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“You are amazing,” Dagda said during a rare lull in those vying for our attention. “I knew you would be.”
“You knew Morrigan would be,” I said.
He frowned. “I find it odd how you keep differentiating yourself from that name.”
“Yes, well, as you said, I could be in denial. Or maybe I’ve had a whole other life outside of this one and that name is a reminder of everything I wish I could escape.”
“Again, odd. I would have sworn deep down, some part of you is enjoying yourself.”
My eyes narrowed. “Don’t start getting the idea that you know me.”
A low chuckle rumbled out of him. “Was that more denial, or simply an evasion?”
I dropped his hand and stepped away from him, only to find he’d moved into my path. “Forgive me,” he said, soft as a whisper. “I only cannot see how clinging to your old life will help you in moving forward in the present.”
“I cannot see how you being an insensitive jerk, will help me in honestly defending you to this crowd.”
His brows drew low, and his voice became harsh. “Who said I needed defending?”
More faeries moved in. Even though Dagda remained close, we didn’t touch, and I avoided any covert glances, unsure if it would throw Roisin under the bus if I informed him of what she’d said.
An unexpected familiar face at the rear of the crowd caused me to shriek and rush ahead, shoving startled faeries out of the way. I raced up to a towering sentinel with a centaur etched on his bicep, guarding the door of the throne room, throwing my arms around him with a sob. “Palon! You have no idea how glad I am to see you!”
“Your Majesty,” he said, surprised.
“Don’t do that.” I said, tears on my cheeks. “Don’t call me that. I’m so relieved that you're here! I—”
He looked around uncertainly, and the silence of the room drew my attention. I turned to the crowd, watching us with a mixture of surprise, interest, or pretend indifference. Dagda stood at the front, hurt and anger flashing in his eyes before his face became a perfect mask of stone.
I released Palon.
“Dagda,” I said as if everyone wasn’t present, as if they didn’t matter. “This is Palon. We fought together three years ago in the battle against the Fomori.”
Smiles slid from the faces in the room, and several took on an upset scowl. Unexpected tension buzzed in my ears.
A long silence followed before Dagda’s voice gritted out. “My gratitude, Palon, for performing your duty to your queen.”
Palon flushed, and the crowd stirred. I opened my mouth to tell Dagda to come off the veiled insults, but Palon bowed.
“Sir, my lady.”
A shout and a flurry of movement in the center of the room drew everyone’s attention. Bodies rushed in every direction, and briefly, everything cleared enough to see a tall man with green skin grapple with another lighter-skinned man. They’d taken each other to the floor and were throwing punches, as if they were competitors in the ring.
I watched in shock as the green-skinned man with pointed ears and short, antlered horns smashed the faerie man’s head against the marble floor, dazing him.
“Well? Guard?” Dagda snarled at Palon.
“Yes, sir.” Palon rushed into the crowd along with several other guards converging on the fight.
Dagda stalked toward me, while signaling to Keelin. “Come with me,” he said, unbelievably calm for the raging fire I sensed coursing through him. Keelin hadn’t seen Dagda’s signal and was pushing his way through the people. His gaze locked on the fight in the middle of the throne room.
“Keelin,” Dagda said.
Keelin’s head snapped around and he blinked twice. He shook his head as if clearing it, and moved to follow his king.
Dagda jerked open the throne room door, and we entered the hallway. He turned to Keelin, who still stood inside the throne room. “Do not let anyone through this door until I return.” He pulled it shut.
“What the hell was that all about?” I asked. “And there’s no need to get worked up over Palon—”
