Chapter 14
ENTERING THE HALL with Drystan is nothing like entering it with Min or traversing it alone.
The curious looks don’t feel so menacing.
The smiles are still sharp, but less opportunistic, more…
curious. Even the shadows lurking in the corners seem more serene, idling like smoke on a windless day.
They’re soon joined by the three ravens, the black pair disappearing, while the white one stands out, perched on the rafters, watching.
A pair of Twylth guards I hadn’t noticed in the corridors trail us in and break off, stationing themselves by the doors.
That’s when I spot Min. Also near the doors, but less like she’s deliberately stationed and more like she’s caught on the periphery looking in. Alone. I may not trust her, but her isolation makes my heart clench.
But I can’t dawdle—the king leads me in a circuit, showing everyone we’re here, and he’s his usual indifferent self. For a moment in my room, he’d almost seemed human. Silly me.
I occupy myself with looking for chances to put my plan into action. Coming up with a scheme is one thing, but actually enacting it? That’s something else entirely. Something I have little practice of, especially in social settings.
Before I realize what’s happening, Drystan leads me into the chaos of the dancers who spin and press together, couples breaking apart to pair off with other fae, their hungry gazes following me as they pass. The ravens swoop down from the shadows.
“What are we—?”
“Dancing,” he states before I can even finish my question.
With a flick of his wrist, he tugs on my hand and brings me around to face him.
“It’s expected of us. Though I assume you don’t have much experience of it.
Just follow me.” I’m still staring up at him as he places my hand on his shoulder, takes hold of my waist and steps into my space.
Only an inch separates us and his grip is iron as he guides me back, giving a faint nod as I take a step.
It’s been a long time since I danced. And this step-step-spin with bodies close together is nothing like the raucous jigs we did at the pub in my teenage years.
Hells, it’s been a long time since I did anything that used my body for fun. It’s always work or looking after myself so I can function the next day.
This controlled whirl blurs the rest of the world, leaving only him in focus. It gives me the uncomfortable sensation that he’s the only thing that’s real in this whole place.
But in this absence of all else, my body comes alive. Not with aches or stiffness, or the lurch of my heart doing something worrying, but with the simple pleasure of movement. Of taking the right steps. Of the loose locks of hair ticking my bare neck. Of the brush of our thighs as he leads.
He gives another nod as though pleased.
Pleasing him isn’t my plan for tonight, but perhaps I can enjoy this single dance before I set to work destroying his entire evening.
“So…” He arches an eyebrow. “What is it you do in that little hut of yours?”
I bite back my irritation at him referring to my home in that way. Though, I suppose, compared to this fortress, it is a “little hut.” My half shrug shifts my hold on him, and I have to admit his shoulders are broad and firm and… fine, they’re another thing I can enjoy, just for this short while.
“Reading. Repairing my father’s fishing nets.” My fingers are more slender than Pa’s, and although I lack Lowen’s strength, I’m nimble. Still, Drystan looks like he’s waiting for more from my answer. “Gardening.”
“Gardening?” He makes a thoughtful sound. “I noticed the abundance of plants. So they’re all yours.” His eyes narrow the barest touch as though I’m a particularly tricky passage in some obscure text. “Things grow easily for you, don’t they?”
It’s my turn to arch an eyebrow. “In my world, where it isn’t perpetually winter—yes.”
“I don’t mean on the surface in general. I mean in your garden. The plants there are more alive, more vibrant, while those outside your walled garden are scrubby, straggly things. You made them grow better.”
I almost miss my step, only moving because his thigh presses into mine. I don’t know what to say in reply. Or what to make of the look he gives me—intent enough to be a physical presence, the echo of his earlier touch on the nape of my neck.
It’s a long moment before he speaks again. “I do enjoy surprising you. Your eyes go all wide like that. It shows off the color.”
I scoff, grateful for the excuse to blink and look away. “They’re just dull old brown.”
He jolts to a stop, holding me in place as I try to continue dancing. There’s a crease between his eyebrows—I’ve never seen so much as a line on his face before now.
My heart skips like I’ve just taken belladonna. Shit. What did I do wrong?
“Brown is not dull,” he bites out. His chest rises and falls on a long breath, and his unyielding grip softens as though he’s just blown out all his irritation. “Black is dull. Gray is dull. White is dull. Brown is wood and bark and soil, with all their wondrous potential.”
For a moment, I’m foolish enough to think he’s talking about me. It’s a nice dream—to be seen like that.
But only for a moment. Of course a man who lives in a realm of snow and death would find those colors dull and anything related to life and growth “wondrous.”
Although our dance has stopped, my head spins. There are so many things about this place that are different from home. It’s dizzying, yes, but also fascinating. I’m almost sad that I won’t get to learn more—to understand the people here and what makes them tick.
But my family calls to me. I can’t leave Lowen wondering, waiting—he deserves an explanation and an apology. I can feel the tether in my bones, as though the stones of our home are a physical part of myself that I’ve left behind.
I open my mouth to tell him that my desire to leave is nothing personal, but the song finishes, and suddenly the space is quiet, no longer blurred but full of many pairs of eyes on us.
Drystan releases me, inclines his head and backs away. When I blink, he’s gone.
My head is still spinning when I weave my way off the dance floor, and my heart…
Slow.
There’s a table full of drinks just a dozen steps away…
or is it further? My vision swims so much, I can’t be sure.
A pair of feet stick out from under the tablecloth, and a dozen empty glasses sit around them, one knocked over.
I focus on that fallen glass, willing the world to hold still for just a moment.
“Lady Rhiannon,” someone says at my elbow.
Manners dictate that I should turn and talk to them. But I don’t have time. And, no matter the brief enjoyment of dancing with Drystan, I’m not here to follow the rules—not tonight.
I reach the table, try to subtly lean on it, fish out the little blue bottle. The nearest glass bulges and twists as I reach for it. I can’t tell if it’s the Underworld fucking with me or just my own brain panicking from the lack of blood as my heart beats so sluggishly.
As I grope, my fingertips find cold glass, and I drag it across the tablecloth.
I drop a scoop of belladonna into the deep purple-red liquid and give it a swirl.
It isn’t tea, but it’s better than collapsing and revealing to all the Underworld that I’m sick.
Remember, an echo of Drystan’s voice sounds in my head, weakness is death.
I gulp it down in one. Sweet and sharp, the elderberry wine fights bitter medicine.
“Lady Rhiannon.” The voice at my elbow is definitely pissed off.
I drag in a breath, eyelids fluttering as my heart leaps and the darkness at the edges of my vision recedes. Nerves crackling, face tingling, I snap back into the world. Bright. Fast. Everything. The dancers. The glasses. The fae under the table. The one pissed off at me.
My jittery body yells at me that all of this is important. I leap into the words that come all too easily: “I’m s—”
I almost apologize, but catch myself before the word is complete.
Just as well, because when I spin, almost stumbling into the table, I find it’s Phaedra giving me a narrow smile. It might be my plan to break the rules tonight, but she is not someone I want to be beholden to.
“Lady Phaedra. I was so desperate to get a drink, I had eyes only for the wine.” I tilt my glass, showing off the dregs. A few drops spill on to her icy-blue gown.
“Desperate.” She jerks her chin up as if this close to rolling her eyes at the silly little human.
“Of course. And how is the future queen of my dear country fairing? We haven’t seen you for a few days, though I thought I spotted you out the window playing in the snow.
” Her narrow smile isn’t sweet or warm, and the look she gives me is sharp.
It says she knows I wasn’t playing at all.
“Snow is such fun.”
The silence that follows suggests she doesn’t agree in the slightest. I watch the dancers, who are rowdy now their king isn’t among them. There must be some way I can involve Phaedra in my plan for the evening. The question is, how?
“I have a gift for you,” she says suddenly. “A way to honor our future queen.” She keeps emphasizing it like that—like she can’t believe I am really going to sit on a throne at Drystan’s side with a crown upon my head.
Not sure I blame her. If I have anything to do with it, I won’t be perching on extravagant furniture nor wearing excessively jeweled headgear.
And lucky me, she’s just served up a way to break the rules.
“Such a kind gesture.” Clutching my chest, I smile broadly like I’m overjoyed.
Her lips part and almost imperceptibly, she leans closer, pupils blowing so wide there’s only a thin ring of blue left around them. “Yes, I am kind, aren’t I?” The corner of her lip curls absently as she holds out her hand and in it appears a black velvet jewelry box. “Your future Majesty.”