Road To Winter (Fae's Captive #2)(14)

They canter ahead of us again, cutting a path across a ravine and up a slight hill.

Undeterred, Leander keeps his grip on me, his body taut at my back. “What of your parents?”

“We’re not going there.”

“Where?”

“I mean we aren’t going to talk about my parents.”

“Why not?”

“What about your parents?” I counter.

“My father was a bladesmith. My mother was a high fae noble that ran off with him.”

“Ran off with him?” Interesting.

“She happened to meet him as he was delivering a sword to King Shathinor.”

“He was the king before you?”

“Yes.” His tone sours. “His evil was not so apparent back then. My father served him as did everyone else in the winter realm.”

“Was he mad when your mom eloped?”

“She was the daughter of one of his old rivals for the throne. He pretended to be furious, of course, but only to cow my grandsire. And they didn’t elope. There was no official mating ceremony.”

“Even naughtier.” I smile.

“When she came back heavy with child, my grandsire relented and allowed the match. Fae children are so rare that even my father’s low birth could be overlooked. But it was quite the scandal in those times. I’d like to think things are different now, but I can imagine a few of my nobles might react just as badly, even though it’s been twelve hundred years since—”

I turn my head so fast my neck pops. “Twelve hundred years?”

“Since my parents mated? Yes.” He cocks his head to the side. “Why?”

“You’re twelve hundred years old?”

“Yes.”

I sputter, no words coming to mind.

“Is that a problem, little one?” He sits a little straighter. “I assure you my bloodline is strong. My father and mother lived well beyond five thousand years and chose to join the Ancestors together after I won the throne. Our children will—”

“Whoa.” I scramble to dismount. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Leander grabs me and sets me on the ground, then follows. “What is it?”

“You’re talking about centuries and children.” I stalk back and forth in the high grass, hands on my hips as my mind races. “Centuries and children!”

He runs a hand through his midnight hair. “Yes.”

“I’m twenty!” I yell so loudly that a flock of strange blue birds take off from a nearby bush. “You think I’m your mate, your queen. I’m twenty. I’m not supposed to be here in the first place. And you’re like, I don’t know, old enough to be my-my-my, what even would that be? My greatest-great grandfather?”

“Taylor.” He looks down at me with so much warmth. “I’ve lived a long time, that’s true. And I realize you are quite young, even for a changeling, but none of that matters to me.”

“It matters to me.” I cover my face with my hands. “This wasn’t going to work anyway, but a twelve-hundred-year age difference is kind of an issue.”

“Why?” He pulls my hands from my face. “Would you have known the difference if I hadn’t told you my age? How old did you think I was?”

I huff. “I don’t know. Like maybe thirty or something? You look so young. Everyone here looks young.” I haven’t been paying attention, because when I think about it, I’ve not seen the first old person since I’ve been here. No wrinkles, no nothing. “So everyone here is really old?”

“Fae freeze into their immortality when they reach their peak. After that, we age extremely slowly.” He takes my hand and runs it along the faint laugh lines next to his eyes. “These have formed over centuries.”

“So you can’t die? But I saw you kill Tyrios.”

“We can die. Either by injury or choosing to go to the Ancestors.”

“But if you’re never injured or suicidal, you just keep on ticking like a clock?” My fingers stray to the pendant at my throat, the feel of the cool stone calming me.

He follows the movement. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what? Freak out about insane age differences?”

“No. Stroke your throat when you get agitated.”

“Oh.” I drop my hand. “It’s just a habit.”

He stares for a moment, as if searching my neck.

“Look, your age just took me by surprise is all.” I shake my hands out, as if that will somehow rectify the utter weirdness of all this. “I’ve never imagined someone could live that long.” I don’t say the rest—that I will age and die, that Leander’s claim on me isn’t real, that we can’t be mates because how could fate be so cruel to put such different people together?

But it doesn’t matter that I don’t say any of it, because he strokes my cheek gently. “Don’t worry, little one. I will find a way for us. I’ve waited for you for centuries. This is just our beginning. You will not perish, not in a mortal’s death.”

“How?” What he’s saying is impossible, utter fantasy. “Do you happen to have the Sorcerer’s Stone or maybe a pitcher of unicorn blood?”

His brow wrinkles. “The winter realm is home to many magical stones, but unicorn blood? They are far too proud to ever offer such a gift.”