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“Many fae aren’t born as infants, and many don’t have anything to resemble a parent. Physically and mentally, he’s in his mid twenties.”
“But he’s still a picky eater?”
Pollux’s chest tightened, and he was uncertain exactly how much longer he would be able to navigate this unplanned excursion. He’d had no time to prepare or discuss expectations with Willow, and now Kassandra’s mother was calling Alexios picky as though food didn’t make him cry regularly. “He is a breed of unseelie that senses everything in far more detail than many humans can relate to. For him, flavors and textures can be so overwhelming they are painful. It took him some time to figure out how to make clothes that didn’t feel like sandpaper. Occasionally, he has breakdowns concerning the way his hair feels, but he can’t tolerate the prickle when it’s cut, so he keeps it long and braided. Similarly, he wears gloves both to protect his hands from needing to touch things directly and to keep the nails he can’t stand the sensation of cutting from hurting himself.”
“My word,” Kassandra’s mother whispered. “You have to keep him in a box… How is that any life for anyone?”
Within two weeks of existence, Alexios had met more people than Pollux had within the past century. The human definition of box was very strange. “He manages.”
“Poor thing. I suppose it’s good he never went through childhood years. He would have been so bullied.”
Pollux paused chopping carrots and watched the woman for a moment.
He knew humans bullied one another, often. He regularly crafted nightmares that assisted children in processing terrible events centered around bullying.
However, within Cael’s domain, bullying was not tolerated. Beyond his domain, only an idiot would mess with a yamachichi. Misconduct against one of Alexios’s kind resulted in the granting of unspoken permission. With a scrap of that leeway, Alexios could take whatever he wanted from anyone.
Ultimately, explaining all of this was socialization that Pollux had not prepared for mentally.
Thereby, he grunted and dumped the chopped carrots into the soup.
“Kass tells us you two are married,” the woman continued.
Pollux’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”
“Quite an unusual course of events…” she murmured. “Such a shame we weren’t able to plan a wedding. Many of Kass’s relatives would have loved to be there. It is odd to me that neither I nor Kass’s father are fae. How exactly does that work?”
“Fae blood can present itself in many different ways. Or not. Most often, humans with it don’t realize since it’s not normally something a human can access. You and your husband may very well have fae blood; however, Kassandra falls among the rare few who find their way back to Faerie.”
“What sort of faerie is she?”
“The kind who creates a world for herself when this one seems much too small. The kind who creates, simply because creation is necessary for her survival. The kind who creates, in order to fulfill a desire for control and a need for order among blissful chaos.”
“That sounds dreadfully enchanting.”
Pollux found Kassandra as she death-stared at the rapidly-forming frog in her hands. “She is.”
“This is all happening very suddenly. I understand why Kass wants to be in a space that can help her understand things like crying glitter…but she’s only known you a few months. Fae married or otherwise, moving in together seems like a big step. Emotionally.”
“Mom,” Kassandra snapped, face blistering. “I’ll have my own room. Emotionally we’re taking things slow.”
Kassandra’s mother’s lip jutted. “That’s what they all say, but the second you’re under the same roof, things happen quickly. It’s just how it is. When you spend all your free time with someone, you get closer more rapidly than when you have the constraints of living apart with more limited interaction. Besides. You’re married.” The woman sniffed, pretentiously. “Married to a nice, strong, attractive man who cooks. Anything could happen. Were I in your shoes, I’d encourage it.”
Kassandra’s eyes narrowed. “My skankiness comes from you.”
“What?”
Dropping her attention, Kassandra—quite properly—returned to crocheting faster than Pollux could comfortably perceive. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “Just marveling at my genetics.”
Suspiciously, her mother hummed.
Before Pollux could figure out exactly what was unnerving him, Aaron entered the room. Stopping near him with the folder of faerie facts Pollux had made in hand, Kassandra’s father said, “It says in here that faeries can’t lie?”
“Correct.”
“Do you love Kasserole?”
Kasserole…?
