Page 51 of Fairies Never Fall

The gargoyle straightens. “I would offer myself as a sacrifice for the blessing. If you have need, that is.”

His delivery is so smooth and confident that it takes me a moment to understand what he’s offering. I shoot upright.

“No thank you,” I choke.

The gargoyle smirks. “I can assure you I’m up for the task. I have a special suit designed to protect me from magic poisoning.”

A special suit??A shiver goes through me. There are other scenarios that can cause magic sickness, but… did he wear it here expressly to offer himself up?

“I don’t have need,” I tell him, more firmly this time.

“Ah, well.” The gargoyle bows again. “I had to try my luck. Not every day there’s a fertile fairy in our midst.”

He leaves without pledging, which I’m a tiny bit relieved by. I squeeze the arms of the chair as the curtain rustles again.This might be a long night.

To my relief, most who pledge are wildlings — fauns, naga, friendly harpies — although a few waterspirits surprise me. Like the first pair of fauns, they bring bottles, trinkets, carvings, and all I have to do is put my lips to them and share a touch of my magic. Not all of them are as self-assured as Calliope, but their heads are held high with pride.

There are more wildlings in the city than I thought, but also far more monsters willing to risk their skin over a proposition. My face burns hotter with every offer. I’m not a total innocent, of course — though the show with Bear wasn’t sexual for me, it was certainly meant to titillate. Rationally, I understand the taboo of being with a fairy is alluring. And not all of them leave without pledging.

But there’s only one person I desire, and he hasn’t come through the curtain yet.

My cheeks are on fire and my body buzzes with confused sensations by the time the train of monsters trickles to a halt. Embarrassment and pride, the strange thrill of the Oath and the shock of each offering — my chest is tight and I have to cross one leg over the other to hide my reaction. I have no interest in any of the monsters who approach me, but the Oath offers fertility, and my body is hard pressed to forget that.

Yet a sense of accomplishment fills me. More than just being a pretty royal sponsor on Syril’s arm, I’vedonesomething. I’ve helped them.

“I look forward to seeing their numbers flourish in the coming months.” Syril appears out of nowhere and I jump.

The fresh reference to the purpose of the Oath makes me flush again.

“Well — good,” I stammer.

“You’ve given them more than just an Oath. You’ve also given them hope. The wildlings here are shy of humans andoutnumbered by shadowfey, but Greenriver is still their home. Your presence is a beacon for them.”

I straighten. “I’m glad you encouraged me to do it. Truly.”

The curtain rustles again. This time the person who enters isn’t a monster at all, but a tall, handsome human in a perfectly fitted velvet suit. I gulp. His dark hair is pushed off his face and his jewelry glimmers in the low light. The familiar red stone amulet winks proudly from around his neck.

My nerves tingle.

“I’ll come back later,” Syril murmurs, slipping away.

I hold my breath as Ezra steps onto the carpet. His dark eyes land on me, and the power of them sends a thrill through me as if I’ve just been lifted a few inches off the ground. When he looks at me, everything feels good and right. Like I was meant to be here, and he was meant to stand before me.

I breathe deeply, but I’m unable to dispel the eruption that bursts through my chest. Every sensation that pricked me through the night suddenly returns with a vengeance. I plaster myself to the chair in an attempt not to melt away as Ezra strides forward, his gaze fierce with intent.

21

EZRA

My borrowed suit is a little too tight, verging on uncomfortable, but damn it looks classy. When Syril came up from the basement with it I cringed, but now I can’t deny the dark velvet has flair. The tails of the jacket hang to the backs of my knees and the pants are obscenely molded to my ass. Crystals are sewn into the lapels like stars. The shirt is crisp and white with a stiff collar that digs into my neck, and the vest is embroidered in an intricate pattern in subtle midnight blue that shimmers when I turn. There’s no tie, but it looks purposeful, not careless.

When I look in the mirror, a stranger stares back at me.

I frown at my reflection. Something’s not quite right. I flick the top two buttons of the shirt open and run a hand through my hair, leaving it tousled instead of slicked back.

Better.

I still look like an ass, but now at least I’m an ass who’s not taking himself so seriously.

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