Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CAELAN

T he Rowdy Wolf Tavern hardly lives up to its name.

Other than a group of respectfully loud minotaurs, the atmosphere, while jovial, would be best described as calming.

Dark, polished wood paneling and low lighting set the tone for conversation, the drinks surprisingly good, though they don't have the fae brews we're all used to.

Ga'Rek guzzles from a stone stein. The shifter female who owns the tavern took one look at him when we walked in and pulled out a vessel that looked to be carved from granite.

"Good stuff," he says. The table shakes where he sets it down, and he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth.

I grin at him, amused as always by how orcish he is, despite me stealing him away from his parents at such a young, impressionable age.

The way they treated him, though… he's always said I did him a favor getting him out of there.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Ga'Rek asks, tilting his head at me, his tusks gleaming in the low light.

"Like what?" I ask.

Kieran's watching me from the darkened corner of our table, his wings, for once, blessedly silent under the green carapace shielding them. He's taken to wearing a charcoal-grey wool cloak since our first day here, presumably to avoid undue attention.

His attitude, at least, is somewhat less sulky than usual.

"Why aren't you asking Kieran why he hasn't found something to complain about?"

"No, you're not getting off that easy. Where in the name of the moon have you been the last few days?" The table groans as the huge orc sets his arms down on it, leaning forward to inspect my face. "We were fucking worried about you, Caelan."

"Worried?" I huff a laugh, raising an eyebrow. "About me? Why?"

"Because my mother wants us all dead, you ass," Kieran mutters. "We thought you'd either been caught or defected back to her."

The very idea puts my hackles up. "I would never go back, not now that I've found?—"

"Ah-HA!" Ga'Rek shouts, causing the nearby patrons to look over at us. The chandelier overhead, lit by the same magic flowers as the street lanterns, swings slightly from the force of his voice. "I knew it. I knew it."

"Knew what?" I school my expression into one of pure innocence, but Ga'Rek claps me on the back, causing me to cough. "The fact you're able to work in that pastry shop without wrecking the entire kitchen is a miracle."

He glares at me, but as always, his ire is short-lived, and his frown immediately perks back up into a smile. He sits back in his chair, stretching an arm over the back of the empty one next to him.

The table's structural integrity doesn't seem to be too adversely affected by him, but I glance at the legs of it, just in case.

"The damned tattoo on your arm." He reaches out and grabs my sleeve, tugging it up.

He's damnably fast for his size, and even though I could probably stop him, I let him.

"What in the…" Kieran leans forward, his eyes huge in his face, his wings buzzing, the cloak on his shoulders moving strangely as he grows excited. "I thought that was a myth. Who?"

"Only the most beautiful witch," I start, but Ga'Rek's face turns stricken and I pause, tilting my head in confusion.

"Not Willow," Kieran rasps. "You've hardly ever seen her, it can't be Willow, she cannot be your mate?—"

"Wren," I interrupt his tirade before it begins. Both males sit back in their chairs, their faces going blank before they both smile broadly at me.

Interesting.

"So, you are attracted to Willow, are you?" I ask, giddy at a new piece of information on the young Unseelie noble.

"This isn't about Kieran," Ga'Rek all but roars, then raises his huge stein in the air. "A toast to Caelan and Wren. Fate has found you willing!"

Laughing, I clink my glass against his gently, hoping the brute doesn't shatter it in his excitement.

"When?" Kieran asks, none of his usual put-upon silence present now. No, his eyes practically sparkle, his wings beating a low-level hum inside their hard protective layer. "When did the mate marks appear?"

"As soon as Wren walked into the bakery," I say smugly. "The very first day."

Kieran blows out a breath, then takes a long swallow from his drink, then another, and another, until there's none left.

"I knew it," Ga'Rek jeers, clearly thrilled on my behalf.

Kieran pushes his chair out and heads back to the bar top without a word.

We both watch him for a moment.

"He was worried for you," Ga'Rek finally says, breaking the silence between us. "I've never seen him like that. Worried about someone besides himself, I mean." He narrows his eyes at me. "I was worried too."

Something like guilt rears its head in my chest, and I take a long drink as I grapple with the odd, discomfiting sensation.

"He thought his mother had found you. He was beside himself. Tried not to show it, you know, but his?—"

"Wings gave him away," I finish for him. I wince as Ga'Rek nods.

"You look uncomfortable," Ga'Rek says cheerfully, grinning broadly at me from over his stone stein.

I grumble something under my breath.

"What's that, old friend?" Ga'Rek asks merrily.

"I said I shouldn't have left without an explanation." I rake hand through my hair, then retie the leather thong around the length of it.

Ga'Rek whistles low.

Kieran plops back into the chair, his drink slopping over the side of the cup. "What's all that about?" he asks, not sounding at all like himself.

The thought of him worried about me warms a part of my heart I didn't know I still possessed.

I clear my throat, the words sticking in it.

Ga'Rek narrows his eyes at me, smiling even wider.

The asshole.

I cough, then blurt— "I'm sorry I left and you were worried."

Kieran blinks in surprise, then his royal training takes over and he bows his head, accepting the coughed out apology without another word from me.

"I would have blamed myself forever if she'd taken you," he says in a gravelly voice.

Two things hit me full force, then; one, that the sulking prince has a hidden depth. And two, how much it means to me to have these two friends at my side.

My eyes sting, probably from the smokey interior.

"We need to meet Wren," Ga'Rek says, looking between the two of us Unseelie with what appears to be a suppressed laugh.

I glare at him. "Why?"

"Because if she's mated to our oldest and best friend, we need to warn her what she'll be in for."

Kieran laughs, a low, bell-like tone full of rippling power. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and Ga'Rek and I share a surprised look.

Kieran doesn't seem to notice, simply drinking deeply from his refilled cup.

"What's she like?" Ga'Rek asks.

"She's…" I shake my head. The vines of the mate mark curl up my wrist and I roll my shirtsleeves up, taking a long look at it. "She's clever, and talented, and beautiful. I don't know what I did to deserve her, but I want to prove I'm worthy of every second I spend in her presence."

Ga'Rek claps his hands together. "Making an honest male out of you. I like her already. Can't say I would believe it if I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes."

I frown. "I'll never be honest."

"Sure you won't," Ga'Rek says. He raises his hand again to smack me on the back, but I swat it away. He leans forward. "You know she's Piper's best friend, right?"

"I figured they were close."

"Piper will be upset if you do anything to hurt her."

I bristle, my fangs lengthening. "Don't even suggest it," I hiss, my voice dangerous.

Ga'Rek raises his hands in surrender. "I wasn't. I was simply stating the obvious. And if you are so set on staying a trickster, then…"

"We aren't in the Underhill anymore," Kieran interrupts, his eyes glistening. He unbuckles the cloak from around his shoulders, tossing it over the back of his chair. His beetle wings buzz for a moment, then swing free of the hard shell. He cracks his neck, one shoulder rolling as though the wings, or more likely, the task of keeping them put away, has bothered him.

"We can be whatever we want to be. What is a prince without a throne? And Caelan doesn't have to be a trickster. By the moon, you're hardly a warrior now, Ga'Rek, you're a damned pastry chef." Kieran slaps a hand on the table, his wings vibrating slightly behind him, the light dancing off the shining membrane and reflecting off the walls. "Is this what we'll be forever? Me working in a greenhouse and apothecary, you filling eclairs?—"

Ga'Rek clears his throat, turning a deeper shade of green that I know means he's embarrassed.

"And you, Caelan, serving tea to dwarves and minotaurs and the other riff-raff?" His voice has gotten loud. "Is this all we have? Serving at the behest of a group of covenless witches?"

"That's my mate you're talking about," I snarl, half-standing.

"Oy there," the female shifter behind the bar chucks a dirty rag at Kieran and it makes a wet sound as it plops against one of his glistening wings.

The fae prince sucks in a breath, flushing maroon in fury.

"Don't fucking start, Kieran," I warn him.

"Don't worry, I'm done." With that, the fallen prince stands, drawing up to his full height, power settling on him like a mantle.

The bar goes quiet, even the duo playing the fiddle on a makeshift stage breaking off their song.

Kieran takes one last conceited look around, then stomps out of the tavern without another word, the door slamming behind him.

"He's not taking it well," Ga'Rek observes as conversation reaches a normal pitch again, the musicians starting back up with a jaunty tune. "But he has a point. Is this what we want to do?"

"Lila and Druze are good people," I say, turning it over. "Do you dislike working for Piper?"

The orc flushes again, running the tip of his tongue down one fang. "No." A short, terse syllable that doesn't leave a lot of room for supposition.

And yet. And yet… I wonder at him. The orc, who I've seen bathed in the blood of our enemies, a raging force on the battlefield, a berserker and a credit to his kind—now stuck in a hot kitchen for a flighty twit of a witch.

We sit in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, when it occurs to me.

What I want—that is, what I want besides Wren.

"Where are you going?" Ga'Rek asks, a laugh on his lips despite the edge to his voice. "Back to your witch already?"

"To see a man about an idea," I tell him, smirking, knowing keeping my plan secret from him will drive him crazy.

You can take a fae from the Underhill, but you can't take the trickster out of a fae.