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I tilt my head and practically pour the tea down my throat.
“Okay,” Evie says. “The trunks haven’t arrived yet, and the Winter fairies are starting to show signs of going into heat. The females are becoming moody and rather…” Evie leans in and whispers, “bitchy.”
I promised trunks upon trunks of nesting supplies delivered straight from the Summer Court, which means they expect not only trunks, but the finest beddings, the highest thread counts that make the body feel like it’s resting on a cloud.
While freaking out about delayed packages, I smile as if everything is dandy. “The lycans will deliver,” I tell Evie, but we both know I’m speaking to everyone, since they’re all listening. “They always do.” They always have delivered when Rohan sailed with his crew, but since he’s passed on the captain’s hat to his son, Duane, there have been delays.
Granted, Duane delivers the goods as well. But it’s usually at the very last moment, and that means I worry more than I should and have to start contingency planning. In the Summer Court, I know what I’m working with. Every tailor is at my disposal and willing to help with the season’s preparations. But out here in the Winter Court, the staff is already stretched thin and the tailors are few and far between.
“Milady.” A pretty, young Winter fairy wearing only undergarments approaches and curtsies before speaking eagerly. “I believe the lycans arrived last night.”
I stand abruptly. “Why has no one notified me?”
She swallows and steps back, so I turn and chug my tea. It does calm the nerves. I look at the hairdresser. “We’re going to need a barrel of this tea.” I turn toward the female who approached the table. “Join me for a walk.” The moment we exit the common area, I move away from the door and motion the female to approach.
She does so reluctantly.
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Winter, milady.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
Her gaze drops, and I note the subtle slackening of her shoulders. “It’s a commoner name, milady.”
That is true. But judging by the subtle scent of cherry blossoms coming from her voluptuous, shiny, dark brown hair and the smoothness of the skin of her face and neck, as well as the lack of lines or cuts on her elegant hands, the female is highborn.
“The nameWinteris the equivalent ofAugustain the Summer Court, and Augusta is your queen.”
The female’s eyes widen, and she drops to her knees, fingers clutching my robe. “I meant no offense to our queen. Please don’t tell my king. He’ll have my head for speaking ill of her.”
I grab her hands and tug so she will rise back up. “You offended no one, least of all Augusta. She is a kind queen, and your king can be merciful.”
She is nodding.
“I’ll tell you a secret. Do you promise to keep it?”
The female nods rapidly. “Sever my head if not.”
I make a sour face. “Okay, that’s violent.”
“It’s a saying in our court.”
Lovely. “King Aamako only cares about preserving the throne for his heir and eliminating threats against his mate. Do you plan to overthrow him?”
The female shakes her head. “Not me, no. But my brother-in-law died in the attempted coup. He sided with the prince regent, and now my sister is hiding and has sent me here to try to make amends for our family.”
“Tell her all is forgiven. Tell her the Winter Court is starting anew.”
She doesn’t seem convinced, and there’s no amount of soothing that will change her mind. Time will heal these wounds and bring back the Winter fae people. If they can hold the winter balls during the season, it will restore some of the faith in the Crown. If not, I dare say the Winter Court shall remain in rubble, which will halt the advancement of magical fae bloodlines.
Nobody wants that, not after so many Unseelie fae bloodlines have been compromised. Granted, if the Seelie wanted to sweep in and take over the Unseelie courts, now would be a good time, but my brother is all about creating peace and prosperity.
King Aamako wants the same thing for his court. It’s just that he’s most effective in combat and not so effective in dealing with the delicate dynamics of fae peoples.
But this conversation isn’t about fae politics. “Let’s leave the king to do his kingly thing and you and me to do ours. How about the lycans?” I prompt.
The female points downstairs. “I saw them.”
