Page 54 of My Fae Lady

“Nothing hard, I just need to see what happens when we give the house conflicting orders.”

Sylvan looked around the room and a stool to match mine—except tall enough for his frame—sprouted from the floor. He sat down. “Simple enough. House, eject the intruder.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for my lens. “How about you order the wall to turn green, and I’ll tell House to make it purple. On three.”

He huffed. “Fine.”

“One. Two. Three.”

We each gave our order to House. Through my lens, I watched the strands of magic pull apart. Crimson and scarlet power raced through the gaps and the wild magic turned the wall teal.

I added a note to my calculations. “Now order House to do something we all know I wouldn’t want.”

It took Sylvan longer than I expected to face the wall and bark an order at House. “Bring me my feather waistcoat.”

The unique waistcoat with its emerald shimmer over black appeared in his lap immediately. I didn’t even bother studying the magic, as Sylvan had failed to follow my directions. I pointed my pen at him. “I said something I wouldn’t want.”

“You hate my waistcoat.” He looked down at the feathers spread over his lap, then almost defiantly pulled it on. “You stole it from me, insisted I couldn’t bring it to Alidra, and called it uncivilized!”

“I said you couldn’t wear it in polite society. I can’t wear a nightgown down the streets of Windonbury either, that doesn’t mean I hate nightgowns and won’t wear them at home.”

“I’ll eviscerate any mortal who dares look at you in that nightgown.”

I blinked. “That’s not what I—” I shook my head. “Nevermind. The point is, I don’t hate your waistcoat. The feathers are actually quite beautiful. Try again. This time, choose something I actually wouldn’t want.”

He studied me. “House, hide all the chocolate from Giselle.”

I swung my lens at the box of bonbons on the corner of my workbench in time to see Unseelie magic push against Seelie, but nothing happened physically. I took the last chocolate out of the box and bit into it. It wasn’t as good as the mating cake, but it was still a tasty treat that melted on my tongue.

Sylvan watched me eat it, heat in his eyes. For a moment, the shared memories of last night stretched between us. My potential solution to the matter of who would stay at Rook Manor was simultaneously the best idea I’d ever had and the worst.

Still not sure which it would be in the long run, I looked for a distraction, a way to delay deciding if I would even mention it. “Take off your shirt.”

Sylvan reeled back so far he nearly fell off the stool. “Excuse me?”

Oh right. I blushed, realizing what it sounded like. “I want to inspect your wing scars again. I couldn’t see anything yesterday, but I have more tools in here.”

Grumbling something that I probably didn’t want to hear, Sylvan unbuttoned his feathered waistcoat and pushed the straps of his suspenders off his shoulders. My thoughts returned to the night before once more, and I hastily turned to pick something up from my workbench before Sylvan could notice the color of my eyes.

“You are not sticking that needle in me.”

“What?” I looked down and saw I had grabbed an enchanted tapestry needle. “Don’t be such a baby.”

The blunt needle wouldn’t hurt him at all, even if I did have a reason to use it. But it was meant for helping me piece together different bits of spellwork, which was useless in this case. I reached instead for the jeweler’s loupe I had wrapped in enchantments similar to the ones on my lens. The loupe was meant to magnify weak wisps of magic, but it might help me spot something under the surface of Sylvan’s scars.

When I turned around, Sylvan’s back was to me, his suspenders hanging from his pants. For a moment, I simply admired the strong muscles of his back. The scars on his shoulder blades didn’t detract from his beauty, but they did anger me.

I raised my loupe and stepped closer. I had to get right next to him to use the small lens, and it was only natural to rest one hand on his shoulder as I leaned down to look.

“What did our experiments tell you?” Sylvan demanded.

I didn’t have to share my solution to explain what I had learned, so I talked as I inspected his scars. “Our conflicting claims are splitting the Seelie and Unseelie magic that makes up Rook Manor. When we give orders that don’t align, the powers pull apart, letting wild magic through to wreak havoc. Even if we aren’t giving opposing orders, the Seelie power blocks you and the Unseelie blocks me. I see two solutions to the issue.

“The most obvious is for one of us to acknowledge the other’s claim, which neither of us is prepared to do.”

“And the other?”

“The other what?” I couldn’t see any curses, even with my enchanted loupe. The only magic on Sylvan was the dark greens and rich browns of his own Unseelie nature. Except his power should have healed his wings long ago if there was no interference.