Chapter 32
HE GREETS US, albeit the nod he gives me is curt.
Gods willing, the one bit of preparation I did for tonight, aside from my appearance, will help smooth things.
I tiptoe to Drystan’s ear and ask for the velvet box I had him place in his pocket. He gives it to me and I present its contents to Lord Mastelle.
The shell necklace from Phaedra.
I’ve since learned that shells from Darkshore are among some of the most precious adornments in the Underworld, akin to flawless pearls or rubies and sapphires.
She sits a few seats over and is now craning to look over with barely disguised interest.
“This exquisite necklace was given to me by a very thoughtful member of court,” I explain. “I tried to wear it, but my human frailty means I was cut to ribbons. Clearly, I’m unworthy of such a precious gift.”
Ignoring Phaedra’s smug smirk, I incline my head to Lord Mastelle. He’s wearing a look of indifference, yet his gaze keeps skipping to the necklace.
“However, I believe your poise and strength means you would make a much better bearer of such a fine piece. I have no doubt you will be a worthy wearer.” It’s a good thing I rehearsed this speech, because this is the part where I would say I was sorry, and thus end up far more indebted to Lord Mastelle than I intend.
Preparation helped me work out different phrasing instead, and I go on with my head bowed.
“Please accept it as a token of my regret at insulting you before I fully understood your ways.”
Breath held, I offer the necklace in its box.
I talked through my idea at dinner last night, and Min agreed it would be a suitable peace offering without offending Phaedra.
Asti suggested I demand a duel instead and she would fight as my champion, but I suspect that wouldn’t be considered the most diplomatic solution, even by unseelie standards.
Min explained that Lord Mastelle is well within his rights to decline the gift, which he’d no doubt do in a suitably slick manner, but that it would signal his enmity. Acceptance, however, would put us back at a neutral position.
I’m stuck here for a while longer, and Phaedra has already made it clear I have her undying enmity. I’d rather not live in the Underworld with two powerful fae set against me.
Eyelids part lowered like this is all terribly tedious, Lord Mastelle examines the necklace then me.
It’s a battle not to fidget, especially as I’ve foolishly locked my knees and now they’re begging me to shift my weight.
But fidgeting would be a sign of nerves, desperation, even, and I’m not about to give my unseelie audience the pleasure of witnessing my weakness.
Especially not as Phaedra is watching this whole exchange with all the intensity of a hunting hawk.
A glass sits in her hand like she’s ready to drink a toast to my failure.
Lord Mastelle’s silence scrapes down my spine and it doesn’t look set to break.
Perhaps I can force the situation. “Or, I can keep the necklace.” I shrug like I’m not bothered either way.
“I’m sure once I’m queen and have been connected to the land, I’ll have the poise to carry it off.
Don’t you think so, darling?” I smile sweetly up at Drystan, reinforcing the reminder—I may be little more than a human interloper for now, but as far as they all believe, I’ll be their queen soon, and that comes with power of its own.
I can be a powerful ally or a powerful enemy.
Your choice, Lord Mastelle.
His eyebrows creep upward as he nods. “Well gifted, Lady Rhiannon.” He takes the box, surveying me with eyes narrowed. “Very well gifted, indeed. It seems you have learned a great deal since last we spoke.”
Ripples spread along the table as news spread that the enmity between Lord Mastelle and the future queen is over.
Phaedra sits back in her chair, face tight. A moment later, I spot her gulping down her entire drink in one go.
I try not to smile too smugly.
This time, I don’t mind failing.
Drystan slips his arm from my grip and takes my hand in his.
I try not to react to the skin-to-skin contact or the intimacy of his fingers interlacing with mine, since as far as everyone else believes, we’ve spent the past several days locked in his rooms fucking each other’s brains out.
But my stomach flips, apparently not in on our deception.
He squeezes my hand and bumps his arm into mine. Is that what passes for his approval?
I haven’t drunk much wine, but I still blame it for the way I place my hand over his chest as we chat with Lord Mastelle and the other fae at his table. Drystan has been putting me off balance with his gestures all night, it’s only fair I return in kind.
He blinks down at me, eyebrows raised.
“What’s the matter, Your Majesty?” I give him a teasing grin as I whisper, “Don’t you want your adoring fiancée to be unable to keep her hands off you?”
He goes still, and there’s this delicious tension that cords his neck, leaving only the wild leap of his pulse. I watch it a good long while. It’s as sustaining as the food.
When I look up, his gaze is absorbed by the sight of my hand on him. I’m not sure he’s breathing, though I think I feel his heart thudding against my palm, like I’m holding it. Something I could crush or cherish.
As if he senses my attention, his gaze skims up to meet mine. His pupils are wide. I could fall into that oblivion. Get lost in it, telling myself it’s just for a moment, when really it’s eternity.
I kind of want to fall.
“Lady Rhiannon?”
I jolt from his depths, blinking away the lie that we’re the only people in the room—the world. I lower my hand to Drystan’s biceps, which seems a little safer and lets me take it in when Lord Mastelle repeats his question.
We stay to chat a little longer before musicians troop in, pipes trilling and drums pounding, as they whip the unseelie up in their tune.
Chairs are abandoned. Pockets of dancing break out between the tables and in the corners of the room—then on the tables.
Min’s parents eye where she’s sitting with frowns.
Lord Mastelle half smiles as the Apothic mutters in his ear with an expansive gesture.
I do a double take when I spot Min and Asti speaking with Phaedra.
Quickly, it becomes too hot, too loud, and I start wilting.
“Would my bride-to-be care for some fresh air?” Drystan bends closer but still has to half-shout to be heard over the raucous music and the even more raucous fae.
I nod, not even trying to hide my relief, and he dismisses our guards before leading me out to the terrace.
This is much larger than the one by his suite and has been cleared of snow.
Dim, twinkling lights like the ones over his bed nestle among the bare trees and trace webs between columns and arches that lead out to the main gardens.
“That was an excellent piece of statecraft,” he says into the sudden silence, gaze fixed ahead and thoughtful.
“The gift was perfectly judged. A priceless piece of jewelry, but he doesn’t owe you an unfathomable sum because it had already been gifted to you.
Plus, the compliment was exemplary—specific to him.
I would say you probably didn’t need to diminish yourself so much, but in this instance, I think your humility did the trick. ”
“Actually, I can’t take the credit. Min helped me understand how your society works, the whys behind your etiquette. Asti gave me some advice, too. You shouldn’t discount people just because of their position.”
The corner of his mouth twists as he leads us through an archway and down into the darkness of the gardens. “I should’ve known you would find a way to shirk my compliment.”
“I’m not going to take it if it doesn’t belong to me.
” I keep close to him. The moon is dark tonight and I can’t see much at all out here.
Plus my slippered feet crunch through snow, so I’m in danger of tripping—or losing the silk slippers.
“I think this air is fresh enough. It probably is back on the terrace, in fact.”
“There’s too much light up there. We won’t get the full effect.”
“Of what?” I ask as he stops us and steps over something.
“You’ll see.”
Actually, all I can see is the gold glow of his eyes and the dim light catching on his teeth as he grins.
Then his hands come around my waist and he lifts me over the obstacle, laughing softly at the strangled sound of surprise I make.
“You really should warn a woman before you—”
“Shh. It’s starting.” He places my feet on the crisp ground before him and takes up position at my back, an unseen sentinel.
I squint into the darkness. There’s nothing. I can’t even make out the snowy shapes of shrubs. “What’s starting?”
Warm fingertips graze over my throat, stealing my breath. They trace upward, gentle enough to tantalize, firm enough to command. “Look,” he breathes into my ear as his touch catches on my jaw and forces me not to look ahead but up.
A blazing, silver ring burns in the black sky. It flares, a black disc at its center, and there’s a faint roaring noise, like a bonfire.
I stare, mouth open. I’ve never seen anything like this. It reminds me of an illustration I once saw of an eclipse in a book on astronomy, but the caption explained that would happen during the day when the moon passes over the sun, with the corona burning in the sun’s customary gold.
This is celestial silver, the precious metal made ethereal.
And just as I’m staring, a thread spins off from it, flaring through a kaleidoscope of color and light, dizzying, beautiful, utterly captivating.
I follow its course up, unblinking eyes burning as my neck cranes. I tilt back, feet stuck in the snow, and gasp, braced to fall.
But my sentinel’s still there, warmth that braces at my back.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs as he cups my solar plexus, holding me flush against him. The heat of his hand blazes through me, and my breath hitches as his thumb slides up between my breasts, casual yet claiming. I wonder who this pretense is for.