Chapter 19
Stepping back onto the sunlit tournament field after the soft, shadowy intimacy of Lorelei’s wooded clearing felt like a brutal assault on Gerard’s senses. His skin felt too tight for his body, prickling and raw; the bright light and sounds and colors of the crowd broke over him in harsh attack.
Only a moment ago, he’d held Lorelei in his arms. His fingers flexed at his sides, reliving those unforgettable sensations.
The vibrant, glowing warmth of her body twining around him as if she would never let him go; those sounds she’d made in response to his touch as they’d devoured one another…!
Dragging a deep breath through his chest, he blinked hard, fighting to clear his vision and his mind of those too-vivid memories. When he finally came back to himself, he found Lord Oberon gazing directly at him, narrow-eyed and focused, from a nearby group of fae.
In the immeasurable period of time that had passed since Gerard and Lorelei had first left the tournament field, it had been reclaimed and fully covered by vendors, musicians, and members of the day’s audience, all mingling now in bright array.
Lorelei was already dancing lightly forward, weaving her path through the crowd so gracefully that no one except Gerard would know how urgently she was fleeing him and everything that she had just revealed.
His first, driving instinct was to follow, but logic and strategy clamped down hard to hold him back.
Here on the field, surrounded by observers, Lorelei would be safe from any physical attacks. She didn’t need him to act as a shield by her side, and she certainly wouldn’t let down any of her own shields for him in public.
But in the focused intent of their host’s gaze, Gerard sensed a sidelong, treacherous attack on its way. Decades of experience turned him to face it full-on.
“My lord Oberon.” It took just two long steps to cross the grass to where Oberon stood surrounded by a small group of gossiping sycophants.
Gerard scanned their faces in an instant and, just as quickly, dismissed them.
He’d met far too many like them in Otto’s Imperial court, desperately clinging to the coattails of anyone who stood close to real power.
Looking past them, he nodded—but did not bow—to Oberon. “You wished to speak to me?”
“Ah…” Oberon’s gaze slid shiftily to his followers, then away. “I do indeed. Will you walk with me? I’m sure you and I will have much to share with each other. After all, I so rarely meet visitors of your … sort at our traditional festivities.”
“My sort?” Gerard gave the fae lord a look of mild interest. “Soldiers, you mean?”
Oberon’s upper lip curled, and a huff of low, contemptuous laughter sounded from the tall, smirking fae woman beside him.
“Not quite.” Waving dismissal to his entourage, Oberon turned in a ripple of orange and red silk.
The autumnal crown shone on his smooth brown hair as he gestured to Gerard with haughty grace. “Come. This way is best.”
Standing in the next group over, the antlered vendor who’d found Gerard a tunic yesterday widened his eyes … and then, safely out of the fae lord’s sight, grimaced in unmistakable warning. Gerard fractionally lowered his chin in a discreet nod of appreciation.
If he’d ever needed proof that the Purifiers’ claims were rancid nonsense—that the fae, as a people, possessed every bit as much heart and soul as their human counterparts—he’d found it again and again in the assortment he’d met here …
just as he had discovered, in this tournament’s host, another all-too-familiar type.
Lacing his hands behind his back, Gerard followed agreeably as Oberon stalked his way through the crowd, waiting at almost every step for his temporary subjects to clear the way before him.
They did so with haste every time they noticed him, but Gerard took note of the way Oberon’s high cheekbones colored deeper every time he had to let out an authoritative clearing of his throat to catch their attention.
Oh, yes. Gerard had met plenty of men like him, first at military academy, where they’d made the most of their limited power, and again once he took his place in the army. There, they had only been truly dangerous until he had been promoted past them; then, they had become mere nuisances to endure.
Stopping at the edge of the forest, some twenty feet past the last of the crowds, Gerard ignored Oberon’s attempt to lead him farther into the trees, braced his booted feet on the sunlit grass, and set himself to endure this nuisance, too.
… A nuisance that had nearly done real harm to Lorelei more than once—and tried to use Gerard to do it, too, in this morning’s first challenge. His fingers tightened behind his back at that memory, but he kept his expression unmoved.
“Well, then.” Apparently giving up on leading him any farther, Oberon fell back and rearranged his features into a smooth smile. “Now that we have some privacy to talk … I don’t believe you’ve shared your name with anyone here yet.”
“No,” said Gerard calmly, “I haven’t.”
Thank all the gods, Lorelei had apparently kept that detail private even in the letter she had sent to her mother before their arrival—the letter Oberon had intercepted.
For centuries, mortals had whispered about the ability of some high fae to control them with the use of their true names if ever they dared step into the fae realm, where they were vulnerable.
To her credit, Lorelei hadn’t made use of that particular poisoned gift since their arrival, but then, her own father had been mortal as well.
By now, it had become clear to Gerard that, for all of her remarkable powers, there were a number of traditional traits that she did not share with her more inbred immortal brethren.
On the other hand, those immortals apparently had weaknesses of their own when it came to contemporary mortal cultures.
Any member of the Serafin Empire or its surrounding mortal kingdoms would have guessed Gerard’s rank, if not his name, by the uniform he wore; Oberon’s face only tightened with barely restrained frustration as he scanned Gerard’s bigger, bulkier figure.
“She’s entirely covered you in glitter, you know.” The words were a petulant slap.
Gerard’s lips quirked as he glanced down at his jacket.
“So she has.” There was a scattering of rainbow glitter along his shoulders and the edges of his uniform trousers, left over from the gaudy portals she had drawn, but also, covering the front of his jacket where she had pressed herself so intoxicatingly close against him, a light coating of golden glitter sparkled in the sunlight.
Was there some distinction to be drawn between the colors that Lorelei shed by instinct versus those she chose for performance? Or …
“Well?” Oberon snapped. “Aren’t you going to wipe it off now, before everyone on that field sees you and knows exactly what you’ve been doing with her?”
Gerard’s muscles stiffened with instinctive panic—Jovar save him if that story reached the mortal world, after all the years he’d spent building an irreproachable reputation!
—but he forced himself to breathe through the moment and not alert his opponent to the glaring weakness in his defenses.
“I can’t see any particular reason why I should want to hide it,” he said at last, “unless…?”
He glanced idly at the man who stood before him. “Would you, by any chance, prefer your fellow courtiers not to witness Queen Lorelei’s choice, after your own failed earlier attempts?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.
” Oberon’s lips pulled into a snarl as his voice lowered.
“You’re nothing more than an ignorant, mortal animal dropped into an immortal world of which you know nothing.
You may currently be enchanted by her wiles, but I assure you, Lorelei sees you as a mere pawn in her games.
You will never survive them if you refuse to take good advice when it’s offered! ”
“Hmm.” Gerard allowed his expression to become thoughtful.
“It is an interesting puzzle, then, that my partner and I are managing so well in the competition thus far. Based on the number of remaining competitors, I assume we have only one day remaining before the final decision must be made?” He waited for Oberon’s reluctant nod before continuing, “In which case, her games seem to be surprisingly helpful for both of us.”
Oberon hissed out a breath through his teeth. “You—mortal—soldier! I am attempting to help you survive that decision, as a favor to you.”
“Indeed?” It was always fascinating to see a man so convinced of his own superiority. Gerard had learned a long time ago that his build and military bearing, to a particular type of aristocrat, implied a concurrent lack of ability to think outside a battlefield.
Diplomacy was another type of warfare, though, and one he’d had to master in order to rise through the ranks. So he didn’t allow amusement to bleed through into his voice as he asked, “In your far more elevated opinion, what would you advise me to do?”
“Go home, of course. Now! To the mortal realm. Save yourself!” Oberon waved one hand with fluid fae grace and firm dismissal.
“Let this all become a distant dream to you of which you can brag to your friends and commanders—the week in which you, alone of all magicless mortals, were allowed to join in one of Efaelen’s most honored traditions as a near-equal. ”
“Tempting.” Gerard tilted his head, studying the other man’s expression.
“However, you may not realize that it is anything but simple for a … mere mortal to travel between realms. Even our witches and wizards can’t manage that feat, so how would you advise that I do it without, as you observed, any magic of my own? ”
“Never fear.” Oberon’s face relaxed into a smugly condescending smile. “You may rely upon my assistance for that part. I assume you work for one of the many mortal kings in your own realm?”