“Well, I’m sure…” I stop.
A ghost of a smile on his face. “You may say what you think.”
“If you’d like Lady Kassandra to warm up to you once more, then apologizing would be a good start.”
The king blinks up at me, shocked. Then he laughs, deep and gentle.
“I will start there,” he says. “What else do you think? What is the trick to making her happy? I remember her laughing often when we were children, but in the decades since, that has faded away.”
The cracking of her bones, her constant frown, the merciless bullying…The closest I came to seeing Kassandra happy had been in the garden, when she revealed her rot to me. It had only been to arouse herself for the king, and yet, as she’d kissed him, her eyes turned molten in the fading light.
“My lady is more intelligent than some realize,” I say.
“She was always the best during our childhood games. But how does this impact her happiness now?”
I weigh my words carefully. “I believe she longs for the respect that comes with being considered a worthy opponent.”
“You understand more than you let on.” He looks up at me again, and my breath seizes in my chest at those violet eyes, so striking even among the fae.
“A-apologies, my king,” I stammer, my face warming.
“Don’t apologize. I asked for your thoughts,” he says. “If we’re going to spend this much time together, now and in the future, I want to be surrounded by clever creatures. Something mymother taught me: The king should never be the smartest in the room. Do you have any questions for me?”
It’s the way he looks at me, grinning and expectant, as if he wishes to explain himself to me, bestow wisdom.
“Any question?” I ask.
“Yes, anything.”
“When we lace, do we die?”
“No,” he exclaims, barking a laugh. “No, we do not. We are simply remade.”
“Is that not a death of some kind?”
Maxian cocks his head. “You’re a peculiar faerie.”
“It’s not the first time I have been accused as such,” I say, and he chuckles. “I have another question, my king.”
“Go on.”
“One day, when I have earned your trust, may I…submit a proposal like Lila does?”
He leans forward in his chair, weaving fingers together. “Do you have a proposal in mind?”
My heart begins to hammer.
“The food the palace throws out at the end of each feast, ball, or even dinner,” I blurt. “There is so much of it. What if it were given to the Unluckies?”
“What are Unluckies?” he asks.
There’s an uptick in vibration in the plane, but whose magic it is, I am unsure. I swallow, aghast that he doesn’t know. “Faeries with four limbs of debt.”
“Ah. We call them the Unskilled.”
Unskilled? All labor is skilled.I smother the retort.
The plane rumbles, and he looks to me. “Giving out free food to the Unskilled is illegal.”
