“Funny you should be so concerned about Fomorians,” Aiyana snaps, her voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. “Given that you spent the entire time you were kidnapped fucking one.”
The room goes deathly quiet. I turn on my heel to face her, my face blanching as every single fae in the room absorbs the information. Lore’s hand slips into mine, and I feel the cool metal of a blade hidden there.
He’s offering to kill her. I don’t doubt that he could do it, too.
But my lessons circle in my brain, reminding me that Aiyana has no heir. If she dies, we’ll be stuck here until her court has found a new successor. That could take months.
“I have never fucked a Fomorian,” I enunciate every word clearly. “Unlike some fae, I know which side of the war I’m on.”
“Do you?” Aiyana demands, but I’ve already left the room.
Twenty-One
Rhoswyn
Icollapse onto the bed with an angry groan.
The new room we’ve taken over in Madoc’s home is just as nice, if not nicer than, the one we stayed in for my fever. The wide-open windows look out over the palace, and from this distance, I can pretend the gold swirling in the water isn’t a bunch of deadly fae-eating eels. The huge bed I’ve chosen to vent my frustration onto is so soft and comfortable, I’m convinced it’s been magicked into existence. The pale pastel sheets are all in shades of blue, which, combined with the soft cream colour of the stone, should be calming.
It’s not.
My clothes are still damp with the rain that started on our return, and the boat ride back to the East District was fraught with tension. I know my males were holding back until we were safely away from the palace with walls for ears.
“Don’t even start,” I mutter into the sheets.
They don’t need to tell me I screwed that up.
So much for diplomacy or being clever with my words or anything remotely queenly. I wasn’t going into that meeting to insult her, but she started it…
Okay, that’s not an excuse, but still. Suggesting I whore out my Guard? That I should take other lovers? Then, on top of that, her accusation that I might be working for the Fomorians? I scowl into the pillow, even as I debate moving closer to the fire to dry myself. Honestly, I just want to strip off this ridiculous dress and get comfortable.
“That was a mess,” I mutter into the silk. “A goddess-damned fucking—”
“Careful,” Lore chides. “Use too many naughty words, and the huntsman might use it as an excuse to put you over his knee.”
Ignoring his words, and the answering flush of heat that runs through my body, I push up so I’m lying with my weight resting on one arm and brush my hair out of my face with the other.
“I screwed that up, didn’t I?” Sighing, I finally meet Jaro’s eyes as he opens his mouth to confirm it. “Don’t answer that.”
Titania, Mab, and Maeve pop into existence beside me, sitting on the covers with me as my Guard, Prae, and Kitarni crowd around us.
“You did well,” Maeve says. “So, you don’t have the seelie patience for sweet words and diplomacy. Big deal. You showed her you weren’t a pushover. You can learn diplomacy when you’re not in the middle of a war. It’s a damn sight harder to learn to hold your own against powerful people who want to intimidate you.”
“We don’t often agree, but in this… she’s right.” Titania pats my back gently, though I can’t feel the touch. “You couldn’t see us, but we were there, and we were proud.”
“Next time,” Mab mutters. “Hold your temper if you can. If it comes to a fight and you’re angry, you’ve already lost.”
I don’t point out that—given Aiyana’s age—I’ve probably lost the second we come to physical blows. Maeve’s lessons in dodging and basic self-defence won’t do anything against a fae queen several hundred years into her prime.
That reminds me of my decision to ask Maeve to step up our training, and I nod resolutely. Now that the fever is over, learning to fight properly—to protect myself—is at the top of the agenda next to flying, and reading.
Drystan is the only one who can see and hear my guides, and his fists clench at his sides, but he doesn’t dispute what she’s saying.
“You did exactly what you needed to,” Kitarni reassures me. “Which was give us time to find Caed.”
My head snaps up. “You found him.”
Bree strokes his arm, revealing a blank patch where his nathair should be. “Espen tracked him to the dungeons. They’re holding Caed in a pit…” He trails off, and I get the sense he’s not saying something.
