Chapter Fourteen #2
Lark shakes his head quickly. “No, never. But they have been in and out of fashion with the Unseelie court, and I have seen the way they have been used to help one fae win over another.”
I grimace. Seems like there might be a fair chance of me getting kidnapped then, too, but I’m going to try to do my best not to let that happen.
The door to Lark’s rooms swings open and Grant comes bounding inside, carelessly letting it swing shut behind him. Lark’s fingers twitch against my hand in what I think is annoyance.
“This place is huge!” Grant exclaims. He throws himself into an armchair, not even wincing at his awkward-looking landing. “I’m pretty sure I got lost for a minute there, but I did find the library. That was nice.”
“It is… good that you found a way to entertain yourself.”
Grant rolls his eyes. “And I found about four different ways out of here. Two of them aren’t well guarded, I’m pretty sure, because there were no fae nearby and I couldn’t sense any magic either.” He pauses, then corrects himself. “I couldn’t sense any additional magic. It’s everywhere here.”
“That it is,” Lark murmurs. “You will be able to find these routes out again?”
“Of course.”
“Then, sometime after we speak with Ophelia tonight, you two will need to sneak her out of the ball and make your way back to the location where we crossed through.”
Tonight. I’m so relieved that we’ll have her back tonight; Ophelia might have only been gone a day, but it feels far longer. But the sooner we find her, the sooner I’m leaving Lark behind.
Not that it will stop me from finding her, of course. It just… hurts.
“Aren’t there any other fae here who can take the throne?” Grant asks, and I jerk my head up, looking at him sharply. Surely, he can’t read minds?
But no. He’s not looking at me, expectantly waiting for me to notice that he just said my next thought aloud. His eyes are on Lark instead, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Perhaps one or two,” Lark says, “but none who are ready to. Not that I am, but… The court would always rather deal with a known entity. They are desperate, and they know that I am strong enough to hold this realm for a while, even alone.”
“You said you can’t rule alone,” I say quietly.
“Not for a substantial amount of time, no. My mother lasted fifteen years. I would expect my own solo rule to be less than half of that.”
“Lark.”
He looks at me when I say his name, wearing the faintest smile.
“I will be fine,” he says. “I merely need to find someone who will be willing to wear a crown alongside me and who has enough power to be able to sacrifice some for our realm. Should our bond take, we will have many years of at least a stable home realm ahead of us.”
My mouth is dry. I stare at Lark for far too long. “Your bond?” I ask, and my voice is faint.
Lark nods. “Yes. For the crowns to function effectively, the people wearing them should have bonded.”
“Oh.” The word comes out faint and small, and Grant’s expression pulls in sympathy. I swallow hard. I don’t have any right to feel any way about that. Lark isn’t mine. I already knew we couldn’t be together; I’d already given up on that before we came here.
Lark inhales. He’s about to speak, and I’m not ready for what he has to say.
Grant jumps in before I have to. “Is that why Eirian was so fixated on vampires then?” he asks. When Lark frowns, he adds, “The high fae who was trying to find someone to take a crown with her.”
Lark’s expression clears. “If I had to guess, I would say yes. But it is doubtful she would have ever managed to achieve her goal. Even had she returned with a vampire such as yourself in tow, I do not believe she would have had the power to wear the crown for any substantial length of time.”
“So, then—” Someone knocks at the door, and Grant gets to his feet in the kind of fast, smooth movement that reminds me, with almost shock, that he’s a vampire. “Who is it?” he hisses.
“The Unseelie tailor,” Lark replies. His magic brushes against me. “He will have brought our clothes.”
Grant trots eagerly over to the door and I tug my hand from Lark’s the second before he opens it. If I’m supposed to look like his pet, then I don’t think we should be sitting here holding hands like that.
“Everything is here,” the Unseelie fae says softly. “I can take your clothes to your rooms.”
“They’re only down the hall. I’ll do it.” Grant sounds faintly confused by the whole thing. “Thanks!”
I glance up just in time to see the Unseelie’s baffled expression before the door swings shut. Grant rushes over and drops the pile of clothing on the low table between us.
“Ooh, this is nice.” Grant picks up a seafoam green pair of trousers and holds them at his waist. They’re made of some silky, shimmery fabric and are obviously going to look great on him. “They really know what they’re doing.”
“They have been in their positions for centuries,” Lark says. “It is rare for a Seelie fae to be given such access to our court, but since they are soulbonds, there is more leeway.”
Huh. I push reluctantly to my feet and approach the table. Grant has picked his clothes out from the rest, leaving them in a neat pile.
Lark steps up beside me. “We should get ready,” he says, but when I look up, he’s glancing out the window. “The ball will begin at nightfall.”
Grant scoops up his new clothes and gives us both a quick nod. “Right. I’ll come back when I’m done.”
He flits out of the room and I let out a sigh. “He’s got to start moving slower than that.”
“There is no one in the hall,” Lark says, and when I frown at him, because that’s not the point, the corner of his lips curves up. “He was lucky,” he admits.
I shake my head. Lark picks up our combined bundle of clothing before I can and walks off, heading for the bedroom.
I follow. My stomach churns because I’d love for this to all look good, but an entire outfit of purple seems like too much, and I’m never going to look good next to Lark and Grant, anyway.
I watch silently as Lark lays everything out on the bed. Well, everything for tonight, I guess. He sets a smaller pile of plainer-looking clothes to one side.
The trousers that I’m guessing are mine are a dark, bruised purple, which I actually like.
A shimmer of gold threads through them, but I’m not sure about the shirt at all.
It doesn’t have ruffles—I think I might actually cry if it did—but it is loose and flowing, and I’m fairly sure it’s going to be a little see-through.
“Lark,” I say, “I can’t wear that.”
He takes a step back and puts his hands on his hips, eyeing the outfit he’s laid out for me critically. “Whyever not?”
“It’s not—I’m not—”
“Just try it,” he says and blinks dark eyes at me. “Please.”
I bite back a sigh. Of course I’m not going to say no. I carefully pick up the clothes instead and scurry off to the bathroom.
Once I’m in there, I take a critical look at myself in the mirror. It’s a gilt, ornate thing, and far too big for the room, and I don’t think for a second that Lark picked it out himself. I don’t think he picked out anything in here. What I saw of the greenhouse—that’s the real him.
I shove those thoughts aside and focus on my face instead. I’m not hideous. I know that. I’ve been called cute enough that, even though it might have been said by guys trying to get into my trousers and girls who know I’m not going after them, it feels kind of true.
But everyone around me is more than that. That’s always been the case. Felix never had an awkward, gangly phase—I’m pretty sure he came into this world with a mascara wand in hand—and yeah, Ophelia did, but hers was different.
I roll my eyes. I’ll do what I need to do to get her back, and there’s not a chance I’m having Lark and Grant meet her at this ball alone just because I couldn’t suck it up and put on what feels like a very expensive outfit.