Page 33 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

Not an encouraging start.

Lachlan leaned against the gray stones. He was all shadows and winter-bright eyes. He was not smiling. “Happy solstice.”

She refused to respond to that. This solstice was a lot of things, but “happy” was not one of them.

“A bit early for work, isn’t it?” he added in his deep, dark voice. He smelled like amber and incense. She could not help but feel that kiss again, traveling through her body.

“The Library does not close for solstice,” she pointed out. “But no, I am not going to the Library.”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You are always going to the Library.”

Despite the fact that it was perfectly true, Pippa frowned. “How would you know that?” Her frown turned to a scowl. “Your owls.”

“Why the sudden change in your routine?” Lachlan asked. When she did not answer, his lip curled, just slightly. “Mrs. Pettigrew.” The Head Librarian’s opinion of her was no secret. “What has she done now?”

“Nothing.” She halted. “Why would you ask about her? Did you owls watch her too?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Well, it does not matter, in any case.” She had failed at both previous attempts to pass the tests for Head Librarian, resulting in books burning like coals. And you were only given three attempts. The last thing she needed was a tenured professor with the face of a devil and the crown of a Faery court interfering.

You were a Librarian on your own merit, or you weren’t. You could control your fire, or you couldn’t.

“I have it sorted,” Pippa said, even though she very much did not have it sorted.

His brow lowered. “Is that what you wished for? Something to do with the Library?”

She glanced away. “Of course.”

“You’re lying to me,” he said smoothly, with more than a hint of warning and something else that made the backs of her knees sweat. Fae magic pricked like thorns, strangled like nightshade vines.

She stayed mutinously silent.

“Found your courage, have you? Am I not as fearsome as Mrs. Pettigrew?” His hand curled around her throat. There was no pressure against her windpipe, only the easy strength of his pinning her in place, caging her as easily as an iron bracelet, or the bars at the window. “I can fix that.”

She wasn’t sure if it was courage, exactly. The insatiable curiosity of a Librarian, perhaps. The need for vengeance that boiled inside her at the thought of the missing book and the countless hours she had spent hunting it. She only glared silently at him.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

She shook her head.

“I claimed your wish,” he reminded her.

“Yes, and why is that?”

“Because.”

“While this is certainly a terribly illuminating conversation, I have things to do before you take me back.” She paused. “Is that why you’re here? Did you think I would run away? I already told you I wouldn’t.”

“No.” His hand dropped away. She missed the weight of it immediately, which was maddening.

“You did, admit it.” And hadn’t he kissed her so that, even if she did run, it would do her no good? He could find her anywhere now.

“I did not think that. I know you well enough.”

She shrugged nonchalantly even though there was nothing nonchalant about what she was feeling. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling, only that it was not nonchalant. “You don’t know me, professor,” she added.

She took them toward the Library because she had lied to him—of course she was going to the Library. She might find some books on the Labyrinth. She imagined it changed every year, but surely some knowledge was better than none at all?