“Attacks?” He cocks his head to the side as if it’s an utterly bizarre thing for me to say.
“Yes, I believe your king is aware of the murders and kidnappings in the day realm.”
“Perhaps so.” He slams his hand against the cage, and the changelings cry out. “But he gave me instructions only to deliver these goods to you in an effort to continue the positive relations between our realms.”
“I see.” I could rip him apart and burn him until there’s nothing left, but that would give King Sigrid the excuse he needs to declare open warfare. So, instead, I say, “Chamberlain, please see that our guest is made comfortable for his stay with us. And call Lucidia. She’ll need to deal with the changelings.” I rise.
The chamberlain hurries to Lord Caroldon to set up his lodging as I exit the throne room.
“That jumped-up piece of horse-shit,” Brock curses under his breath as he follows me.
Once out of earshot, I aim my fist at the wall and land a bone-shattering blow. Fire rips from me and lights the stone. “King Sigrid’s evil knows no bounds. I should’ve taken those changelings with me when I had the chance. They’d still be alive and unharmed. Instead, I broke the rules and now they suffer for it. The three who still draw breath are already badly burned by the sun, their skin flaking off, their hair streaked with white.”
“I saw.” Brock is drawn just as tight as I am.
The guards down the hall look at each other uneasily as we approach.
Brock points to the nearest one. “Find Grimelda. Bring her here. Spare no expense and waste no time. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.” He nods, then sets off into the sunny day. I turn my gaze back toward the throne room, toward vile Lord Caroldon. If anyone knows the truth of the night realm’s involvement, it’s him. His demeanor and cruel streak are sure signs that he’s close with King Sigrid. If the king is behind the attacks, perhaps I can get Caroldon to slip and reveal that information. It’s worth a try. After all, the foul fae will be dining with me for the late meal.
“You know I’m a fae of rules and tradition. Honor and decorum.” Brock stares toward the throne room as if he can still see the night noble. “But just this once, I’d like to end that filth with nothing more than my fists, then send his fangs back to King Sigrid. War be damned.”
“This is why you’re my second.” I grip his shoulder.
He brings his fist to his chest. “My king.” Clearing his throat, he says, “I’ll see to the nightlings. You have squabbles to deal with.” He glances at the adjudication chamber doors, then strides away.
Anolius approaches, his visage grim. “Lord Caroldon has requested company in his chambers.” His fists tighten, but he continues. “In particular, he requested a selection of courtesans and your consort—”
“No.” A blinding flare of sun erupts from me before I can tamp it down. “He will have no Daylands females. Not a single one. I won’t risk anyone for his appetites. Especially not my nightling.”
“Understood.” Anolius lets out a breath, though I suspect he already knew what my answer would be.
“Make him comfortable in his chambers, and keep an eye on him.”
“Of course.” He salutes, then leaves as I try to calm the wrath that threatens to curdle my blood. I have to calm myself, to keep everything in view, and act rationally. Too much hangs in the balance for me to lash out.
I compose myself and enter another chamber, this one reserved for disputes between nobles. Sitting at the high table, I settle in to hear from the dozen or so nobles who’ve amassed to point the finger and sling accusations. Half-listening, my thoughts stray to the night king, his emissary, and then back to my consort. Will she blame me when she sees what’s happened to her fellow villagers? Perhaps she should. I rub my eyes and pass judgment on the first dispute, then listen to another as I indulge in waking dreams about Emma, her warm smile and clever tongue.
I need to cherish the memories I have, because after dinner, she may never speak to me again.
20
Emma
The females’ salon is by far the most frightening room in the palace. I’m certain the dungeons would be friendlier than the high fae staring daggers at me from every angle. I sit next to a semi-friendly noble, her gaze roving my skin as she makes a multitude of comments about how pale I am. The others watch me, some of them whispering amongst themselves, others glaring. The room is wide and open at the top. Pools of cerulean water are scattered here and there, and the golden fae bathe in them, the sun glinting off the water but not hiding a single bit of their nudity. They soak up the day as I soaked up the night—with reckless delight.
“What was it like in the night realm? Were you set upon by seekers? What about the wolves? Is it true they hunt in packs and kill all they fall upon?” Her big eyes seem to want to devour me as she pets my red hair. “And such a color. Vulgar, of course, but pretty in its own way.”
I can’t exactly say thank you to her backhanded compliment, so I answer her questions instead. “The seekers aren’t much of a problem for villages. They lie in wait along the roads for solitary travelers or pick off children who wander too far from home. They like to target Daylanders though, so you’d have to watch out.” Mama used to tell me stories about the seekers. About how they would carry me off and turn me into a bloodthirsty monster if I didn’t heed her warnings.
“And the wolves?” She stares at herself in a mirror and arranges her golden curls.
“There are wolves. I’ve seen them. But they like to keep to themselves.”
“Are they fae? I’ve heard they can change.”
“Yes.” I shrug. “But you never know who might be a wolf. The moonlight only changes them when it’s full.”
