Page 50 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

Veles raises one eyebrow. It’s not a reprimand; it is a challenge, and my cheeks burn. Dante watches him now, unabashed, and Veles turns his attention from me.

“There are a few other pets here,” he says. “Should you stay awhile, you will undoubtedly come to meet them.”

“Others?” Dante asks.

Veles nods. He turns slightly, indicating one of the low sofas at the back of the room. Three men occupy it, each of them young and lithe and glowing, but also undeniably human.

“They have been with us for some time. Far more time than they ever would have had in your realm.”

Dante says nothing. He stares at them, wide-eyed and almost confused, then drops his gaze again and takes the tiniest step closer to me.

Even if I could declare him my soulbond—and I would, in a heartbeat I would—then those pets still might end up his only company. I know no other high fae with a human soulbond. I am certain that most fae who have them leave this realm entirely.

It was not made for them. Even now, I watch the way one of the pets laughs, glassy-eyed and flushed. He has a faint, shining scar down his right cheek and pats another pet on the shoulder before he takes an overeager sip of his wine.

His laugh is hollow.

“There are a few candidates you could choose to sit on the other throne,” Veles says, all his warnings and cryptic statements apparently forgotten. “If you like, I am more than happy to discuss them with you.”

I nod. I know I will likely take him up on the offer; I do not know these fae well enough to make that decision alone. I can assess their raw power, but the crowns are heavy and I need someone who can withstand that weight alongside me.

“Enjoy the rest of the ball, Your Highness.”

He inclines his head to Dante, too, before he walks away, and I signal over one of the fae serving tonight, a kelpie who is wearing half of her glamour. She offers me a tray of wine and I take one glass before I wave her away.

“I would offer you some,” I murmur, “but I fear it would be too strong.”

Dante huffs. “Probably.”

Some fae are already dancing. A few are in pairs, but most are in groups, and the flute players speed up as they move faster. I spot Grant across the room, chattering away to a small group of gancanagh who already seem completely enamoured of him. Every so often, his gaze sweeps the area where Dante and I are standing.

“Do you think she’ll be here soon?” Dante says, and I take a sip of the wine. It is tart, flavour bursting on my tongue, and I wonder if Dante will taste sweeter.

He asked a question. I nod. “Most likely. The party will continue until sunrise. Almost all of the guests should already be here.”

He is careful in the way he moves, but I know not all the eyes on him are confused or judging me for apparently bringing a pet when I have found my soulbond. No. Many of these fae covet him, and—I look at the other pets again. Each of them wears a collar, thin chains and necklaces that glint in the light when they move. Other fae know better than to touch.

I could have offered Dante one under the guise of him wearing jewellery. He would not know to ask what it truly meant. But I could not bring myself to do it, even as I want to see something on him that claims him as mine. The colours are not enough.

I take another drink of my wine. A deeper one this time, and Dante stands a little more rigidly next to me.

“Are you all right?” he says.

“Fine,” I reply curtly. “Come. We should meet more fae.”

I sweep off without another word and Dante follows me, sticking by my side as we spend the next hour speaking with groups of fae. Our castle is the heart of the Otherworld, being as the crowns reside here, but many of these fae own their own estates and land beyond our reach, though being on the Unseelie court is an honour, even for them.

I am surprised to find no Seelie here, the tailor’s soulbond being an exception. Zomo has been gracious enough to invite them both to the ball, likely in view of their work today, and as far as I have seen, no one has bothered them.

“It is an honour to have you back,” one of the high fae says. She is young, maybe only two centuries old, and her red hair has been artfully arranged to fall around her face. When she meets my eyes, she blinks slowly and smiles. “We have held out hope for one of our princes to return.”

“I never thought I would return here,” I reply. “You are…?”

“Nuala Aeferthe.” She ducks her head. “My mother, Remiette, sent me. She served on your mother’s court.”

I nod. I remember her, though nothing particularly stands out in my mind. I always did my best not to spend too much time with members of the court. But Nuala seems keen for me to acknowledge her, and it is only when Dante shifts his weight, moving infinitesimally closer to me, that I understand her true intentions.

Soulbond or not, Nuala would like to sit on the throne, and she believes that her appearance and charm will be enough to secure that position.