"I was raised, Lady," Abigail said in deference to the praise, "by a fae as well as my parents."

When Mab lifted her hand, Abigail's eyes flicked toward it, and her shoulders drew back, but she didn't visibly recoil. She stiffened, yes, with caution, but she could remind herself where she was. It was Midsummer, and they were in the land of the Fair Ones. Her escort was a fae, so none here would dare strike her, as he'd given his word that no harm would come to her. Still, she watched the hand. Just to be sure.