Prince Emmett De Vere
“Shit!” Lydia exclaims. It’s clear she was trying to shut the door to Ivy’s room as silently as possible but hadn’t expected
to find me outside. Her eyes drop to the pillow and blanket I hold in front of my chest. “I won’t let you go in there.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Lydia raises her brows like she doesn’t believe me.
“I’ve been sleeping on the floor in front of her room every night,” I confess. “I don’t trust anyone in this castle.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “You’re pathetic.”
“I’m practical.”
“You’re a lovesick fool.”
“I’m protective.”
“Do you really think I trust you to be this close to her after you’ve both been dosed with a love potion?” she shoots back.
“I should have you locked up in the dungeons for the night for your own good.”
At the mention of the dungeons, I reflexively grab my left hand, the one that the guards shattered during my time there, and
Lydia grimaces.
“If I hadn’t just forced myself to throw up the rest of the potion, I’d agree with you.
” I’m sober now, though my head is still swimming with thoughts of Ivy.
Her mouth. Her hair. The way her chest rises and falls.
But I’m basically always thinking about Ivy, so it’s really not too far off my default state.
Yes, I want her. But I always want her.
I would have cut off my own hands rather than go any further with her while she was in that state. I had just barely come
to awareness when Lydia interrupted us. I know the potion doesn’t make anyone do anything they weren’t already thinking of;
it doesn’t alter your desires, it just lowers your inhibition. It’s little comfort against the rising tide of my guilt.
I’m sick with the thought we might have done something that Ivy regrets. It only reinforces my desire to have her far away
from this place. I might not think the Otherworld is rotten to the core like Ivy does, but she’s far too good for a place
like this, and every moment she’s here is a moment she’s in danger.
“I can’t believe you were stupid enough to drink tonight,” Lydia scolds. She never takes the substances at revels, while I’ve
developed a reputation at court for being willing to participate in any kind of debauchery. I don’t know if there’s anything
in the Otherworld that can be drunk, smoked, or snorted that I haven’t tried at least once.
“It was only supposed to be faerie wine tonight, I swear it. One of the asshole lords must have drugged me, hoping for a show.”
“Or her,” Lydia says with disdain.
I shake my head. “It wasn’t her.”
“You have to pray this doesn’t get back to Bram,” Lydia says tightly.
“Trust me, I’m praying.” Praying isn’t all I’m doing.
I take Lydia gently by the arm and escort her down the stairs to her quarters before she even realizes what I’m doing.
I bend to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, hoping she’ll have forgotten all about the lecture she planned to give me come
morning. “Good night, Lyd.”
“Good night, Idiot.”
“Your favorite idiot, though.” I smile.
“You and Ivy are currently neck and neck for first place,” she deadpans as she closes the door behind her.
I loathe returning to the revel, but that is where Lady Thalia will be. I had planned to fall asleep in front of Ivy’s door,
but every moment since I vomited has given me more clarity. Lydia’s warning about keeping what happened tonight from Bram
is urgent and I need to act quickly.
I spot Thalia’s raven hair first, loosely plaited down her back and dotted with night-blooming flowers. “Darling,” she purrs
as I cross the crowded dance floor to her. She drapes her body over mine. Every nerve ending still feels raw from earlier;
I just barely resist the urge to push Thalia away.
“Hello, beautiful.” I brush my lips against her ear the way she loves.
She rocks to the beat against me, so close I’m not even sure if what we’re doing can be classified as dancing. “That was hilarious
earlier,” she purrs. “I think I might be jealous.”
“Of who?” I ask, putting on my best show. “Bram’s human pet?”
“I’ll simply never understand his fascination with those sisters. They’re so dull, and so . . . blond.”
“I agree. Whoever dosed me with that potion played quite the trick.”
Her body shudders against me as she laughs. “Oh, how I love a trick!”
“Was it you?” I ask casually.
She pushes out her lower lip in a pout, but it’s an unnatural expression on her sharp face. Her eyes are almost feline, the
rest of her features small and pointed. “I wanted to see if you’d do it. You know, I really am quite jealous. I should punish
you.”
“It didn’t mean anything.” I’m terrified. If Thalia knows how I feel about Ivy, then Ivy is in even more danger than before.
“The potion only reveals what’s already there.”
I take a step toward her and crouch so our faces are eye level. “But you’re my favorite, so what does it matter? I kissed
her, but you’re the one who has me.”
She thinks and I rise back to my full height. “The thing about it is, darling, it can’t get back to Bram. We’d hate to wound
his ego; things always get so miserable when he’s out of sorts.”
She pouts. “Ugh, you weren’t here, but after Queen Lydia left the first time, we didn’t have any revels for a month.”
I put on a show, really lay it on thick. “So, you understand why we have to make sure no one speaks a word of what happened
tonight to the king.”
Her foxlike eyes narrow. “It won’t be easy.”
I run a finger down her cheek and she leans into my touch. “Yes, it will. You’re so smart.”
She preens a little at this, a slight smile showing off her sharp white teeth.
Thalia was one of the very first people I met at court. She approached me at a revel just like this and promised to help me
learn the ways of court life. She’s a large reason I’ve survived as long as I have.
A large reason I’m so dead inside, too.
“It’ll cost you,” she says icily.
“It’s hardly a price to pay when I enjoy my time with you so much.” My words are as smooth as honey but taste like poison
behind my teeth.
I think of Ivy sleeping soundly above me. I want nothing more than to be in bed next to her, watching her chest rise and fall,
knowing she is whole and well.
“If we’re going to do a little espionage, we should do it up, don’t you agree?” I continue. The band plays a driving beat,
and all around us, dancers spin.
She takes a delicate sip from her crystal cup. “What did you have in mind?”
“Bram’s next trial for the girls,” I say conspiratorially.
“It’s being kept tightly under wraps,” she replies. “No one knew about the unicorn until yesterday morning. I asked to have
a coat made out of its pelt, but was rudely refused.”
“Surely someone knows.”
She shrugs. “Rhion, probably.”
“Should we start with him?” I ask.
She shakes her head and her crystal earrings jingle like bells. “No, too difficult.”
“Who else saw?” I ask, thinking of the blur of faces peering over the bush, laughing at Ivy and me. If I had anything left
in my stomach, I might be tempted to vomit again.
“Only a small crowd. Lord Yarrow and his wife, the Gunner sisters, Lord Garrett, and that mousy little maid.”
“Lyra?”
She presses her wine-stained lips together. “Yes, her.”
“You start with Yarrow and I’ll take the Gunner sisters?” I ask.
She nods and takes another sip from her goblet. If it were any other courtier, I might be worried that they’re too drunk to
focus on the task at hand, but I know Thalia well enough to know that she requires stronger stuff.
I spot the Gunner sisters across the revel, dancing with their lithe limbs flailing in front of the bandstand.
“You’re looking particularly lovely tonight,” I say.
One of them—Chessa, I think—narrows her eyes at me. “Which one of us?” It’s a ridiculous question. They look exactly alike.
Their limp white hair, sallow skin, and thin lips are identical, as are the dresses they’re wearing. White spider’s silk,
old enough that it has begun to yellow, with hems and trailing sleeves that have been torn to shreds by tonight’s dancing.
“You’re a rake.” The other one, Nessa, slaps my chest with her insect-wing fan. Her teeth are stained berry red from whatever
is sloshing around in her cup.
“I’m an honest man.” I give them one of my best smiles.
“You can’t fool us. We saw you earlier with that human girl.” Her voice is high and reedy.
“That’s what I wanted to speak with you about, actually,” I say. “I was rather hoping we could keep that between us. We’d
both been dosed with love potion and the kiss was a mistake, but you know how Bram gets when he’s jealous. We wouldn’t want
to upset him now, would we?”
They turn and blink in sync. I have the uncanny feeling they can read each other’s minds.
“What are you offering?” Maybe-Chessa asks.
My expression hardens. “I’m sorry if I gave the impression this was a negotiation. You tell anyone I kissed Ivy Benton and I’ll tell your father about the bargains you made with the selkies for those pretty pearl earrings.”
Lord Gunner’s prejudices against the small folk are well known. Like mirror images, his daughters both gasp and reach up to
grab the pearls hanging down their necks.
“Papa will lock us up!”
“So, he won’t find out. Will he?”
They do that blinking thing at each other again, then turn back to me. “I suppose not,” Maybe-Nessa says glumly.
I put out my hand for a handshake, something I’ve found faeries believe to be binding.
They both put their cool, damp hands in mine and the three of us shake.
“A pleasure doing business with you girls. Enjoy the revel!” I call over my shoulder.
Thalia has just finished with Lord Yarrow and looks pleased with herself. “How’d it go?” she asks. She was the one who told
me about the sisters’ selkie deal this past summer; she has eyes and ears in every pocket of the Otherworld.
“I learned from the best,” I say. “And you?”
“Yarrow is so easy, I just threatened to tell his wife about his trysts with the winged sprites from up north and he folded
like a wet piece of parchment.”
I take a satisfied sip from my goblet, though it’s just water at this point. “Do you want Lord Garrett or the maid?” she asks.
“Garrett,” I say. He’s so drunk, there’s a good chance he doesn’t even remember.
“Wrong answer.” Thalia smiles. Nothing brings her greater pleasure than seeing me uncomfortable.
“The maid is in love with me,” I say. “I don’t want her.” I hate the way she blushes and drops her tray whenever I come across
her. It’s so unbearably awkward.
She rolls her eyes. “They’re all in love with you. Poor, sad, beautiful Emmett.”
“Not all . . .”
She quirks a single brow.
I shrug. “Only most.”
“I hate fighting like this, darling.” She plants both her hands on my back and shoves me in the direction of the kitchens.
Lyra is standing over a tray of candied flowers, delicately dipping them one by one into a pot of molten sugar. Sure, she
could replicate the candies by magic, but the court prefers things be done by hand as some sort of status symbol. That, and
magic sometimes leaves an odd, burnt aftertaste.
It was Lydia who suggested the humans she found in the dungeons her first time in the Otherworld come to work in the kitchens,
where she could protect them. They work alongside faeries like Lyra who have been employed here for hundreds of years.
Lyra startles and the violet in her hand drops and shatters at my feet. “My lord!”
“I told you, you don’t have to call me that,” I say.
She blushes deeply under a curtain of her white-blond hair. “What can I do for you?” she asks, a quiver in her voice.
“It’s a bit embarrassing, but I came here to talk about something you may have seen earlier.”
She nods. “Queen Lydia crying in the courtyard?”
That’s something I’ll need to check up on later.
“No . . . something with me and Queen Lydia’s sister.”
Understanding dawns and somehow she blushes even deeper. “You kiss so many girls at revels, but never me,” she says.
“I respect you too much.”
The poor thing tried to kiss me well over a year ago at some solstice bonfire. It was the best excuse my addled brain could
come up with at the time.
She takes a step toward me. “I don’t want you to respect me.”
I take a step back. “I was dosed with a love potion tonight.”
“I knew it,” she says victoriously under her breath.
“We can’t have King Bram find out,” I say seriously. “Will you keep it a secret?”
She looks up at me. The kitchen smells of burnt sugar and violets. Lyra is such a sweet girl, but like so many others at court,
she’s fallen in love with a carefully crafted illusion. I think the only people who have ever truly known me are Ivy, Lydia,
and Bram.
I pity Lyra and the other droves of maids and courtiers and bored wives like her. But to say I pity them is not to say I don’t
use them to my advantage.
Lyra may be sweet, she may be a servant, but she is a faerie, just like the rest of them. “What will I get in return for my
silence?” she asks.
“A kiss,” I say.
Her eyes go wide. “Please, please!”
“I kiss you and you will never speak of what you saw tonight to anyone. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes,” she says.
I lean down and kiss her cheek. There’s that snap, that sting of magic every time I make a bargain.
She stomps her foot. “That’s not fair.”
“You should know well enough that bargains need to be specific, love.”
I pop a candied flower into my mouth and saunter out the door.
Thalia is waiting for me at the base of the staircase, a whole bottle of something dark slung in one hand.
“Done?” I ask.
“Done,” she confirms.
There’s no need for more talking; I know what comes next.
I follow her across the courtyard to the wing of the castle where a few select lords live on the castle grounds, but far enough
away to give Bram privacy in the main wing.
It’s freezing tonight, but I don’t really feel it. I’m too numb.
Thalia’s room always smells of sour smoke and spilled faerie wine. Her bed is the centerpiece: a behemoth, canopied and draped
in rich red velvets.
It would be noble to say the first time I was here I was resentful, but that’s not true. I didn’t feel anything at all.
I think of what Bram said about Ivy. She lets me into her bed as easy as breathing.
I should hate her for it, just as she should hate me. But I don’t hate her at all. I understand better than anyone.
Thalia pats the bed. “Come on, darling.”
I unbutton my doublet and lie back on the pillows, feeling leaching from my limbs, thoughts floating from my head, until I’m
barely anyone at all.