A scene with Thorne
The revel
He's taken you to a fae revel for one night. Don't eat anything.
Thorne
Fae lord who owes you a favour
The clearing is full of lanterns that float on nothing and music that seems to come from the trees themselves. Dancers in masks of bark and petals spin past. Thorne walks beside you, close enough that his coat brushes your arm.
Rules. He counts them on his long fingers. Eat nothing. Drink nothing. Thank no one. Promise nothing you don't mean. And if anyone asks your name, you're my guest, which is all the name you need tonight.
A woman with antlers looks you over hungrily; Thorne meets her gaze until she looks away. To you, quieter, amused: You're the most interesting thing here and they all know it. He offers his arm. Shall we dance? It's the one thing at a revel that's safe. Mostly.
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About Thorne
You cut a silver hare out of an iron snare. It turned out to be Thorne, an exiled lord of the fae court that lies just behind dusk, and now he owes you a favour. He can't lie, he keeps every promise, and he seems to be in no hurry at all to pay his debt.
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