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A smile spread over my face. “How often do you use that on me? Or Dagda?”
“The question is not how often I do it,” she said with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “The question is, can you deny the results?”
I burst out laughing. Roisin winked and tugged me toward the door leading to the throne room. I squared my shoulders, tamping down on the nerves. I wasn’t just Queen Morrigan. I was Chelsea Herrington. There was a time I had ruled my high school, dated whoever I wanted, and got exactly what I desired out of people. It had all been an act, a way to maintain power. I wasn’t that person anymore, but I could channel her spirit for a few hours. Put on a show that the faeries of the Otherworld would never forget.
As soon as I stepped into the room, a hush fell over the attendants. The click of my heeled feet on the marble seemed the only sound in existence. I approached from behind the thrones, but I took in the outline of Dagda sitting on his, wearing a matching crown to the one Roisin had placed on me. Keelin stood to the side, in the shadows, but when he saw me, he straightened and gave the smallest gesture, indicating I should wait. I stopped, head held high, and scanned over those in attendance.
They were resplendent in their own gorgeous gowns and long silken robes, looking like airbrushed models, beautiful and elegant in a way that would verge on unnatural in the human world. They stared at me with a solemn expectation.
Keelin’s voice rang over the proceeding. “Bow before Her Royal Majesty, Queen Morrigan of Tir Tiarngire, Sacred Royal Magistrate of the Otherworld and all Faeriekind.”
A ruffle of movement, and the room was filled with those bending before me. I pressed my teeth together to ignore the pit settling in my stomach.Horse shit. Horse shit.
Dagda rose from his throne and faced me, bedecked in his fine royal regalia. His smile warmed. The glittering black jewels on the crown highlighted the deepness of his eyes. He extended a hand, and I moved to it, settling my fingers in his. My nerves smoothed into a dark sea of calm.
Show confidence in him.
I flashed him one of my signature dazzling smiles.Dagda’s grin faltered for the briefest of moments, as if he sensed its fakeness.
Staring out at the people, I realized Roisin was right. Pretend I was queen, give them what they wanted: power and grace, and they’d love me. This was my game. And I knew how to play. “You may rise,” I said, to the audience with the perfect mixture of expectation and benevolence. The faeries of the court rose, and Dagda’s hand tightened on mine in surprise.
“Are you ready?” he murmured.
I shrugged. “It's not like this is hard.”
And we moved forward into the arms of the awaiting crowd.
Laugh at the right moment. Smile. Show sympathy and compassion when it ingratiates me. Grow cold and aloof when there is a challenge to mine or Dagda’s authority. Only engage in power plays if you are sure you can win. Jokes that are sweet to those who want to adore you. Jokes that insult to those testing you. Questions, vagueness, and misdirects to avoid the truth.
We moved through the room, flowing in and out of conversations. I’d learned from Roisin the night before that there were twenty-four families, or houses, in the court, each with a different family title and crest.
Despite that, the many names and titles slipped in and out of my mind, but I wasn’t concerned. Dagda would remind me should they become important again.
His sleeveless tunic displayed the fiery swirls of his faerie guardian. A sign of power. As we advanced through the crowd, his fingers remained folded over mine. The warmth of his arm brushed against me more often than I thought necessary. Still, I stayed close, finding something comforting in his desire to be near me. Better the monster you knew than those you didn’t.
“Will you be taking part in the annual faerie tournament before Samhain, your majesty? The members of the court would be so pleased to have the house of the Royal Ones competing again,” a man in a green tunic named Tadhg asked.
“I’ve never heard of any faerie tournament,” I answered. Perhaps I shouldn’t have admitted to that bit of ignorance, but my curiosity made me want to find out more.
“Not to worry, King Dagda will explain it to you, I am sure,” he said with a self-satisfying smirk. “You must be so happy to be back in the loving arms of your husband.”
A question and a challenge.
“To be honest, we’re still getting to know each other. Although I can’t deny a connection,” I replied. I couldn’t help but notice how Eimeer, the woman on his arm, stared timidly at the floor.
“The oncemate bond, perhaps?” Tadhg said.
I glanced over at Dagda, speaking with another faerie couple. His jet black hair peeked out from underneath his crown in short wisps, one swooping low over his right brow. He’d reach up occasionally and brush his fingertips over it while he spoke, leaving me to wonder if his hair felt more soft and feathery or smooth and silken.
“Perhaps,” I said.
Tadhg grunted. “You must be beholden to him for setting up this ceremony, to initiate you in the ways of the court under his careful tutelage.”
I bristled inside. Dagda’s eyes flicked to me, but he remained engaged in his own conversation.
I kept my voice smooth. “While Dagda, I’m sure, has done an exemplary job in my absence, I’ll have my own say in affairs from now on. That is why we are gathered here, right? Or did you come all this way to see a monkey in a cage?”
Tadhg’s mouth clamped shut before granting a slight bow. I turned away from him, moving on to the next conversation without another glance.
