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Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.
—Christina Rossetti, "In an Artist's Studio"
In the darkness of early dawn, Corny woke to distant bells and the thunderous pounding of hooves. He rolled over, disoriented, sore, and filled with sudden panic. Somehow he'd gotten his leather jacket back on, but the edges of the sleeves looked tattered. His wrists ached and when he inadvertently pulled against the shoelace that tied them, it made them hurt more. His mouth tasted sour.
Realizing he was still in the Seelie Court explained the dread and the discomfort. But when he saw Luis, wrapped in Kaye's purple coat, cheek pillowed against the burl of a nearby blackthorn tree, he remembered the rest. He remembered what an idiot he'd been.
And the agonizing softness of Luis's lips.
And the way Luis had brushed Corny's hair off his face while he puked in the grass.
And the way that Luis had only been being kind.
Shame made his face hot and his eyes burn. His throat closed up at the thought of actually having to talk about it. He rolled onto his knees and stood awkwardly, physical distance the only thing that calmed him. Maybe Kaye was in the direction of the noise. If he could find her, Luis might not say anything about what had happened. He might act like it had never happened. Corny threaded his way alone through the trees, until he spotted the procession.
Silver-shod faerie horses raced past, their manes streaming and eyes glittering, the faces of the faeries on their backs covered by helms. The first rider was arrayed in dark red armor that seemed to flake like old paint, the next in white as leathery as a snake's egg. Then a black steed galloped toward Corny, only to rear up, front hooves dancing in the air. This rider's armor was as black and shining as crow feathers.
Corny stepped away. The rough bark of a tree trunk scraped his back.
The black-clad rider drew a curved blade that glittered like rippling water.
Corny stumbled, terror making him stupid. The horse trotted closer, its breath hot on Corny's face. He threw up his tied hands in warding.
The sword cut through the shoelace binding his wrists. Corny cried out, falling in the dirt.
The rider sheathed the sword and pulled off a ridged helm.
"Cornelius Stone," Roiben said.
Corny laughed in hysterical relief. "Roiben! What are you doing here?”
"I came to bargain with Silarial," Roiben said. "I saw Sorrowsap on the other side of the lake. Who bound your hands? Where's Kaye?”
"This is, um, for my own good," Corny said, holding up his wrists.
Roiben frowned, leaning forward in the saddle. "Favor me with the story.”
Reaching up, Corny touched one of his fingers to a low green leaf. It curled, turning gray. "Pretty nasty curse, huh? Tying me up with the shoelace was supposed to keep me from touching anyone by accident. At least I think that was what it was for—I don't remember everything about last night.”
Roiben shook his head, unsmiling. "Leave this place. As quickly as you can. Sorrowsap will get you safely out of the Bright Court lands. Nothing is as it seems now, apparently, not even you. Kaye— she ought—" He paused. "Tell me she's well.”
Corny wanted to tell Roiben that he could shove his bullshit pretense of caring up his ass, but he was still a little shaken by the sword so recently swung at his head. "What do you care?" he asked instead.
"I care." Roiben closed his eyes, as though willing himself calm. "Whatever you think of me, get her out of here." He leaned back in the saddle and twitched the reins. The horse stepped back.
"Wait," Corny said. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you: What's it like being a King? What's it like finally being so powerful that no one can control you?" It was sort of a taunt, sure, but Corny really wanted the answer.
Roiben laughed hollowly. "I'm sure I wouldn't know.”
"Fine. Don't tell me.”
Roiben tilted his head, his pale eyes suddenly grave. Corny was disconcerted to have the faerie Lord's full attention fixed on his face. "The more powerful you become, the more others will find ways to master you. They'll do it through those you love and through those you hate; they will find the bit and the bridle that fits your mouth and makes you yield.”
"So there's no way to be safe?”
"Be invisible, perhaps. Be worthless.”
Corny shook his head. "Doesn't work.”
