Chapter 14 #2
I take it, though I can’t quite bring myself to thank her. I plan to be out of here soon, but what if owing her follows me back home? Breaking the rules is one thing, but being indebted to someone like her feels much more risky. Instead, I incline my head.
The lid of the box flips up, revealing a choker that glimmers in iridescent purples and blues banded with gray and near-black. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen—the only metal is at the catch, while the rest is made from slivers of… “Are they seashells?”
“Gathered from Darkshore itself.” She tosses her head, nose in the air.
Darkshore must be somewhere important, its shells sought after. Unseelie etiquette probably dictates that I should say how honored I am to receive such a special gift.
So, I sniff and lift my chin, looking down my nose at it, mimicking her. “I suppose it will do.”
Her nostrils flare for an instant before she smothers the response. “Such discerning taste already.” She speaks like each word is sour. “You simply must tell me what you have from the human realm that could outshine this piece.”
“Perhaps another night.” But I want to make sure Drystan discovers I’ve accepted a gift, so I pull out the necklace. The shells’ edges glint, razor thin, and I gasp as one of the shards slices into my fingertip.
“Do be careful. Darkshore jewelry is known to cut the unwary… and the unworthy.”
I grit my teeth as I smile back brightly, like my finger isn’t stinging.
“Then I hope your hands aren’t too injured from putting it in the box.
” I shove the box at her, so she’s forced to take it.
Breath held, I set the necklace at my collarbone and fasten it in place with the sapphire necklace hanging lower, between my breasts.
Staying still like this, the shell choker doesn’t cut.
As long as I move slowly, I can carry this off.
Smirking, I flash my eyebrows up at the look of surprise on Phaedra’s face and turn away.
“The king’s favor is fleeting,” she calls after me. “He doesn’t even kiss his lovers, you know. He doesn’t care about you.”
With a bright smile, I glance back. “I’m counting on it.” I catch her confused frown before I turn away, a whisper of pain telling me the necklace has nicked my skin again. Worth it.
Paying attention to every movement, I circle the hall and search for any opportunity to upset fae and break those rules Drystan so loves.
I join one group, including Lord Mastelle, a fae so old that although his face doesn’t appear any older than forty, gray streaks his hair at the temples. I remember he’s important, and pissing off someone important is a surefire way of this getting back to Drystan.
Wincing inside, I tap my lip. “Lord… Lord… what was your name, again?” Eyebrows twitch upward. Looks are exchanged. But he obliges and after a few murmurs, he asks how I met the king.
Following Min’s advice, the best course would be to dodge the question with a metaphorical answer—I met him in a dream—or to reply with another question. The less information the better.
But what if I give more information? Actually answer the question, perhaps even with an answer that slightly undermines Drystan. “His mother arranged our betrothal, Lord Mustal,” I reply, deliberately mispronouncing his name.
I hate myself for it. Utterly.
As someone who’s just lost what she thought was her name, I can confidently say, they are precious. It feels like I’ve just stomped on Lord Mastelle’s.
His ochre-brown face turns ashen, and the others stare at me. His attention darts toward the dais holding Drystan’s throne. There’s no sign of the king.
“How… interesting.” Lord Mastelle gives a stiff nod and an even stiffer smile.
But there’s this ripple that flows out from us. Murmurs. Glances. It’s as though my mispronunciation has broken something and little fractures spread across the room. Even the musicians hit a discordant note that clangs in my bones with its wrongness.
Names hold power.
The woman next to me clears her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to…” The end of the sentence is lost as she disappears into the crowd. Moments later, two more of the fae excuse themselves, leaving just me and Lord Mastelle.
The quiet between us drags on and I fight the urge to fiddle with Phaedra’s necklace. One shell sits right in the hollow of my throat and the wrong move will slice my skin again.
But if my plan is going to work, I need to cause more upset, much as that sits wrong in my gut. I haven’t mastered the nuances of distance despite Min’s attempts to explain, but I take a step closer to him. This has to be inappropriately close for our complete lack of relationship.
“Lady Rhiannon.” He inclines his head, gaze everywhere but on me. “I believe I need to be elsewhere. You will excuse me, I’m sure.” He shoots me a quick, cold glare before turning his back to me and walking away.
I’ve pissed him off, which should feel like a win. But it leaves me standing here alone in the great hall, with a chill whispering down my back. In the Underworld, just as on the surface, isolation is a weakness.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll be home soon. I square my shoulders and lift my chin.
The shell snicks my throat, a short, sharp pain that has me gasping.
Unwary and unworthy. Phaedra would be pleased.
As I turn and search for somewhere to go and sow more discord, my stomach sinks.
Because there are eyes on me. All the fae nearby watch.
Their conversations have fallen quiet. One cocks his head, a dangerous light in his eyes as they flick to my throat.
Another licks her lips, scaled cheeks flushing iridescent blue and purple as she comes closer.
Shadows creep around their feet, stirring like waves in a rising wind.
Swallowing, I back away. Although my pulse isn’t slow, I’m suddenly very aware of it as it tolls harder. Something is wrong. Something I didn’t account for.
I bump into someone, turn and mutter an apology without even thinking. I catch a glimpse of a cruel smile before I’m jostled again. Someone grabs me—I don’t see who, but when I turn I find I’m at the edge of the dance floor.
The nearest dancers spin and cackle, turning in their partners’ arms so they can watch me as they pass.
One woman with rich red lips and the palest skin I’ve ever seen scents the air, eyes half closing as she falls back in her partner’s hold as if swooning.
Eyes on me, he bends and kisses her throat at exactly the spot where Phaedra’s necklace has cut me.
A widening smile reveals his sharp teeth.
Shrieks merge with the cackling, harsh in my ears, and as I back off, I find the way blocked.
The crowd quickens, louder, faster, hotter.
My breaths get sharper as the air crackles with wild energy and shadows grab at my legs.
Kicking doesn’t get rid of them. I can’t get enough air in my lungs. My chest’s too tight, ribs crushing.
The dancers loop closer, red tongues on show as their mouths loll open like they can taste the air and find something particularly exquisite there.
One grabs for me. I barely dodge, pressing into whoever’s behind me. An elbow jabs my back and I stumble on to the dance floor, right in the path of the pale woman, whose wild smile says she’s most pleased about it.
Every hair on my body stands on end. Why did I think this was a good idea? Why did I think I could stand alone in the unseelie court? Or anywhere? I need people. I need to rely on them. I need my family. I need—
The air snaps. That’s the only way I can describe it.
Just as I suck in a breath that isn’t tainted with peril, a grip closes on my arm.
I’m whipped around and find the king standing over me. He says nothing, but his lips are pressed together so hard they’re white and the dark lines etched between his eyebrows tells me exactly the question on his mind: “What the hells have you done?”