“What will you be doing?” I stare at the doors with unease.
“I have a kingdom to run.” He takes my hand and brushes his lips across my knuckles. “But I’ll see you at dinner.” Turning, he strides away, his wide back flexing beneath his white tunic as he disappears down the hall.
I stare at the doors and hear voices inside. Catty and laughing, the females lie in wait for me. I swipe a hand across my forehead and try to put steel in my spine. They’re just high fae. Nothing I haven’t seen before. This will be fine, and then I can go back to my room and paint.
With a hard nod, I open the door and stride in. Then stop. Mouth agape, I press myself against the door behind me as a multitude of eyes turn toward me and all conversation stops.
19
Solano
Holding her own with the female courtiers is important if Emma’s to have a life beyond the consorts’ quarters. I can threaten and enforce as much as I want, but the moment my back is turned, the nobles will snipe. Emma has to be tough, and I have a feeling she is more than up to the task. All the same, I hover around a corner, my hearing keen and focused on her as she enters the salon. She gasps at first, perhaps shocked by the nude baths or the sheer number of females.
But then I hear her step forward. “Hi.” The word is shaky but clear.
“Come, little nightling, sit with me,” someone says. Her tone isn’t altogether pleasant, but any invitation is better than none.
“Thanks,” Emma’s voice fades as she walks deeper into the salon.
She survived the opening gamut, so I can breathe a little easier as I make my way deeper into the palace.
When I enter the open, airy throne room, a dark-haired, silver-eyed fae awaits me, his posture stiff as he stands with his hands clasped behind his back.
I take my seat on the crystal throne, and my chamberlain motions for the Nightlands emissary to come forward. Brock stands to my right, his eyes sharply focused on our visitor.
“Lord Caroldon,” the chamberlain intones.
“Welcome to the Shard of Day.” I peer at him, noting his shiny armor and perfectly-polished boots. He’s never known battle, perhaps never done a day’s work in his life. His talents are more for spying and chatter, I suspect.
“My lord.” He bows, then meets my gaze. “I’ve come on the orders of King Sigrid. He fears he has insulted you in some way.”
“Insulted me?” I lean back and feign aloofness. Playing the uninterested prince-turned-king seems to work in my favor, because adversaries underestimate me.
“Yes. The consorts were not to your liking. In fact, you found the selection so wanting that you chose only one.” His tone is steeped in false dismay. “They must have been a terrible crop indeed for you to forsake the agreement between our realms.”
“Not forsaken, Lord—” I wave a hand at him. “What was your name?”Caroldon.
“Lord Caroldon.” Only a narrow edge of irritation seeps into his words. This fae is used to getting his way. He must be favored by Sigrid, who runs a bloodthirsty court with stabbings and poisonings aplenty.
“I honored the tradition by choosing one of the beautiful maidens offered to me. The others were not lacking.”
“So strange for you to choose only one? Was there something special about her?”
“A special changeling?” I laugh, and Caroldon joins with me, though his is actually sincere. “What in Arin are you on about?”
“Forgive me, my lord. It was a foolish question.” His face returns to its dour seriousness. “In any case, King Sigrid wants to ensure your happiness.” He turns and holds up a hand.
Brock shifts, moving closer to me as two night realm soldiers enter the back of the throne room and pull a large cart behind them.
“A gift?” I yawn and surreptitiously brush the hilt of my sword. It’s doubtful Sigrid would send this dandy to kill me, but then again, who knows what the wily night realm ruler is up to. Brock gives me a near-imperceptible nod.
“Yes, from King Sigrid to assuage the insult of not providing enough changelings for you to choose ten.” He backs away as the cart comes closer. But it’s not a cart. It’s a cage with dark fabric draped around it. A moan rattles from inside, and my guards draw their swords.
I glance at my captain, Anolius, and shake my head minutely. He gives a single command, and the guards return to their positions. The scent of filth and death wafts through the throne room, and I already know what sort of gift King Sigrid has delivered.
“Of course, I was instructed to discipline the changelings who didn’t live up to expectations.” Lord Caroldon walks to the cage and yanks the black fabric away. Inside, a few filthy, naked changelings huddle together while bodies litter the cage at their feet. “Some of them didn’t survive the beatings or the lashings. Pathetic, truly. But these three seem to still be alive.” He peers at them through the cage. “For now.”
I affect a mask of boredom even though the fire in my blood wants to lash out and destroy Caroldon. “Delightful. Is there any other business you’d like to discuss? Perhaps the attacks along our border?”
