“Oh, extremely,” I say casually. “I would likely need a guard with me.”
Samson’s face falls. “And here I am, nothing more than a secretary.”
Ach, he’s playing. He knows he has me. So I lean forward and kiss that smirk right off his lips.
His arms wrap around my waist, lifting me a little as he spins me so I’m pressed against the rough wood wall of the stable. His lips devour mine, his hands sliding up, tangling in my hair, the loose braid I started with this morning long since undone.
He kisses me like he’s only alive when we touch.
And when he pulls away, I think,I’ve seen magic all my life, but I’ve neverfeltit until now.
Breathless, we let the world spin away for one more minute. When I peek up at him through my lashes, I can tell he’s as reluctant to step back into our lives as I am.
“Now,” I say, tapping him on the nose, “let’s go save the queen from an assassination that’ll throw Scotland into a war that would terrorize both this world and the fae one and end in countless bloody deaths.”
“I can’t believe how boring this country is. Nothing exciting ever happens,” Samson grumbles, his eyes alight with mirth.
We separate at the castle, me to Mary, him to Darnley. It’s stillearly, at least according to the feasting schedule—nothing will happen until the sun sets. The celebrations of the night before mean most of the castle is moving slowly, resting before another night of revelry. I am not surprised in the least to find Mary still in bed, slathering a scone with marmalade. It’s late in the day for breakfast, but from the looks of things, she’s just risen.
“It helps,” she says when I sit down in the cushioned chair near the bed.
I raise my eyebrows in question.
She licks the knife, orange jam coating her tongue. “With the headaches.”
Mary, Queen of Scots, is hungover.
That’s going to make this conversation delightful.
“I need to speak to you,” I say bluntly.
“Where have you been?” Mary wrinkles her nose. “You smell like a horse.”
“I’ve been uncovering a plot where your husband has been working with Red Caps in an attempt to murder you and throw Scotland into war,” I say.
Mary takes a bite of scone, her eyes widening.
“Your Highness, we need to lock the castle down,” I say. “Banish Darnley to one of the other royal residencies, if not the dungeons, while I investigate how far this goes. They’re targeting you specifically, and Darnley has allies—both fae and not. Strategically, we can close off the castle grounds, ensure the loyalty of everyone here, and defend both Scotland and your life from this secure location.”
“Oh.” Mary takes another bite of her scone, orange marmalade dripping onto her bed cover. Then she shakes her head. “No.”
“No?”
Mary winces; my voice was a bit too loud. “You’re forgetting something very important,” she says, and I’m not sure if her words come out a little slurred because she’s already cramming more scone in her mouth or because she’s actually still drinking wine.
I mentally go over every plan I made during the ride from Moyra’s bog back to Stirling. I’ll pull aside Cockburn and Strathglass to help me close ranks with the nobles—they’re Leths and powerful enough in court to get things done. The brownies can help me listen in on any secret meetings. I trust the staff implicitly and have already worked with Joseph to ensure wages are fair and any complaints are taken care of, which will help, I hope, with any thoughts of bribery or treachery. I can’t do much with the political guests—ambassadors and nobles from other courts. I cannot eliminate every risk, of course, but my plan is pretty solid, and…
“What have I forgotten?” I ask, flummoxed.
Mary rolls her eyes. “The party tonight.”
“We’ll cancel that, obviously,” I say. Mary planned for more than a week of official celebrations for the young prince’s christening, and I know there are several more unofficial ones in the works, but the religious deed is done, and these ongoing festivities are expensive, unnecessary, and too great a risk.
“Cancel?” Mary looks more affronted by this than the death threat I just delivered. “Absolutely not.”
“Mary, you have to be reasonable—”
“I am!” She raises her goblet to her lips, holding up a finger to silence me while she drinks. “This damned country is wet and cold and miserable ninety percent of the year, and the worst of it is right now. The only thing that keeps me from ripping out my hair and fleeing back to Paris is the fact that we can turn this castle into a little oasis of joy. You’ll not take that away from me.”
