“What is the meaning of this!” Tremon was staring at Lycan with a look of sheer disbelief. He gaped, eyes wide and anger quickly following the disbelief. “What Seelie magic is this!”
“Your name!” The Queen demanded, voice louder and pressure greater on Lycan’s chest.
“Donovan La Pierre.”
The Queen huffed, turning as regally as she could, but eyes scanning each of the members of their party with a calculating coldness.
“What is the meaning of this? I ask again.” Tremon was staring at Lycan in the same disbelief. As if he had seen a ghost.
And perhaps he had. Lycan looked the same to Seath, but also not entirely the same. He watched as a sort of glamor fell off, it was as if every feature he had been attracted to was enhanced. The full lips became more so. The sharp cheekbones, the soft, shiny luster of hair—all of it was dialed up by matters of degree. Where before Lycan had been gorgeous, he now was stunning in his beauty.
Tremon looked in horror, as if some glamor had fallen away, too, in his eyes.
But he wasn’t Lycan, was he? He had given his name as Donovan La Pierre.
And that was the name of the Taured Prince.
That was the name of Seath’s fated mate.
The Queen was doing her sweep of the crowd, coming closer and closer to the spot where Donovan—the first Donovan—had been captured by the Seelie realm.
The entirety of focus was there now. The entirety of focus of the entire realm, it seemed, as everyone realized that if Lycan was truly Prince Donovan, that fact didn’t account for the man in the cage of vines. That man was now a mystery.
Only Seath seemed to be able to focus elsewhere, on his mate.
“Reveal yourself, Morgan,” the Queen said with authority, her eyes ablaze.
Seath moved over, standing in front of Lycan—Donovan. Morgan was the Unseelie Prince, and if that was the Morgan Titania was calling out, the goddess only knew what would happen with him in the Seelie Court.
He could sense the danger in the air and saw Greene and others move to more defensive postures. Teller already had Greene behind him. But, no one gave them any consideration. The attention of the entire realm was following Titania as if this was the true business of the day.
The leaves and vines of the Seelie realm that were housing the man in what Seath had thought of as a cage, but that now looked more like a cocoon, fell away, but the man standing there looked much different than before. Gone was the regal blond who could have been Lycan’s cousin. Instead, there was an even taller man with pale skin and dark hair. He was beautiful in a cold beauty sort of way, and had an almost pixie-like ethereal nature.
Clearly Fae. Clearly dangerous. And, not as clearly at first, but obvious on a closer look, not nearly as powerful as one would think.
Seath could often feel the power resting in another, and this man had the feel of a depleted battery.
The striking man stood to his full height, stepping past the vines that had held him and his clothes of darkest black settling back around him.
“So that’s where you have been hiding. A King in Princeling clothing.” Titania’s voice was hard, the words a jest. Morgan was a prince, due to the throne but not yet ascended. The words seemed mocking somehow.
“One skin is as good as another, is it not? This one was more attractive than most.” Morgan was too cultured for a leer, but Seath felt it just the same. Aimed at Lycan—Donovan. He shifted his feet closer to a battle stance. No shifter would be a challenge for the Fae, but it might give Lycan —Donovanthe time to escape.
“Your games do not get played in the Seelie Court, Morgan.”
He smiled then—a beautiful and horrible thing—and Seath and Greene shared a look. Was Lycan somehow involved in the unsettled nature of the Fae as of late? Was this some sort of insight they were being given into the true nature of what was going on?
“Bold of you to assume they aren’t already played here. You well know my games are being played everywhere, Titania.”
A cold breeze blew in, one Seath would feel as fall turned to winter: warm at first, then fading to a bitter cold, warning of winter’s imminent arrival. The cold increased, becoming icy enough Seath could see everyone take a breath to brace themselves.
And then Morgan was gone. As if the cold wind had taken him out of the Seelie realm. The wind picked up, Seath blinked, and in that moment the breeze appeared to bear him away.
Greene watched as Titania’s hands wanted to clench but she did not. Morgan had been granted access in, and that meant he had access out of the Seelie realm—a rule not even Titania’s powers could change.
For their part, the Councilors seemed to be watching warily at what was going on, unsure if they wanted this front-row seat to Seelie politics. Greene stepped up, worried the Queen’s wrath would find its way to them quickly. Whatever the tension in the Fae, it had something to do with this. Not them, really, but whatever had Morgan assuming other identities. As always, the human realm and the realm of shifters were nothing more than collateral damage to the larger schemes of the Fae.
Titania appeared to find her resolve, her face returning to a passive stillness. “I am glad you found yourself again, Little Wolf.” She nodded in Lycan—Donovan’s—direction.
