Chapter Three
A s has become her routine since shortly after I arrived, Queen Fiadh dismisses the other servants after they’ve dressed and powdered her for dinner, leaving me to do her hair. Once she learned I suffer from the headaches, too, I’m the only one she’ll allow to do it.
“Something gentle tonight, Laoise,” she says, her fingertips working upon her aching temple. The high queen is truly hurting tonight.
We usually get our headaches about the same time, and often as a storm is sweeping in. So it surprises me that the curtains are half drawn and her face, usually creamy as fresh milk, has an ashen quality no powder can hide.
As I run a pick below her temple to section her hair, Queen Fiadh lifts a cold seastone to her forehead, slowly shifting it to chase the pathways of her pain. I handle her braids tonight like a tiny starfish washed ashore. I know what this pain feels like. I know how tender it can make a scalp.
“Laoise,” she says, her voice thinned by the pain. “There’s something I must speak to you about.”
“Of course, ma’am,” I say, pinning the thin braid low before I start it’s twin on the other side.
“I won’t tiptoe around it. You must be more careful about being seen with Prince Ruairi in public.”
I stop my ministrations at once, the new braid falling apart in my hands. “Ma’am?”
“It’s alright, Laoise. You've done nothing wrong. But they say you were his guest of honor—that he gave you his own seat for a private performance from the bard. There's a rumor he commissioned it expressly for your sake.”
My heart sinks as I watch the high queen’s troubled expression in the mirror. “He invited me, ma’am—”
“Not another word, please. You cannot speak of this openly here.” Heat rushes to Fiadh's cheeks at her own sharpness. In half a moment, she’s back to herself, looking unable to swat a fly for all the discomfort she’s in.
“Forgive me, ma’am, I don’t understand.”
She winces as I take up the braid again; it’s completely unwound, and I must start again. “When the High King chose me as his queen, there was much displeasure in the court," she whispers. "Popular opinion was in favor of a low fae queen, but that was not so at the high court. A puca high queen was a step too far for them, and dangerous, according to some. Haven’t you heard the whispers about our loyalty?”
“Yes, ma’am, I have,” I admit. “But I’m not much for listening to idle talk if it can be helped. It's silly to think we'd owe allegiance to the sea courts when we obviously live on land.”
Fiadh hums. “You truly don’t understand, do you? They resent us.”
Us? I force myself to keep a grip on Queen Fiadh’s fine tresses this time. “Why should anyone resent us, ma’am? The púcaí live humbly.”
“It's true, Laoise. We are low fae with magic even the most powerful High Fae cannot replicate or understand. They cannot bear it. They see themselves as special and chosen, and fear any challenges to that view of themselves. Even the imagined ones.”
“But you’re the high queen, ma’am. You rule over them. They should know you're more powerful than they.”
“I wish that mattered. Jealousy is not logical.”
I cannot help it. I burst out laughing, my hand flying to my mouth as I spoil the braid yet again. Imagine, High Fae nobles being jealous of us .
Clearly, they've never been to Diarmuid's Row.
Fortunately, the queen cracks a smile through her pain. She isn’t affronted by my laughter, which even now makes my nostrils flare.
Then she gathers herself a touch. “Jealousy can be a dangerous thing here at court, Laoise. Which is why you cannot be seen to have the prince’s favor.”
“I don’t have his favor at all, ma’am.”
“Don’t you?”
I take a long moment to think before replying. “At least I don’t think so, ma’am.”
Her voice becomes almost mumbling. “It doesn’t matter what you or I think. It matters what the high court perceives.”
“I’m still not sure I understand, ma’am. Begging your pardon, if you could explain what’s so bad about one afternoon in the gardens—”
“Half the court backs Prince Ruairi to take the throne, Laoise. In private, they are not loyal to the High King, on account of his puca wife and future púcaí heirs. They want royals they can control, and they do not think they can control púcaí." Fiadh frowns. "It may be more than half.”
My eyes widen. That’s treason. How could these nobles reside at the high king’s own castle and—
“Do you see the problem, Laoise? They want Ruairi on the throne because they want to retain every ounce of their power. If they even suppose you’ll ruin their chance for that—Laoise, I don’t want to think of what they may do to you.”
My fingers shake as I pin the second braid, completed at last. High Queen Fiadh will be late for dinner at this rate.
“It was one afternoon,” I say quietly. “I assure you, I’ve no plans to see Prince Ruairi again.”
“I wish that was good enough to quell the rumors. It won’t be.” Queen Fiadh turns, her eyes red-rimmed as she takes in my nervous expression against the half-veiled light. “But I know what will.”
She smiles weakly at me. “You’re going to be the center of a romantic scandal, my dear cousin.”
My eyes widen. “ Me ?”
“You.” She nods decisively. “You’re going to be courted by the bard.”