My bestie snorted, and I couldn’t really blame him. “To be fair, no one has eyes as pretty and distinctive as yours, so I’d say that’s a valid clue.”

“That’s what Cair said!” Alex hummed around a gulp of his drink as if he’d expected my mate to be on his wavelength. I carried on. “I’m not totally stupid, okay? I know there’s every chance we go to this farm in the Outerlands and he’s not there, or he is and he’s a dick, or he just doesn’t want to know me, but if that happens, I won’t really be any worse off than I am now. We can just try a different path or figure out another way to get the closure I need. It’s still worth a shot.”

Cair was already ninety percent sure this guy was my father, so I wasn’t as worried on that front as I was by the possibility that he could be… disappointing. For years, my mom had refused to mention him, hated the Fae because of whatever he’d done, so of course I was wary. Cair remembered very little about his character except for the brief interactions they’d shared and what he’d heard from others. When I’d probed him for more details before bed last night—anything at all that he could remember—he’d said that he’d seemed kind. Gentle, even. Too gentle to be so close to the king. He’d assisted the Fae in Edenglas, fought for their rights, and worked tirelessly for the good of the people. It all sounded so admirable and promising, but could he really be a good guy after so many centuries acting under the orders of the king?

Or was he a victim trying to survive just the same as everyone else?

Like so many other questions I had, I couldn’t be certain of the answers until I found him, and even if this path ended in disaster, or we reached a dead end and had to keep searching, I was willing to follow whatever breadcrumbs were laid out to reach any sort of conclusion.

A happy and stress-free reunion preferred, obviously.

“Hey, you’re not stupid at all,” Alex scolded me, almost knocking over his glass with how carelessly he set it down. “You follow your curiosity, and you’re persistent about it. Two of the many things I love about you.” He reached forward to ruffle my hair, and I narrowed my eyes.

“Are you drunk?”

He reeled back in offense, but after a brief pause for self-reflection, he shrugged. “Maybe, but my point still stands. I love you.”

“It’s not even ten a.m.”

“Don’t judge me. You’ve had just as many as I have!”

“Mine are mocktails,” I clarified. “As in nonalcoholic.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened a fraction, and he let out a sheepish giggle. “Oops.”