“Mother,” Cobalt says, a warning in his tone. “Aspen plans on making her his queen, which will make her nearly your equal.”
She scoffs at that, eyes never leaving mine. “Nearly my equal. Ha! I see no crown on her head, nor have I gotten an invitation to her coronation. I’ve hardly heard more than whispers about this supposed upcoming wedding.”
“There have yet to be any plans made for her coronation,” Foxglove says, “all things considered. When Aspen recovers, I’m sure he’ll—”
“Yes, I’m curious what he’ll do with her.” She slithers even closer, and I’m certain she sniffs at the air around me. “What are you to him?”
I swallow hard, hoping she can’t hear my racing heart. “I’m his mate.”
A corner of her lips pulls into a smile. “Are you though?”
“We performed the ceremony last week.”
“Nothing more than a pretty show,” she hisses. “Something tells me you have yet to become his true mate. You don’t have the right…smell about you.”
I want to argue that Foxglove and Lorelei had me bathed and cleansed until my skin was pink before I came to meet her, but I stop myself. First of all, my bathing habits are none of her business. And second, I have the feeling she isn’t talking aboutthatkind of smell. She’s referring to something I don’t understand. Something fae.
I realize another thing. Foxglove and Lorelei didn’t have me dressed in silk and painted with rouge just to look pretty for the queen. They did it to give me an advantage. To place me as her equal. They wanted her to see me as someone to respect. And here I am cowering before her like a wounded dog.
I square my shoulders and stand at my full height. My voice takes on the same bored quality I’ve heard Aspen use so many times. Every word I’m about to say is a gamble, but I take it. “Well, this has been pleasant, hasn’t it? Now, if we’re done parsing words and smelling each other, I think I’ll go check on my mate.” I turn away from her, keeping my chin held high, then pause before I reach the hall. “I’ll have someone fetch you when he wakes. If he wants to see you.”
I enter the hall, and Foxglove and Lorelei follow. Only when I’m out of earshot, do I let out the breath I was holding. I don’t dare look behind me, terrified I’ll see a raging sea serpent charging after me, but we continue on, and my head remains attached to my shoulders.
Lorelei finally breaks the silence with a laugh. “Learning how to play the game, are we?”
“I’m playing it,” I say. “Let’s just hope I don’t lose.”
Chapter Thirty
I’m still seething over my encounter with Melusine as I pace my room. Who does she think she is, coming here to look me over and try to make me feel inferior? How does she benefit from such actions, aside from potentially scaring me away? From what Cobalt told me, Melusine is politically unseelie, meaning she can’t be too pleased her son’s marriage is keeping the peace. Or perhaps she thinks I’m not good enough for her son, feeble human that I am.
“I’ll show her who’s feeble,” I mutter as I pull the bronze earrings from my ears and toss them on the bedside table. I catch sight of Aspen and turn to face him, amazed at the color that has returned to his cheeks. With a sigh, I sit on the bed next to him to check his vitals. “No wonder you’re so awful. I know where you get it now.”
He says nothing, of course, sleeping peacefully while I touch his forehead. His temperature has gone down, and even the sheen of sweat has disappeared. I move my hand to his chest, intending to change the dressing over the wound.
Aspen’s eyes fly open, and his hand circles my wrist. I lose my balance, toppling toward him. He catches my other wrist, then shifts his weight. Before I know it, I’m pinned to the bed, Aspen straddled over me. His lips peel back from his teeth, chest heaving as his eyes bore into me.
“You’re clearly feeling better,” I say with a sneer as I try to twist from his grasp.
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing? Tending your wounds, like I’ve done every nauseating hour since you were injured.”
“Injured.” He says the word as if it’s foreign to him.
I freeze. “You don’t remember?”
He searches my eyes, brows knitting together. “I was wounded.”
“Yes. In your idiotic attempt to satiate Mr. Holstrom’s bloodlust, you nearly got yourself killed.”
“You…did something to me.”
“It’s called saving your pathetic life, and you’re welcome.”
He seems to relax and releases my wrists but doesn’t move from over me. My body is still pinned between his legs and thighs.
I push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “Will you get off me?”
