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As if this exchange had set off some sort of signal, a scurry of pages and Brownies dashed up the hill, rapidly setting up long tables draped with whimsical cloths. Their noble patrons followed behind at a more leisurely pace, though with no less fervent excitement. Falcon leaped off his throne with an excited click of his heels and went to play gracious host.
I frowned at their precipitous arrival, recalling Starling’s prediction for an extended formal lunch, and realized this meeting had been planned all along.
“If this was a foregone conclusion, why the elaborate dance with Falcon?” I muttered to Rogue.
He toyed with my flower earring, stirring the sweet scent and sending a shiver through my sensitive lobe, a sly smile drifting across his lips. “Because, darling Gwynn, the dance is the important part. How can you not know this yet?”
“I’d say that should be my next lesson, but I don’t believe you.” No, I suspected it had all been an elaborate charade, staged for my benefit. The gullible audience of one.
“What reason would I have to mislead you?”
I made an O of mock surprise. “Gosh, let me think!”
He tapped me on the nose. “Such a pretty mouth. You’ve been doing a lovely job of keeping it shut. See that you continue to do so.”
Taking my hand, he tugged me in the direction of the rapidly evolving feast. I dug in my high heels and resisted. When he turned to me this time, he wore a wary, questioning look. Good.
“I want to register a complaint.”
“Not now. We must appear to be one in our objectives.”
“I know, but I don’t like this.”
“You just don’t like that you’re not running the show.”
“Exactly how you would feel, were our positions reversed. But that isn’t all of it. I will not give you carte blanche to run my life, Rogue.”
“Have I asked for it?” Impatience shimmered through him. Oh, how he hated to be thwarted in the least little way.
“Every time I give you an inch, you take miles and miles.”
He cocked his head, not quite processing my metaphor.
“No—you have not asked for carte blanche. You simply assume it is yours.”
Rogue fiddled with his dagger. Probably wishing he’d just cut my throat in the very beginning of all this. “You endanger us both with this little tantrum. What must I do so that I can trust that you’ll behave?”
I laughed. Then stepped in and walked my fingers up his chest, looking flirtatious, I hoped. For the benefit of our observers. “You can stop manipulating me. Don’t you understand that by now? You can never trust a person you’ve manipulated, because you never know if they’re sincere or just doing what you programmed them to do.”
I tapped him on the end of his elegant nose and walked away.
“Lord Puck!” I called out. The tall fae tossed his cascading curls and danced an impromptu jig at the sight of me, then took my hand and kissed it.
“Most Powerful Lady Sorceress Gwynn.” He exclaimed with apparent delight, as if he hadn’t seen me for months, then kissed my wrist. He kissed his way up my arm, pausing between each to praise my gown, my eyes, my hair. He wore a less searing shade than usual, nearly sedate in a peacock blue lounging outfit. With his mismatched eyes, one sparkling brown, the other glass green, he still clashed. A tall feather threaded through his locks, bobbing whimsically with each kiss.
Rogue’s hand fell on the back of my neck again. I’d have to point out to him that it didn’t necessarily allow him to operate my mouth as his puppet.
Puck paused at my elbow and grinned up my arm. “And the ever-terrifyingly enigmatic Lord Rogue. Such an unexpected pleasure to have you join our merry company.”
“Oh, he’s lurking about more than you’d think,” I assured him breezily and those long fingers flexed on my neck. I glanced over my shoulder at Rogue. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
His hand stroked down and caressed my shoulder. “Any opportunity to taste the pleasures of your bed, my Gwynn.”
Touché.
In their standard mass-mind decision-making, everyone moved then to the tables, strewn with flowers and sparkling confetti. Rogue sat us at Falcon’s right hand—far too close for comfort, in my opinion—but the apparent seat for the guest of honor.
The fae noble I thought of as Navy Man sat across from us. Not in his sailing ships uniform, he nevertheless declared himself a sailor, wearing an outfit reminiscent of Humphrey Bogart in a yachting flick from the golden era.
