Page 55 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

“Dante,” Grant says softly. Ophelia scowls at me; she’s gearing up for an argument just like I am. “This might be better later on?”

“Fine,” I mutter. “You were worried.”

“I was,” Ophelia snaps back. “And then I was even more fucked off when I realised they didn’t lock the cell door.”

Grant does a double take. “Sorry, they what?”

“The bars are iron,” Oisin says, “so locking cells is not always necessary.”

“Can’t you just touch them through fabric or something?” I ask.

“We can, but the sheer presence of so much iron is taxing on us,” Lark replies. “The kind of cell Ophelia was placed in would likely have had more iron surrounding it than the bars alone. It will have been put in the walls, the floor…”

I glance at Ophelia, who shrugs. “I just walked out of there,” she says. “I was in some kind of… it seemed like a villa, really. Had no idea how I was going to get home, so I set off running. Straight into Oisin.”

He looks at her differently than he does the rest of us. I fight the urge to scoff. What, has she found her soulbond, too? Since she can apparently tell and I’ve spent years not noticing…

“Who took her then?” Lark asks Oisin.

“Why are you asking me?”

“You were in the vicinity. And a Seelie fae in the Unseelie court would not survive so long—whether my uncle is your patron or not—without being a purveyor of gossip.”

The corner of Oisin’s mouth curls up and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “A group of Seelie fae, who I often visit so I can collect their grievances and bring them to the court. Not that it does any good, of course. I found Ophelia on my way for a visit.”

“Why would Seelie fae want me to return?”

“Why would anyone?” Oisin says with a huff. “Our realm is dying, Your Highness. At this point, we will take whomever we can get.”

“Whomever?”

“I have my limits,” Oisin admits. “Hence, my terms.”

“Your terms?” Lark raises his eyebrows. “You are in no position to have terms.”

“Your uncle wants the throne, and I would rather see you on it than him.”

“That would appear to be the case for a great many fae,” Lark replies dryly, “as my uncle has not yet taken one of the crowns for himself.”

“The court wouldn’t allow it. Veles has the crowns. He said they would drain Aodhan within months, not years.”

“And yet you have been with the Unseelie court for years, Zomo said.”

Oisin nods. “I believe he has always known,” he replies slowly, “not that he has said anything, naturally. He has spent the months since your mother died putting his affairs in order. He will not be pleased to hear of your return.”

“He does not know.”

“I would assume he does by now.” Oisin shrugs when Lark frowns, and I glance over at Ophelia and Grant; they’re watching just as raptly as I am. “Any announcement would have to take place tomorrow. It would have been better tonight, but I was unable to arrive in time.”

“Get to the point,” Lark snaps, and my shoulders jump. Is Oisin hiding what he wants to do?

“Both of you need someone to wear a crown alongside you. You have sensed the extent of my magic; I am more powerful than just about any other fae in the court. You could waste time looking for another fae, or you could have me wear the other crown.”

They’ll have to bond. The thought makes me feel faintly sick.

“If I refuse?”

“If Aodhan reveals that he intends to rule with me, Veles may well change his mind.”