Sylvester’s one of the Daoine Sidhe, the first nobility of Faerie. His hair is signal-flare red, and his eyes are a warm gold that would look more natural on one of the Cait Sidhe. There’s nothing conventionally pretty about him, but when he smiles, he’s breathtaking. Even dressed in a human disguise that blunted the points of his ears and layered a veneer of humanity over his otherwise too-perfect features, his essential nature came shining through.

All the Daoine Sidhe are like that. I swear, if they hadn’t raised me, I’d hate them all on general principle.

“October, about your living conditions—”

I clapped my hands together. “Who wants coffee?”

“Please. But really, October, you know you’re always welcome at—”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Both. But . . .” He paused, eyeing me. “We’re still not having this conversation, are we?”

“Nope,” I replied cheerfully, turning to step back into the apartment’s tiny kitchen. “When I’m ready to come home for keeps, I’ll let you know. For right now? It’s hard to run a business when your mailing address is ‘third oak tree at the top of the big hill.’ ”

“You wouldn’t have to run a business if you lived in Shadowed Hills,” he pointed out.

“No, but I like running a business, Your Grace. It makes me feel useful. And it’s helping me get reconnected with everything I missed. I’m not ready to give that up yet.” I leaned out of the kitchen, passing him a mug of coffee. “Careful, it’s hot. And besides, Raysel would kill me in my sleep.”

He took the mug with a small moue of distaste, agreeing mournfully, “There is that, yes.”

Rayseline Torquill is Sylvester’s only daughter and currently, his only heir.