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"I hope you haven't left any scars," she said, frowning. She didn't want to go back to her normal life and have to explain to everyone why she had claw marks slashed across her face.
"I swear on my honour, no lifelong scars," he reassured her. "I didn't scratch you hard enough to leave any."
She nodded, satisfied with his answer. She supposed she'd find out eventually if he was lying anyway. Besides, she thought to herself, wasn't there some rule that the fey couldn't straight up lie?
His hands were still gently massaging the ointment into her skin, his touch leaving warm trails up and down her arms. Her visions of the future swam to the forefront of her mind, and she swallowed nervously.
"C-can you tell when I'm thinking of you?" she asked.
"Huh? Oh. That's an Archfey thing," he replied. "Something to do with them being powerful enough to receive prayers and worship and the like. No mortals bound to me, no telling when I'm being thought of, I suppose."
She nodded in contemplation.
"Why? You thinking of me in ways you wouldn't want me knowing about?" he asked, his voice sly. She shook her head, her cheeks warming. She was supposed to be angry with him, she reminded herself.
"I just don't want you to know all of the murderous thoughts I've had about you," she retorted, standing up and pulling her arm from his grasp. "I'm going to bed."
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