Page 34 of Fae Games

He straightened and stared at me with eyes so black, there were no traces of white. “Unity? You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“Mr. Whittaker brought me,” I said.

Still breathing hard, the faerie continued staring as though waiting for me to get to some kind of point.

I cleared my throat. “I didn’t thank you for saving me from drowning.”

Pokeweed smiled. “You did. And quite nicely, I recall.”

Heat bloomed across my cheeks as I remembered the kiss. It had only been a peck on the cheek, but there was something in Pokeweed’s voice that indicated the gesture might have felt like more than a heartfelt thanks.

“Right,” I said with a cough. “I’m in a spot of bother. Tomorrow’s the beauty contest, and—”

“And you need a gown?” he asked.

“Can you help me?” the words tumbled from my mouth. “Queen Titania doesn’t want the princes buying me one, and with no money, it’s going to be hard to produce something in such a short space of time.”

“I can make you something to wear,” he said.

“Really?” Relief whooshed out of my lungs.

Pokeweed pulled his shoulders back and closed the distance between us, not stopping until we stood a mere three feet apart. I stared into his black eyes, and in their reflection, my anxious face stared back.

“I can help you,” he said. “But I need something in return.”

Chapter 9

I stared into Pokeweed’s black eyes, breathing hard to stave off a bout of anger. From my interactions with the faerie, I had thought he was one of the good ones who wouldn’t take advantage of a girl’s desperation. The sun hid behind a cloud, robbing us of its heat and casting down muted light.

Mr. Whittaker shouldn’t have worried about people taking advantage of Pokeweed. It seemed that the faerie could take care of himself.

Keeping my voice even, I asked, “What would you like in return for the dress?”

Pokeweed’s broad shoulders slumped. “The Duchess of Nevermore.”

I flinched at the unexpected subject. That hadn’t been what I had expected. Smoothing out my expression, I asked, “What about her?”

“Was she in a lot of pain at the end?” he murmured.

My skin tightened at the memory of the faerie’s blood-curdling screams. Pain wasn’t the word, but I couldn’t find a simple way to encompass the agony of being kept alive while being burned from the inside-out.

Pokeweed jerked his head away. “I see,” he said in a tight voice. “Your expression says enough.”

“King Oberon cut off her head to end her suffering,” I added, hoping it would soften the blow.

“I’ll make your dress.” He walked toward the thick tree trunk with his shoulders slumped, and his moth-wings closed.

Guilt weighed heavily in my heart at having made the wrong conclusion.

“Wait.” I grabbed Pokeweed’s bicep, making him turn around.

He stared at my hand until I snatched it away. Maybe he had a thing about people touching his fur.

“Sorry. I just—”

“You want to know why a lowly creature such as me would care for the plight of a duchess?”

I blinked three times in quick succession. “No.”