“Oh, I do. Several ‘somewheres’, actually. But watching you suffer through this delicious torture is infinitely more entertaining than anything happening in the lower courts.” He examines his perfectly manicured nails with theatrical interest. “Besides, someone needs to document this tragic tale of unrequited whatever-this-is for posterity.”
He glances toward Esme’s door with a knowing smirk that makes me want to strangle him. “How’s the nightly soundtrack treating you? Still loud? Still passionate? Still full of ‘yes, Sam. Fuck! Right there, Sam. Gods, Sam, don’t stop!’?”
My jaw ticks involuntarily and I clamp down on the urge to put my fist through the nearest wall. I refuse to dignify his baiting with a response.
Rue sighs dreamily, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead in an exaggerated swoon. “I do love a man who’s good with his hands. Or paws. Or. . .whatever else he’s using in there to make her scream like that.”
“Rue.” The warning in my voice could cut diamond.
“What? I’m merely making an observation. The walls aren’t particularly thin, but damn if they don’t have excellent acoustics. I’m in the next hallway down and even I had to fan myself last night during their second round. Or was it the third? Fae hearing is both a blessing and a curse, am I right?”
“Enough!” The word cracks like a whip in the empty corridor.
Rue just laughs, the sound rich and unapologetic as he crosses his arms over his chest. His silk shirt shimmers in the torchlight, probably worth more than most courtiers’ monthly allowances. “You know, you’re not fooling anyone with this stoic guardian routine. You don’t think people haven’t noticed the way you look at her like she hung the fucking moon? It’s only been a few days, Locke my dear, and half the court already thinks you’ve fallen desperately, irrevocably in love with the new heir.”
“I haven’t.” The denial tastes like lies and ash. “The woman barely even notices me. I’m background scenery while she’s getting thoroughly ravished by her canine companion every night.”
“Oh, of course not. Silly me.” Rue’s voice drips with sarcasm thick as honey. “You’re just emotionally attached, spiritually tethered, irrationally protective, and violently jealous of a man you could probably snap in half without breaking a sweat. Shifter or not, you can take him. Totally different situation entirely.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and release a sigh that seems to echo from my very soul. Weary doesn’t begin to describe the bone-deep exhaustion that’s settled into my body like winter fog. I haven’t managed more than a few hours of sleep since we arrived.
Rue’s expression shifts, a rare note of genuine seriousness creeping into his usually playful demeanor. When he speaksagain, his voice has lost its theatrical edge. “You’re worried about tomorrow. The presentation.”
“She’s not ready,” I murmur, the admission scraping raw against my throat. “Queen Lucelle has been silent for too long, and no one has seen hide nor hair of her. That woman doesn’t retreat, she regroups.”
Rue nods slowly, his fan forgotten in his hands. “Word from my little birds is that the court is being summoned for a full presentation ceremony. No more private meetings or closed-door negotiations. Everyone’s invited, every Duke, every Vassal, every minor bloodline claimant still clinging to whatever scraps of the past they can claim. It’s going to be a circus.”
“And our beloved queen?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer. Lucelle wouldn’t dare defy the king’s direct command, but that doesn’t mean she’ll play fair.
“There’s been no sign of her. No attendants seen entering or leaving her wing. No requests for court dress or jewelry. Her entire section of the castle has been silent as a tomb for days now.” Rue’s expression darkens. “Even her usual informants have gone quiet.”
I step away from Esme’s door, closing the distance between Rue and myself until we’re speaking in whispers that barely disturb the air. “She’s planning something. Something big.”
“I couldn’t agree more. The questions are what, and how do we prepare for it?”
We fall into contemplative silence, the weight of tomorrow’s ceremony pressing down on us like a storm cloud heavy with unspent lightning. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimes the approaching dawn.
“She doesn’t have her magic,” I say quietly, the words feeling like a betrayal even as they leave my lips. “She’s essentially defenseless.”
Rue tilts his head, curiosity sharpening his features. “What do you mean? I felt power radiating from her when she first arrived. Faint, but definitely there.”
“I overheard her during one of her private conversations with the king. She told him that she’d been stripped of her magic by some Mortal Realm goddess, hence the complete absence of her crescent moon marking. Whatever happened to her in the human world. . .” I shake my head, remembering the broken way she’d spoken about it. “She says she’s been fundamentally altered. Broken. She believes her powers have been permanently sealed away or lost entirely.”
Rue’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “And King Ayla believes her?”
“He’s been consulting every advisor, mage, and ancient text in the royal archives, trying to find someone who might help retrieve what was taken. The consensus is that her fae magic is likely dormant rather than destroyed, bloodline magic that powerful doesn’t simply vanish. But her witch magic. . .” I shrug helplessly.
“Gone?” Rue breathes.
“Possibly. Maybe forever.”
“Then how in the seven hells is she even alive? You mentioned she was barely clinging to life when you saw Sam carry her through the portal. By all rights, she should have died.”
I glance back toward her door, my jaw tightening as another soft moan drifts through the wood. “She’s Tethered. To someone in the Mortal Realm, someone extremely powerful.”
Rue whistles low, the sound sharp with understanding. “Tethered and mated? To different people? That’s. . .”
“Complicated doesn’t begin to cover it,” I reply.
