a short, taunting laugh.

“History dictates that every human from The Faraway North has a little bit of magic in their veins,” I ventured. “So how come you don’t have any?”

“You mean besides my infinite charm,” Apollo drawled, grinning wide.

I focused my eyes on the route ahead and did not allow myself to even entertain the idea that perhaps his magic was indeed a devastatingly handsome face and a wickedly clever tongue.

“I know the Queen has magic, and I also know that magic sometimes skips a generation but—”

“My father is from the West,” he explained, shrugging. “That’s why I don’t have any magic. I take after him.”

I waddled closer to him, compelled by interest. “Is it true he was the Queen’s personal guard?”

Apollo merely nodded as he outstretched one hand to lift a low-hanging branch so I could pass under. After that, the path widened, and the underbrush grew smooth and even, the light streaking freer through the boughs. Our steps paced, and I had the chance to breathe in the clean, magic-flecked air before speaking again, “That’s so romantic. He thought he could only love her from afar, but she was willing to defy years of tradition to be with him.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Apollo grumbled, his hand flexing on the grip of the sword that dangled from his hip.

I scowled at him. “You cannot keep a nice conversation for longer than a minute, can you?”

“Yes, darling, that’s it. You’ve finally figured me out,” he wryly retorted before halting mid-step. “Here.”

I frowned at the wide, mossy base of the tree he was looking at. “What is here?”

“A good spot to rest for a bit. Last stop for today,” he announced, shrugged off his cape, and sprawled it like a picnic blanket over the patch of moss.

I hooked my hands on my hips and shot him a suspicious look. “I thought you said you didn’t want to stop at all today.”

He unbuckled his baldric and dropped it next to his cape before settling himself down with a sigh. “Idon’t want to stop. Butyouhave been dragging your feet for the past thirty minutes, and I need you in full strength before we enter Fairyland. Now sit your butt down.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t your court who cursed you? They were probably sick of you bossing them around,” I huffed.

Apollo squinted against the sun as he shot his steely gaze up at me. “Are you always this disagreeable just for the sake of disagreeing?”

“I amnotdisagreeable. You’re just a world-class—”

Apollo flung out a hand, grabbed my ankle, and yanked me forward. I fell right into his arms, and he fell back onto the ground. Our chests collided. Our noses bumped. Our lips nearly brushed. Fury bubbled in my veins, but then… his eyes. His eyes looked more blue than grey from this distance, like the ocean before a storm.

His big hands skidded down to my lower waist and lingered on that spot at the small of my back where my curls ended. I felt his fingers twitching. I could have sworn he was trying to resist brushing them through my locks. I could have sworn he was staring at my mouth like he was dying from thirst, and I was a cupful of water. But then his lips twisted in that self-satisfied, smug little smirk of his, and my good sense reemerged with an unhealthy serving of loathing.

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