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He’d barely interacted with the Fae royals or
their soldiers beyond what was necessary. And
they mostly kept to themselves. Yet they did
not sneer at him for his demi-Fae status;
didn’t really seem to care what blood flowed
in his veins so long as he kept them alive.
“We have enough enemies as it is,”
Lysandra went on. “But if you truly wish to
make me one of them as well, that’s fine. I
don’t regret what I did, nor will I ever.”
“Fine,” was all he could think to say.
She shrewdly looked him over. As if
weighing the man within. “It was real,
Aedion,” she said. “All of it. I don’t care if
you believe me or not. But it was real for me.”
He couldn’t bear to hear it. “I have a
meeting,” he lied, and stepped around her.
“Go slither off somewhere else.”
Hurt flashed in her eyes, quickly hidden.
He was the worst sort of bastard for it.