Page 19 of My Fae Lady

“You want to use me as an experimental subject?”

“Yes,” I said with a decisive nod.

Sylvan’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll agree under two conditions.”

“They are?”

He held up a finger, his talon once more in evidence. “One, this replaces the afternoon’s lesson. No sitting straight, or anything else you claim a proper gentleman must do, can be required.”

I nodded.

He uncurled a second finger, the claws retracting when I didn’t put up a fight. “Two, I get to eat whatever I want.”

I nodded again. “I agree to your terms.”

He looked at the spread on the table, then at the nearest wall. “I want roast venison. No vegetables, no strange sauces.”

“No, wait!”

His head whipped in my direction. “You agreed.”

“Yes, but you are interacting with House, and I’m not ready!” I pulled my lens out of my apron pocket. “I need to see what happens when you make a request.”

Sylvan groaned. “You’re going to be interrupting me between every bite, aren’t you?”

“You agreed to be my test subject.”

“I thought I just had to sit here, like before.”

I huffed. “I can’t learn much if you aren’t doing anything. Plus, I’ll have questions about Unseelie magic.”

“Of course you will.” The words were a complaint, the tone more indulgent. He shook his head, but not in denial. “Fine, but you have only yourself to blame when I talk with my mouth full.”

I grinned. “Understood.” I leaned forward and raised my lens. “Now, ask House for your meal again.”

Nine

Sylvan

⊱❀⊰

The following morning, after stuffing me with a delicious breakfast that I knew immediately had to be a bribe, my tormentor demanded that I pack a bag for a trip out of Faerie. We were going shopping at the border town of Isthmuston because she could not have me dressed like “some wolverine I caught in a box trap” in front of Mr. Hilferty.

The lady had chastised me for my eating habits only a little, further proof that she was on her best hostess behavior for now. Undoubtedly, she intended far worse once she had me standing in front of a tailor, trapped in fabric and pins.

My belly bursting with the fluffiest pancakes to ever grace my lips and a mountain of boiled eggs, I grudgingly complied.

Rook Manor did most of the work for me. In no time at all, I had one small carpet bag ready to go and slung over my arm. I wore a traveling coat, entrusting the safety of my favorite waistcoat to my home. If Giselle was going to be on her best behavior, I could at least meet her halfway with my clothing choices.

A profusion of feathers didn’t belong in society, apparently. Fitting, since neither did disgraced high lords.

I followed Giselle out of the house and toward a winding path that forked deeper into the trees. She put up a gloved palm, and I stopped in my tracks moments before walking into the back of her.

“What is it?” I asked.

In answer, the ground shook around us. Giselle tugged me behind her seconds before a carriage house burst from the earth, knocking aside a pine tree and nearly tossing me off my feet. The stone roof threw mud like an aggravated stallion.

“Thank you, House,” Giselle sang.