Page 42 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“I take it back; she should stay,” Sloan says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head.

“Did you sleep well?” the lesser faerie asks me. Her words carry a tremor of tension before she clears her throat, almost as though she’s afraid of Odhran. I hate him more because of it.

My eyes remain fixed on Odhran and his silver hair tucked neglectfully behind his pointed ears, which are adorned with a row of black hoops and studs.

“Why didn’t I notice those at the manor?” I ask Aed.

“Because he hid them,” he confirms with a displeased sneer. “Faeries can mask themselves if they wish.”

“Why?” I frown, not noticing the stares I’m earning around the table.

“Because sheep run from wolves if they are not dressed in fleece.”

“I—” I clear my throat. “I slept well.” I keep my voice even. My lie hardens Odhran’s expression as a muscle feathers along his jaw.

I reach for the tray closest to where I sit, filled to the brim with sliced fruit as bright as a rainbow and as shimmering as a sky full of stars. My mouth waters at the sight. They look delicious.

Odhran pulls the tray toward him, out of my reach. “Here,” he says, handing me a plate filled with freshly baked pastries, muffins, and grilled chicken strips instead. “Eat. You have a long day ahead of you.”

“You can’t be serious, Odhran.” Eadan sets down her small knife and rises from her chair to give him a pointed look. “Do you really think she’s worth it? That all the added effort of caring for a human who will only paint a target on our backs is worth it?”

“Easy…” Sloan tells her in a hushed whisper. She pulls away before he can touch her arm.

“You’re free to leave, Eadan, but I won’t allow you back into my home if you do.” Odhran’s voice is a deep murmur filled with warning, making the hairs raise on my arms at the sound.

“Let’s not be rash.” Sloan stands, positioning himself between Odhran and Eadan. “She’s just raising a concern about the human girl. A valid concern.”

“This isn’t about the girl, and she knows it. This is about questioning my authority.” Odhran rises from his seat, his hands splayed out on the table before him.

“Alright,” she says, raising both hands in surrender. “I’d love for you to prove me wrong.”

A door slams in the background, but nobody pays it attention, not until the sound of heavy and persistent steps booms across the wooden floor. “General Odhran.” The male comes to stand a few strides from the table, arms neatly at his sides, feet together.

“Yes.” Odhran’s posture slackens as he backs away from the table.

“You have been summoned, sir.”

“By whom?” He frowns at the younger looking male delivering the message.

“By your father, the king.” The young man nods, looking straight ahead instead of at Odhran.

“Tell the king I decline his invitation.” He takes his glass from the table and swallows the rest of its contents in one gulp.

“But… sir?” His eyes dart nervously to his general and back to the wall.

“You heard me, soldier. You’re dismissed.”

There’s a moment where no one speaks until the door closes again.

“Poor bastard.” Sloan chuckles. I can’t help but notice the mischievous glint in his eyes as he speaks. “Now he gets to deliver that message to his king. I wonder how it will be received.”

“She needs to train,” Odhran tells his friend. Is it because of what happened at the ball? Or perhaps what I attempted in his study? Maybe both.

“I know how to defend myself,” I say, my words doused in humiliation. My anger grows, fuelled by shame. The only image flashing in my mind is that of last night—his hands on my bare thighs.

“Then you can show me in the courtyard tomorrow.” He steps forward, knuckles whitening as he clenches the edge of the table. I pay him no attention as he decides to leave, walking through the double doors. The others follow suit, leaving the room in the opposite direction, only the friendly lesser faerie remaining.

I frown, staring at the plate Odhran placed on the table.