I was aware. A human who appeared from thin air with no explanation beyond a story so absurd it almost had to be eithertruth or masterful deception. Still, there was one point I couldn’t shake. “Agents from where? We are at peace.”
“The Farewild. Dark magic.”
The Queen’s eyes moved between Frost and me. She was still smiling, but the smile had sharpened. Delsynarea had not held her throne for several thousand years by missing details.
I frowned. “If he believes he’s in a dream, it might be to our advantage to let him acclimate before questioning.”
“Acclimate?” Frost eyed Pip. “Your Majesty, I strongly recommend a formal interrogation. Perhaps some torture.”
Pip, now on his fifth honey cake, was studying a tapestry with his head tilted. He looked carefree, his head tilted as he studied the tapestry. He was either genuinely oblivious to the rising tension, or so skilled at feigning it that I couldn’t spot the seams.
The Queen turned to me. The amusement was still there, but underneath it was the iron that had kept her on the throne through wars and betrayals and centuries of politics. “Aeldryc. You will interrogate him. Thoroughly.” She paused. “We want to know everything.”
Frost caught my eye across the room, and nodded. We were, for once, in complete agreement.
Pip paused mid-chew. He glanced at me, not a flicker of concern in those blue eyes.
He turned back to the Queen, leaned in, and said: “How thoroughly?”
Chapter 3
Pip
I’ddonemushroomsonce,at a bonfire in Topeka when I was seventeen, and the whole experience had been soft edges and melting colors and a profound conviction that the grass was trying to communicate with me. If this was a hallucination, it was not like any I’d ever had. But also, if this was real, it would be terrifying, so I was holding on to my delusions with every ounce of willpower I had.
Also, the chilly guy had mentioned torture. I took a deep breath, glancing at the fae soldier who was leading me down a long corridor, lecturing me about how to properly behave myself in front of a queen. I was 25% listening, 75% panicking. Because he had moved on to a list of the laws I’d broken.
But I didn’t need to worry about obscure laws for royal audiences, because it was all a dream. Real life handed me overdue bills, club shifts, a passive-aggressive landlord.
Real life also did not hand me a six-foot-nine leather daddy with forearms like bridge cables and a bulge that made me want to drop and beg.
Perhaps I’d taken mushrooms and gone to sleep. That would account for the vivid dreams. And if my subconscious had gotten its shit together enough to produce something this detailed, I needed to figure out how to enjoy the hell out of it.
Aeldryc had to duck as he led me through the doorway into an interrogation room. Wow, men being so tall they had to duck was sexy. Why was that?
The torch caught the planes of his face, the cheekbones, jaw, the sharp tips of those pointed ears, and made everything look carved from warm bronze. Shit, I couldn’t believe I’d yanked on his ear to test if it was removable.
Good thing it was a dream.
He reached for a sheet of paper and what appeared to be an inkwell and quill. A quill. Like he was going to take notes about me with a feather. My subconscious committed to the aesthetic.
“Sit down,” he said.
I sat, eye-level with his dick. Maybe my dream interrogation would include being coerced into giving a sexy leather-clad man a blow job. I would not complain.
He sat across from me, putting the table between us, blocking my view of his good bits.
“State your full name,” he said.
“Pippin Thomas Crane.” I leaned forward, smiling just enough to make sure he knew I was up for whatever was about to happen. “But you can call me whatever you want.”
He wrote on the paper, handwriting precise and exquisite, quill moving in sharp strokes. His forearms flexed, tendons shifting under skin. I tracked it like a cat on a laser pointer.
“Where are you from?”
“San Jose. California.”
He looked up. “Is California the country?”
