Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(46)

Sorcha breathed in a slow breath, letting it out with a huff. There were no more arguments, no more walls she could erect. He was being polite. It would be rude to refuse him entry now, and he already thought she was little more than a peasant.

It would not do.

She gestured towards the table, “All right then. Come in and seat yourself. There should be enough for all three of us.”

He ducked, entering the hut like a storm. He was far too big. Sorcha gaped at his head which nearly touched the ceiling, and the wide spread of his shoulders which he had to tilt to even come in through the door.

It was no wonder his castle doors were two wide. The man wouldn’t be able to fit through anything less!

“I’m afraid I do not have a grand palace to offer, or even complete dining services,” she said as she walked towards the bed. “But two seats will have to do.”

“I’ve eaten in worse conditions.”

“Have you? I was under the impression ‘masters’ rarely ate outside their splendorous castles.” She leaned over the bed and pulled the blankets away from Boggart’s face. “He’s eating with us, but has promised I can stay.”

“I am no king, nor have I always lived here.”

Sorcha lifted Boggart into her arms and started towards the table. The faerie clutched at her dress, tiny claws digging through the fabric and into her skin. “A curiosity I have no desire to satisfy. I will not pity you, sir, if that is your aim.”

“I do not ask for pity, but for patience. It is I who am out of line. I remember manners, but they are no longer second nature. I’m afraid I lost them long before I came to this isle.” He sat on her chair, the wood creaking ominously for a few moments before silencing.

She hooked her foot around a stool and dragged it towards the table. She must have been a frightening sight, limping towards him with wood screeching, carrying Boggart who looked more monster than beast. He didn’t flinch in the slightest, Sorcha noted with disappointment.

Boggart plunked down on the stool and let go of Sorcha’s dress reluctantly. She let out a little huff when Sorcha left her side, watching her master with beady eyes.

“I will not call you ‘master’,” Sorcha said as she pulled the bread from the fire. “Do you have another name?”

“Some call me Cloch Rí.”

“The Stone King?” Sorcha quirked a brow.

He reached a hand forward, placing it in full view on the table. The crystals revealed on each peak of knuckle were just as startling as the first time. Violet toned and ragged edged, they turned his hand into more rock than fist.

“Ah,” she murmured. “Appropriate then.”

She set the bread down with a cloth underneath it. Steam rose into the air, the warm comforting scent easing the tension in her neck. She added cheese and fresh strawberries to the mix.

“Cian keeps an impressive garden,” she said as she sat down. The hut was suddenly too small, the air too close.

The cloak still covered his face, but she could feel his gaze. It lingered upon her hair, following the spirals of her curls across her shoulders and arms. Highly inappropriate. He had said he wasn’t a gentleman, and she believed him.

“He wouldn’t like you using his name so freely.”

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t. Perhaps that is why I use it.” She reached forward and broke off a piece of bread, the steam rose into the air in wispy swirls.

“You do so because it might anger him?”

“Annoy him. I would never use his name against him.”

“Many humans have said the same thing, and they always use the name.”

“Do you think I am like most humans?”

“I have yet to meet one who shatters my perception of your species.”

Sorcha popped the bread into her mouth, chewing to give herself time to think. “You think very poorly of humanity.”

“I have been given little reason to think otherwise.”

“I could say the same about your people.”

Boggart reached for a loaf and tucked it underneath her arm. She gave them both a suspicious glance before hopping off her seat and stalking back towards the bed. Her little chirping grumbles suggested she didn’t appreciate such tense conversation when she planned to enjoy her dinner.

Sorcha agreed with her. Mealtimes should be peaceful, a time for family to enjoy each other's company after a long day of work. But there was something about this man that pushed all her buttons, and she couldn’t help but argue.

“What grievances against the Fae could you possibly have?”

“Abandonment, for a start. You entered this world with full intention of molding it to your will, and then you disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” His hand clenched on the table. “Your people ran us out of our lands!”

“I find that difficult to believe when you yourself stated that the Fae are far superior to humankind.”

She watched his fist tighten until she heard the creaking of stone and crystal. Slowly, he released his hold in tiny movements. When his palm lay flat upon the table once more, the hood of his cloak tilted to the side.

“You are quick witted for a human. It is…intriguing.”

“That sounds like a compliment.” She reached forward for a strawberry and took a large bite. She would count this as a successful battle in their ongoing war. He might have won the first by throwing her into a nightmarish cottage, but she had recovered quite nicely.