Once we finished the family formalities, I’d do my best to assuage some of her curiosity. But a single night wouldn’t be enough. We’d only just begun to scratch the surface.
The look my brother cast me now said he knew it, too.
And he didn’t envy me at all. Not even a little.
Chapter Twelve
Ella
“Wow, this is your room?” It was almost, well, normal. Dark, masculine colors, a desk, a sitting area with feathery throws, and a balcony overlooking the back of the estate. Oh, and a giant bed framed by two nightstands.
I ignored that part of Tray’s quarters and gazed out at the double moon instead.
This was all so unreal.
Except his father had been just like every other dad I’d ever met. Apart from the whole king thing and the fact that he didn’t look a day over twenty-five, just like his wife.
So not exactly typical, but not outwardly bizarre either.
I shook my head.
“What are you thinking about?” Tray asked, handing me a much-needed glass of water.
I chugged it before replying, my throat parched after what felt like hours of dehydration. When I finished, he plucked it from my hand and wandered over to the cooler in the corner to refill it.
“What’s making you frown like that?” he pressed as he returned with my refilled cup.
I took another sip, sighing in contentment. So refreshing. I didn’t bother asking if it was poisoned or possessed by magic. At this point, it no longer mattered. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have. Instead, he seemed rather intent on providing me with explanations. Which I was begrudgingly grateful for.
“Ella?”
I cleared my throat and met his concerned gaze. “I was thinking about Reba and Malik. They don’t look old enough to be your parents.”
“Ah, yeah, we age very differently from humankind. Our first twenty years or so are similar, then it sort of crawls for a few centuries. Most Midnight Fae live to be five or six hundred years old.” He shrugged as if this wasn’t mind-blowing information. “You’ll notice it soon when you stop aging.”
I felt like a fish out of water, gasping for breath. “I… You’re saying…” I shook my head, clearing it so I could attempt a rational thought. “I’ll live five or six hundred years?”
He nodded. “Give or take a few decades, yeah. It’s pretty standard.” He palmed the back of his neck, a glimmer of unease darkening his gaze. “We typically heal faster than mortals, and human disease doesn’t impact us, but there are certain injuries we can’t recover from.”
“Like a head-on collision car accident,” I said, understanding the discomfort in his features. “The police said she died instantly.”
“Head trauma on that scale isn’t something a fae can survive.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry, Ella.”
“For what? For my loss?” I couldn’t help the bitterness of my words. “Why does everyone say that? They should say what they really mean. I pity you.” Because that was what it was.
“I meant I was sorry for bringing up a sensitive topic,” he clarified, his posture stiffening. “But I don’t pity you, Isabella. Your life experiences are the core of your strengths. Feeling sorry for the losses you’ve endured would belittle the woman you’ve become, which would be unfair to both of us.”
My annoyance cooled, his statement throwing me off guard.
Nothing this guy said or did added up to my expectations. Each time I made up my mind on something, he did the opposite. Almost as if he was born to taunt me.
“Now what are you thinking?” he asked, suspicion in his exp
ression.
“You mean vampires can’t read minds?”
He scoffed at that. “We’re fae, sweetheart. Vampires are a legend.”