They got lost in the aftermath of the meeting–how to integrate the fairies without putting them at risk. How to temper their excitement with protections they didn’t even realize they’d need. It was the kind of work no one applauded, but neither he nor Aryon needed that. They needed results.
The kitchen door swung open, and Beth stepped through, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face lit up with that familiar, effortless warmth when she spotted Aryon but when her eyes landed on him, that smile hardened. Not angry, exactly, but guarded.
He wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t left her much room for anything else, really.
Gael sighed.
Not that it mattered.
Beth was human. And he, for all that he wished it didn’t define him, was High Blood, bound up in a web of expectations he couldn’t simply shake loose. It wasn’t a formal law, but it was there. You didn’t mix bloodlines unless you were ready to pay the price.
Not only that. She was a waitress. Yes, she basically helped Elara and Aryon run the pub as if it were her own, but it wasn’t. He could only imagine the fit his mother would throw if he ever united with a human waitress.
Uncomfortable with where his thoughts had drifted, he took a long sip of tea.
He didn’t want to unite with anyone. That had been simply an ill use of normal words. Come on.
Would he like to know her?
Yes, sure.
There was just something about her. Beth’s beauty didn’t shout. It lingered. It was a loveliness that stays with you longerthan you’d expect. Nothing about her was manufactured or polished to catch attention. Just a warm, practical curiosity that radiated from her like sunlight soaking into stone.
That was bound to be interesting.
But no matter how tempted he was to learn her, to be around someone who saw past titles, there was no path forward. Not one he was allowed to take. She could not be anything, no matter how many times he caught himself looking.
She walked up to their table, settling close to Aryon and across from him, that polite smile fixed carefully in place. Her hair was twisted into a tight bun on top of her head, leaving the delicate line of her unadorned neck exposed.
Gael didn’t let himself stare, but his gaze still caught there for a moment longer than it should have. He didn’t even know why she got to him like this.
Aggravating woman.
It had started years ago, with something simple: a glance, nothing more. He’d been visiting the pub, waiting on Aryon, when he looked over and saw her behind the bar, stacking glasses. The light had filtered through the old oak beams and painted her in gold.
And something in him had just... paused. Like a rhythm he’d known forever suddenly missed a beat.
Curious, he’d opened his senses slightly, brushing against her emotional current the way he could do without effort. He’d found sorrow. Not loud or dramatic, but a sadness held with grace and pride. And it had struck him, not with pity, but with that ache you feel when something beautiful is also breaking. He’d shut himself off quickly, but the impression had remained.
After that, checking her aura when he visited, just a passing sweep, never enough to violate, had become a habit. And he’d been glad, genuinely, to see her flourishing under the gentleguard of Aryon and Elara, in the safety of Mystic Hollow. He thought about her here and there, sure. Briefly.
But that was as far as it could ever go.
Because of who he was, and who she wasn’t.
So Beth had remained a secret he kept tucked behind layered shields, the kind only an elf with his control could keep. No one ever saw it. Not even Valerian. At least, not until the party.
Gael didn’t dare lower his shields to skim her emotions now. There was no need, anyway, the daggers she was throwing at him with her eyes were vivid enough.
“Would you like something to eat?” she asked, voice sugar-sweet and sharp as glass.
“Thank you, Beth, but we had something at the meeting. Maybe some more tea, if you can.” Aryon said smoothly, possibly picking up the odd energy. “You opened this morning, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Every year during Litha, we work you too much. You’ve missed your garden. Go back to it.”
Gael should’ve kept his mouth shut. He really should have. But the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Do you garden, then?”
