Tritus blanches and rises. “Apologies, my king. I intended no insult by greeting your consort.” He bows so low he almost knocks his forehead on the table.
Brock whispers in Solano’s ear, and the king’s golden gaze flicks to me. I swear I can feel heat crackling along my skin. Is it his magic?
“Carry on,” Solano barks and waves a hand.
Chatter erupts, but I catch one set of eyes still on me. The beautiful high fae from the hallway sits at the table closest to Solano, and if she had any sort of dueling magic, I’m certain I’d be impaled with a phantom sword right this second.
“That was close.” Tritus takes his seat and pretends to wipe sweat from his brow. At least Ithinkit’s pretend. “I forgot the no-touching-consorts rule.”
“That’s a rule?”
“Definitely.” He nods. “I mean, I’ve never actually met a consort, but everyone knows the general idea.”
A servant arrives with wine, and several more flood into the room carrying platters piled high with food.
“So, Emma, you’re a nightling?” He heaps a pile of some sort of greenery onto his plate.
“Yes.” I take some of the greenery as well.
“I’d love for you to tell me all about the night realm. I’ve never been there. Only read about it and translated some texts about it.”
“You translate?” I feel eyes on me again, but not the angry ones. The warm ones, as if Solano is trailing his fingers down my back. I squirm a little.
Tritus notices. “You all right?”
“Just tired from the trip. Tell me about you. I have no idea what’s going on, who people are, why that one female hates me—” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder toward the mean beauty.
He glances the way I’m pointing. “Ah, I see. That’s Gwenarie. She’s betrothed to the king.”
“Betrothed?” That word certainly douses some of the fire I’m feeling for the golden king.
“Yeah, but King Solano hasn’t felt the mate bond with her, and he won’t marry her unless and until he does. Or, I suppose he may forsake his fated mate for Gwenarie, if need be.” He stuffs some of the leaves into his mouth. If I had to guess, I’d say Tritus is about thirty years or so, the owl’s feet beside his eyes barely visible. Taller than me, but not by much, he seems somewhat thin, but his face is round, and his words crackle with intelligence. “But you get to be with the king.” His cheeks heat, and he looks down at his plate. “She’s jealous of you, naturally.”
“So she hates me because I’m the king’s consort and she wants to be the one doing the deed with his highness?” I tap my fork on my plate.
“You have it.” He nods.
“And her sister? The one sitting beside her?”
“Oh, Lunarie. I haven’t spoken with her much, though she has dropped by the library a few times, looking for some ancient tomes I haven’t translated yet. She’s always kind to me.” He shrugs. “Nothing like her sister.”
“You work in a library?”
“Yes.” He holds up his ink-stained hands. “I take the books that are written in the Old Language and translate them so the king can read them faster. He knows the Old Language, of course, but it’s tedious.” Tritus rubs his eyes. “Verytedious. I transcribe the books over and make sure the symbols and drawings are a perfect copy. Lately, though, he’s had me going through the law rolls, marking decrees that need to be updated or erased.” He shakes his head. “Laws—now that’s true tedium.”
I take a sip of wine and marvel at him. A changeling tasked with translating a library and changing laws. Who would’ve thought it? We read in Moonhollow, of course. Mama made sure I knew my letters and fae symbols, but the idea of translating something makes my head hurt. Tritus must have a peculiarly sharp mind to be entrusted with such a task.
“Sorry I’m late again.” Someone plunks down beside me, and a whiff of brimstone hits my nose. I turn to find a lesser fae scooping a pile of mashed vegetables onto her plate.
“Where’s Caltinius?” He peers toward the wide doors.
“Haven’t seen him.” The newcomer shrugs.
“Sophina.” Tritus points his fork at her. “Meet Emma.”
“Hi.” I smile in greeting.
“You’re the consort?” She looks at my dress. “Definitely the consort.”
