Freed (Imprisoned by the Fae 3)

Wait… is that why he’s here now? Because it’s my turn?

I eye him warily. “Are you going to do that to me, too? Dust me? Knock me out until you can figure out what to do with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Uh. Not really. No.”

“Maybe I should. You need your rest.”

Probably. Now that I’m not throwing all of my energy at my painting, I can pick up on a few signs that I pushed myself too hard. My arches are tender, my back achy, and my eyes are a little dry. I’m hungry, too, and though I’m not cramping yet, I should probably eat something soon.

Not that I’m going to admit any of that to Rys.

“Eh. I’m fine.”

“No, Leannán. You’re not. Don’t lie to me.”

I can’t even deny that I am.

The fae can’t lie, but humans can. I learned that one almost right away. It’s one of the only ways I could protect myself, and I’ve always used it when I had to w

ithout any remorse. With Rys, I try not to, but right now? He doesn’t deserve my honesty.

Not after the stunt he pulled.

And, sure, maybe he was doing it for me. Maybe he thought that I’d appreciate his gesture. Or maybe he’s just trying to make it easier to accept his sacrifice.

I’m kind of banking on that last one.

Welp. He’s the one who wants to act all “holier-than-thou”. Two can play that game.

I scoff. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“What are you saying?”

Isn’t it obvious? “Where I come from, a lie of omission is still a fucking lie, Rys. You could’ve told me he was coming here. That there was a chance I’d see Jim again. Instead, you… and I—”

I stop short. Even now, I can’t bring myself to regret anything that’s happened between me and Rys. And it’s not like it was his idea to sleep together after we made it back to his home. I’m the one who approached him, who basically begged for his touch before offering myself up to him on a silver platter. He tried to stop me. Maybe not that hard, but he tried. I wouldn’t let him.

“You told me to leave him behind in the Iron,” I remind him instead. “Why couldn’t you do the same thing?”

I know the answer to that. It’s because Rys is fae. The guards in Siúcra might have derided him, calling him a traitor and “human lover”, but that doesn’t change what he is. As one of the ethereal, magical, powerful race, he’s used to his opinion being the only one that matters; being a soldier and a guard only convinced him he was even better than most of his own kind. I’m just a lowly human. How could I ever stand a chance?

Maybe it’s a good thing that we can’t be together. If Rys made every decision for me, how long before I grew to resent him the same way I did Jim?

“I did what I thought was for the best.”

“What you thought.” Because it doesn’t matter what I thought, huh? It’s one thing to know it; it’s another to hear him admit it so casually.

Oof.

My hands are shaking. I’m that freaking angry now.

No, not angry.

Furious.

Before I drop my palette, I set it down on top of the mahogany dresser, then perch my hands on my hips. Some of the paint smeared along the side of my right hand wipes off on my white shirt.