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Her stomach turned since she knew what was coming.
The minute Gillian was out the door, he scooted over, placing himself so close to her she could smell the rank heat of his body under his layers of proper clothing. No true country Fae would wear such fancy clothes, but the mayor liked to pretend he was going to the palace instead of running a small agricultural province.
“Now, my dear, have you given any thought to my proposal?”
Bron had to force herself to smile. She decided to go for simpering and brainless. “I have thought of little else.”
Since the moment the man who could have been her grandfather had blandly proposed marriage to her, she’d tried to think of anything but that old goat getting his hands on her.
A sly smile crossed his face. “Well, then, shall we announce it tomorrow at the festival?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, sir. I don’t think I would make a good mayor’s wife. I’m a simple country girl.” She’d hoped for more time. She’d rather hoped that the man would find a wife at court who suited him more. He’d spent the last two months there.
He shook his head, reaching for her hand. His were clammy and soft, the hands of a man who’d never done an honest day’s work. “Not at all, my dear. You’re actually quite well educated. As is your sister. Your manners are far beyond a mere country girl. You have everything required to be an excellent wife for me. Once you’ve been cleaned up and are in proper attire, you’ll be quite pretty. You’ll fit right in. And I’m going places, Isolde. I spoke to King Torin himself. Our little kingdom is changing. He’s bringing us back to our rightful place. The Vampire Council is going to acknowledge Torin as the rightful king.”
She was sure she’d turned a little green. If the Vampire plane acknowledged Torin, the others would follow.
If Micha noticed, he didn’t show it, merely continued talking in his most pretentious tone. “King Torin was very interested in our little province, I tell you. Once he sees how well I enact his new laws, he’s going to understand that I should be given a much bigger place in the ruling class. But before I can request a new assignment, I truly must have a wife and family in place.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Mayor.” She stammered out the words, not sure how to extricate herself.
His face turned cold, his thin lips nearly disappearing. “Well, you’re not supposed to think, are you, dear? Do you know what I think? I think it’s odd that a girl your age hasn’t married and had children. You’re what? Twenty-five?”
She nodded, not wanting to explain that she was actually twenty-seven.
“And your sister is at least ten years older. Odd then that she’s avoided marriage.” He leaned in, his words a cold chill running down her spine. “Some people around here whisper that your sister hasn’t married because she’s too busy practicing magic. I don’t like that rumor, do you?”
Tears threatened, angry, frightened, utterly impotent tears. “No. I don’t like it.”
That rumor would get Gillian strung up, and no amount of magic would stop it. Gillian could try, and she might take out a few, but Gillian’s magic tended to be more about helping than defending. And no matter how often Bronwyn trained with sword and knife and bow, she couldn’t stop the troops by herself.
“Can you think of any way to quell such a rumor?”
Bastard. “I think no one would believe it if her sister married someone as important as the mayor.”
He had her in a corner, and he knew it. They would be forced to flee, but not before the harvest. Everything they had was invested in that wheat, and until they had the coins in their pockets, there was nothing to do but agree and pray that planning a wedding took lots of time.
“Excellent.” He sat back, completely satisfied. “Pass me one of those lovely sandwiches, dear. And pour me some tea.”
Feeling like one of the clockwork dolls her cousin, Dante, had loved to bring her from the Vampire plane, she moved as though wound up and set to a task. Pass sandwich. Pour tea. Don’t thrust the knife in his neck.
“See, you do that with such grace. An excellent wife indeed. And I was describing you to the Queen. What a beauty. She’s eager to meet you, dear. I believe she’s planning a visit in the next few months.”
She passed him the tea and prayed Gillian found something stronger. She was going to need it. And she was going to need to run. The last thing she could do was meet the queen. Bronwyn had already met her—on the day the queen had pledged herself to Beck and Cian. Queen Maris had eagerly entered their uncle’s bed.
The mayor chatted on, but Bron prayed for darkness. Sleep was the only place she felt safe.
* * * *
Lach took his seat at the far end of the table, a bit of bitterness spreading through his veins.
“Don’t.” Shim sat down beside him, smoothing over the clean tunic he’d donned for this meeting. “You know why he does it.”
King Fergus sat in the middle of the long table on his throne. This was the room he used to receive his guests. It was a large hall that could hold a banquet or play host to a series of negotiations. Long ago, the twin smaller thrones that should have been set for the princes of the realm had been moved out, leaving room only for the king.
“Father is an idiot. He makes us look weak.”
“Because he thinks we are weak.” Shim sighed and looked up the table at the host of Fae their father considered more important. Including the Seelie twins. “He thinks we’re dying.”
