Even though I didn’t understand why hewouldbe the cat or the wolf. Why would he have wanted to spend his days and evenings with me?
Caom made a face and shook his head. I didn’t know whether I was relieved or disappointed, so I tried hard to ignore the fluttering feeling in my belly.
“Spiritsmiths can usually only change into one other form,” he told me.
“Spiritsmiths?”
He nodded. “Shapeshifters. It takes years to learn how to change into another form. Honestly, it’s almost unheard of that Lonan mastered his other form at such a young age. But then I suppose he is the Carlin’s hellspawn.”
I nodded absently, chewing on my lip.
So the cat and the wolf weren’t Lonan. Now that I really thought about it, I was just relieved. That cat had seen me naked, and the wolf had seen me cry. I didn’t think I’d be able to stand knowing the cold assassin prince had witnessed me at my most vulnerable.
But… could the cat and the wolf be other spiritsmiths? Other Folk who could change form? Something was telling me no. I was convinced they were one and the same. Couldanimalsbe spiritsmiths? If so, I wondered which one was their natural form—the cat or the wolf.
“So, go on.” Caom nudged me with his elbow. “How did you win?”
I cleared my throat. “We fought for it.”
“Well, yes. But how?”
“No, I mean we physically fought for it.”
He cocked a blond brow at me, then huffed and picked up his wine. “He let you win, then.”
“What?” I stared at him. “No he didn’t. It was a fair fight.”
Caom snorted, shooting me a look from beneath his lashes as he raised his cup to his lips.
“Ash, Lonan is fae. Not just fae—High Fae. And not just High Fae—he’s an assassin.”
My gut sank as I stared at him in silence. When he put it like that… it did sound unbelievable. Ridiculous that I could ever beat him—even match him—when it came to physical strength.
Why had he let me win?
Embarrassed anger made my cheeks get hot, and I snatched up my water and gulped some down.
“Why would he let me win?” I demanded, even though Caom wouldn’t have the answer.
Was it just another way to laugh at me—to trick me? Let the mortal think he could ever possibly beat a fae prince in any kind of competition or fight.
I wanted to find Lonan right now and demand we do it again.
“Maybe he’d been ordered to by the Carlin, in the hope that it would trigger you to shed your—”
“Yeah, maybe,” I interrupted wearily, not wanting to get into that again. “But that’s bullshit. I wanted a fair fight. I wouldn’t have cared if I’d lost. I’d been expecting to.”
“Well…” Caom shrugged timidly, tracing the rim of his cup. “At least you have a favour from the unseelie prince now. That’s something, isn’t it? What do you think you’ll use it for?”
I didn’t want to use it. I didn’t want any favours from Lonan. I wanted to rip the necklace off my throat, find him and fling it at his perfect face.
“I don’t know,” I answered Caom shortly, then forced my face to unclench from its irritated frown as I looked up at him. “I’ve had fun, but I think I’m ready to go home now. Tha—I appreciate the invitation.”
“Oh.” Caom’s face fell, and he looked around the table, which was littered with empty cups. “Alright. I’ll walk you back—”
“I’ll take him.”
The cold, husky voice made me clench up, shoulders hunching up to my ears. Everyone at the table had fallen silent, and even the normally scowling Idony was looking anywhere but at the looming prince behind me. Only Belial looked unfazed, nodding once at Lonan before taking a sip of his drink.