Page 37 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

“Pippa, this is Hedgewort,” Lachlan introduced them. “Hedgewort, this is Miss Cavendish.”

“Aye, of course it is,” Hedgewort grumbled. “I’m old, laddie. Not daft.”

Lachlan’s eyes met Pippa’s and his mouth twitched.

Pippa curtsied. “Lovely to meet you, sir.”

“Sir!” Hedgewort chortled. “She gets the good rosehip wine.” He knocked his cane on the ground, the knobby blackthorn wood tipped with silver only just narrowly missing Lachlan’s boot. “You get the dregs of last year’s dandelion wine for making her stand out here on the step like a peddler selling hair tonics.”

Pippa allowed herself a secret smile at seeing the fearsome Lachlan Thorn brought down by a hob far less than half his size.

He bowed. “After you, Miss Cavendish.”

She passed him, and it was like passing a hungry wolf in the winter woods, just waiting to pounce at the first sign of weakness.

The foyer was hung with tapestries and lit with beeswax candles. Ice glittered in the corners and along the leaf-carved trim, dripping from the top of the windows like silver daggers. Blackthorn petals scattered over the stones and fresh foxgloves in glass vases. It was as beautiful and incongruous and contradictory as Lachlan himself.

“Miss Cavendish will be staying with us for the Revels,” Lachlan said.

“I will?” Pippa asked. She wasn’t sure why she was startled. Where else was she to sleep? In the thorn bushes? Lachlan had claimed her wish. And he was not discourteous, whatever else they said about him.

Although that oubliette had not felt particularly polite.

Hedgewort’s eyes shone, green as clover leaves. “Nothing but the best for a Tithe.” He smiled, and it was the sweetest smile she had ever seen, but it fell away as soon as it appeared.

“I am afraid I am not very entertaining,” she admitted. Would he expect her to be skilled in music or the arts?

“Bah,” Hedgewort said. “I am amusing enough for everyone.”

Lachlan frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I am delightful,” Hedgewort explained with exaggerated slowness, as though it were obvious. Pippa had to agree with him. He was rather delightful.

“Not you,” Lachlan said. His silver eye snapped on to Pippa. “You, Miss Cavendish.”

He was definitely a Fae king now. The flowers at his feet froze and shattered. But that tone was pure disapproving professor.

She probably should not like it so much. Returning to Elphame had clearly addled her wits. The air must be as intoxicating as the wine.

“Explain,” he said softly.

She frowned back. “It is self-explanatory, I should think. Or are you convinced the Fae courts are eager to watch a Librarian shelve books for the next five decades?”

There was something simmering in his gaze, and it was not gentle or soft.

Pippa decided to change the subject. “Where is the rest of your court?” she asked.

Hedgewort and Lachlan both froze. It was only for the briefest moment. They very carefully did not look at each other. Pippa frowned at the icicles dripping from the chandeliers, the eerie stillness of the hall, the bite in the back of her throat with every breath.

“Don’t like crowds.” Hedgewort harrumphed. “Now come on, I’m busy. I’ll show you to your chambers. Come along,” he grumbled. “No dawdling—there’s chores to be done.”

“I am happy to help,” Pippa offered. She could hardly imagine letting him cart bathwater up the spiraling stone staircase while she lolled about reading. Or ran for her life, depending on the day.

Hedgewort stopped dead in his tracks.

Lachlan only looked amused. “You’ve done it now.”

Hedgewort turned to glower at her. “I have been looking after this Hall since your grandmother’s grandmother was but an idea, missy.”