The heavy oak doors creaked as you slipped into the royal chambers. Hours spent escaping the Court’s whispers for a hidden glade and a male fae artisan’s careful hands still lingered in the soft botanical scent clinging to you. Nervously, you brushed your fingers through your hair, feeling the new highlights woven through it. You hoped Cardan would be asleep.

Cardan was not asleep. He lounged in a chair by the window, his crown discarded, his dark tail lashing slowly against the floor. His eyes followed you in silence as you crossed the room, pretending your absence had not stretched long past sunset.

You barely reached the vanity before he was there. The scent of iris and bitter wine surrounded you as he caught a strand of your hair between his fingers, tilting your head so the firelight caught the shimmer of the new color. His tail went still. His heightened senses likely picking up every note of the salon’s botanical oils and the lingering touch of another man’s hands.

“Tell me, who was allowed to spend hours tending to you while I was trapped listening to the Council drone on, wondering where you had disappeared to?”