All three wore knotted bear medallions. And their queen had both shoulders bared, with a hand raised to show yet another set of teeth indents along her wrist. Three bite marks, all glowing gold.
That was the only portrait with three kings, though. The rest featured either the High King and Shadow King or a Mountain King—never both. And as we neared the end of the hallway gallery, the paintings began to feature couples composed of just one male and one female.
Which was probably how it wassupposedto be.
I braced myself to feel the same squirmy discomfort Amanda had when the idea of multiple males sharing a wife had come up.
But the revulsion never arose.
Much like the scent-matching thing, it made a strange sort of internal sense, even though it went against almost every rule I’d grown up with.
Rules that were starting to make less and less sense now that I knew I was a bear.
To my surprise, we stepped out of the royal gallery into a strikingly modern central space, full of comfortable chairs, low couches, and soft pools of light.
If not for another back wall featuring that you-could-just-walk-straight-into-it lake view—like the one in my room—I would’ve sworn this place was a hotel lobby. One of the fancy ones I’d seen in the in-flight magazine on our way to Scotland.
Also, on a raised dais directly in front of the lake wall sat a huge throne encased in rich blue velvet. Next to it, a slightly smaller version—same velvet, same embroidery.
Even if I hadn’t seen a similar setup in the Faoiltiarn castle, I would’ve known what that second seat meant. It was a queen’s throne.
My heart stuttered a little for some reason.
And it occurred to me that the last king in the final portrait might not have been some dead ancestor.
He could be the person this palace belonged to.
And hadn’t Brigid said she was married to the High King’s younger brother? Back in St. Ailbe, older siblings usually married first.
“Is the High King married?” I asked the Shadow King.
He shook his head with one efficient sideways back and forth.
And I tried. Ireallytried not to ask the moon I’d mistaken for Death another personal question.
But blurting is a disease.
Two more words slipped out before I could stop them. “Are you?”
Another Yes/No question.
But to my surprise, the Shadow King pulled the whiteboard from his back, uncapped the marker, and wrote two words, followed by one of those pictograms Tara had calledemojiswhile showing Naomi and me her smartphone: Not yet :)
Then he stopped in front of a high arched black glass door, which slid open to reveal a columned, covered patio—with an actual real-life view of the glimmering lake just beyond the hedge of trees lining the property’s edge.
And in front of that stood a table that made the Exchange House spread for fifty she-wolves seem like a last-minute potluck.
Also, Tadhg was there, with his arms spread wide, looking the same but somehow opposite of all the glowering Mountain Kings in those paintings.
“Welcome to the Secret Kingdom, Sadie,” he boomed.
Brown Eyed Girl
Tadhg
My “Welcome to the Secret Kingdom”started off strong, but my voice nearly gave out by the time Sadie came stepping out of the house behind the Shadow King.
Holy shite—a phrase I’d best stop using now that I’d notions of queening a modern puritan.
