Page 2 of Welcome to Fae Cafe
“You mean to tell me that you waltzed in here with that sanctimonious attitude and expected to get this for free? Are you just discourteous or do you have a forbearance disorder? Is your brain a miniscule raisin?” She chose big words on purpose, though she wasn’t sure if it made her sound smart. Or if she’d used any of them correctly.
The guy tore the coffee away, and Kate shrieked. Hot liquid branded her fingers and left a flower-shaped puddle on the counter.
“I’ll be off, then,” the guy announced.
He turned to leave, and heat flushed Kate’s neck. Her fingers tightened around her book. The next thing she knew, she was throwingBella Stoneat the back of his head. Thethwackof a cozy manuscript hitting a complete arse had a nice tune to it.
The guy’s coffee splattered to the floor along with Kate’s novel. The coffee shop went dead quiet, the only sounds left being the muffled car engines outside and Kate’s heavy breathing. If the coffee drinkers didn’t already assume Kate was weird and crazy by her morning of mumbling out loud, they would now. Her table would be hers forever.
“You’re not leaving until you apologize,” Kate said from a dry throat, shrinking beneath three dozen alarmed stares. She jutted her thumb toward the pale-faced cashier. “You can’t just treat people like that—”
The guy whirled, and Kate jumped at the look in his eyes. She couldn’t pull her stare away from the poisonous lustre of hungry death glowering back at her. Her mouth moved, but the words she wanted were frozen on her tongue. She managed to squeak out, “I—”
He charged.
Kate stumbled back into the counter as the guy’s splayed fingers rushed toward her throat. Her body jerked into the only martial arts move she remembered, and she kicked him.
Her strike landed harder than she meant it to. She watched in dismay as the guy wheeled backward, his arms spinning as he slipped on the spilled coffee and flew into the nearest table.
When his head struck the tabletop, thethudwas loud enough to drown out the bustling city noise. His limbs went slack, and he rolled onto the floor, his golden eyes staring up at nothing.
Time slowed. A tense silence rang through the café like an icy breath of winter wind.
A woman shrieked in the corner.
The cashier behind the counter gasped.
The sudden urge to barf up the croissant daily special onto the floor trickled into Kate’s abdomen as it became apparent to the early morning coffee drinkers that Kate Kole had just killed someone.
2
Prince Cressica and How It All Began
Two Faeborn Days Ago
(In A Very Different Setting)
The Hall of Silver was a gaudy place, tossed with tinsel and wreaths for the two months of Yule ceremonies. The air was frost-kissed from the natural North Corner chill, only warmed by the enchanted fireplaces crackling with glowing red logs and the whispers of fairies who’d left tricks inside them. Spiked citrus drinks were carried in by lesser fairies in burlap gowns and rope shoes, and small-self fairies buzzed in the heights of the vaulted crystal ceilings, lighting the room like a scatter of stars.
Harpists and flutists performed ancient melodies of merriment for the visiting nobles from each of the Four Corners of Ever. The representatives congregated around a banquet table piled high with spiced meat and colourful fruit for the first Yule feast.
Cress stepped in, and a hush came over the Hall. Only the bravest High Lords of the Ever Corners stole glances at the fairy Prince. The rest dipped their heads and avoided eye contact while the stares of lonely females prickled his back like warm elfshots. He strode into the quiet banquet, his nose twitching at the scent of cinders polluting the room.
From the banquet table, High Lord Bonswick flashed Cress his crooked smile. The Lord of the East had his leg propped up on the chair beside him. Cress knew no faeborn fool would dare try to claim the seat. “Welcome back. Watch out for poison, Prince,” Bonswick said, then leaned forward to whisper, “No one likes you here.”
Cress’s cold turquoise gaze settled on the High Lord. The other fairy males cowered and shifted in their seats as Cress approached the table, but Bonswick winked.
“They’re too afraid of me to like me,” Cress said.
“Right.” Bonswick dragged his leg back to himself and sat up. “What’s worse, everyone?” he called down the row. “To be disliked, or to be feared?”
Noble representatives looked at each other in question, some hiding smirks as they no doubt guessed the High Lord of the East was up to no good.
“Or both?” Bonswick’s glassy silver eyes darted back to Cress, his mouth twisting into a smile. “I suppose both is worst of all.”
“Shall I get your chair, Prince?” A calm, male voice cut into the cold tension, and the sound of a chair sliding out echoed over the banquet. Cress glanced over to find Mor casting him a knowing look. Mor’s black assassins’ gloves tightened on the backrest of Cress’s chair when Cress didn’t sit right away. Cress took his seat without another word.
“Aren’t the two of you cute?” Bonswick fluttered his black lashes. “Would you like to get my chair, too, Mor? Or do you only pull out chairs for North faeborn monsters?”
