A group of costumed players with long furry tails and horns dances by. The tails are…definitely not real, and at least one of them has the appearance of another crass appendage, much to the scandalized glee of some nearby ladies. The horns are real, although attached by some sort of sticky glue to the people’s foreheads.
My eyes go to the shadows in the corners of the hall.
Finally.
The glaistigs have arrived.
Humans must be truly dense to not be able to tell the difference between these half-drunk costumed players and real fae creatures even with a glamour. The Green Lady herself stalks the crowd, eyes sharp. She’s watching someone in particular, and when she notices me looking at her, she tilts her chin toward the object of her gaze.
Most of the people here are in masks, and the man she stares at is no different, although his mask seems like a last-minute addition, little more than the kind a highwayman would wear. Regardless, it does nothing to hide his shock of bright red hair, vividly fiery even in a room full of Scotsmen.
Samson.
Samson.
How dare he be here? He should be halfway back to London by now, and yet he’s here? There are enough people in the crowd that perhaps he thought to avoid my notice, and he did, at least for a bit. But I can feel every sense in my body zeroing in on him.
He will not escape my notice again.
The Green Lady turns her attention elsewhere, evidently judging Samson, who she can tell is a powerful Leth, is not a clear threat. Or at least not a threat I can’t handle. Personally.
“Alyth?” Joseph asks as I stride away.
I barely hear him. I may have a wee bit of a temper, but I have never been so enraged as this exact moment. I told him to go. I gave him a chance to escape. I should have dragged him by the ear to the border and let the reivers take him across. It’s not my fault he didn’t listen, and now I’m going to—
“Alyth?”
Fecking hell. Theonlyperson in this hall with the power to stop me in my tracks right now is the fecking queen of fecking Scotland.
I take a shaky breath in.
Hold it.
And remind myself that the entire royal court is masked and on show here.
A tight smile stretches across my face as I turn, dipping into a curtsy. The queen wasn’t announced, but that’s not unusual. Mary loves a masquerade—she loves any event where she can wear a costume and a mask and pretend to not be herself for a few hours. When she first came back to Scotland, before Darnley, when she still had joy in her life, she’d dress up as a man and go down to the pubs. There’s little chance for such escapes as that now.
“Your Highness,” I say, lowering my head respectfully.
“Is all well?” A look of concern twists her lips. I’ve not told her about Samson, but I did inform her that her husband was to be trusted even less than normal.
“It will be soon enough.” Soon as I slit that Englishman’s throat.
Or…I swallow dryly, thinking of the needle. Perhaps not quite that far.
She flicks her fingers to me, a summons. I step closer, our bodies angling toward the wall. In the center of the room, some men have started a fake siege of the fake castle built of wood in the hall, and while the musical players are attempting to drown out the shouting, it’s all just mindless cacophony bleeding into the edges of my still-burning rage. Through it all, I keep the bulk of my attention on Samson as he weaves idly through the crowd.
“I am hopeful that my…problem will soon be taken care of,” the queen says.
I don’t have time for this. Samson is an actual threat; Darnley is just a pain in the arse. I shake my head, trying to control my temper. That’s not true. Darnley should be my focus. Samson is a pawn. Gods damn both men; I can hardly keep up with who I should hate more.
“I have been considering the future,” Mary continues tentatively, unaware of the furious thoughts in my mind. “I shall need a new king—”
We’re alone enough for me to be true. “God’s own bollocks, Mary, you need no such thing. Scotland wants you. You’re the queen, and you have terrible taste in men.”
Mary’s eyes go wide. “I’ll remind you that I—”
“I’ll remind you that you were tricked once by a pretty face, and you didn’t bother listening to all the others, including me, who warned you Darnley could control glamours. Now you’re stuck with him—”
