She tries to act bashful, her gaze dropping. It doesn’t fit her, but I let her continue with her plan, whatever it is.
“I was hoping you might consider our betrothal. Perhaps if you claimed me.” She swipes her hair from her shoulder. “Mark me and mate me, then the bond will come. Don’t you think it’s worth a try?” She flutters her eyelashes.
“Gwen, we’ve discussed this. The threat to our lands grows by the day, and I must focus on defending the realm.”
“How better to defend the realm than to father an heir to your throne?” She moves even closer, her citrus-sweet scent cloying and heavy.
“I will only father children with my mate.” I don’t intend to repeat my father’s mistakes, but there’s no way I’ll get into that discussion with her.
“Not your consort?” She finally gets to the heart of the matter, the spite in her words giving her away.
“My consort is no business of yours.” I keep my tone even, though anger pulses through the edges of my mind.
“She will wither and die. Just another whore—”
My hand is at her throat, the feral fully awake inside me and demanding blood. “Hold your tongue, Gwenarie.”
“I know you like it rough, my lord,” she purrs and reaches for my belt.
I release her and back away. “Go home, Gwen.”
Her eyes flash with instant ire. “So you can go toher?”
“If you don’t leave, I’ll have the guards drag you out.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she hisses.
“Try me.” My magic flares, and I know I’m being rash. The fatigue of the road and the threats to my kingdom are wearing on me, and Gwenarie isn’t helping. I tamp the flames down and adopt a softer tone. “Please, Gwen. Just go home. We’ll talk about all this later.”
Her gaze darts past me towards Emma’s chambers, then she turns on her heel and stalks away. The grace is gone, anger etched in her steps as she disappears into the bright courtyard.
I sigh and stride past my rooms. Pushing into the consort’s chambers, I search for Emma, but she isn’t in any of the bedrooms. Panic begins to flutter inside me like a buzzard’s wings as I race back into the lounge area, find nothing, then dash through her bathing room to her closet. I hear her breathing as I approach, and my heart seems to calm, the worry subsiding with each sweet exhale.
The closet is dark. She’s stacked clothes on the small, high windowsill to block the sun, and closed the door. Her hair spills over the edge of the small pallet of blankets she’s made, like a little nightling nest. I breathe her in, then scoop her into my arms.
Her eyes open, the light pink slip she’s wearing showing ample amounts of her pale skin. “Where are we going?”
“My room.” I carry her through the lounge area, kick open the secret door, then take her to my bed.
“Too bright.” She buries her face in my pillows.
I go to the windows and draw the blinds, then take hold of the cord that controls the skylight slats. With a pull, they close, and the room is bathed in darkness. Generally, day realm fae don’t care for shadowy spots or gloom, especially during resting hours, but I’ve always been fascinated with the idea of night. My room reflects that.
She peeks out. “Better.”
“I’ll have someone come and reinforce the blinds and slats when resting hours are over to make the darkness … darker,” I say for lack of a better word. “And then I’ll have them put blinds in your room, as well.”
Pulling my shirt over my head, I toss it on the foot of the bed, then shuck my pants.
I can’t see her in the dark, but I can hear her heart beating faster. It makes me smile as I climb into the wide bed beside her, then pull her across the expanse and into my arms. Throwing the fluffy white blanket over us, I settle into my pillow and breathe deeply of her scent.
“Do consorts sleep in here usually?” she asks, her voice small in the large room.
“I don’t know.” My eyes are already closed. “You’re the only consort I’ve ever met.”
“Oh.” She wriggles a little bit, which isn’t helping the desire that threatens to overtake my fatigue.
“Be still, nightling, or I’m inclined to break my vow,” I growl in her ear.
