“No need for all that,” I say with a gentle laugh. “Not when we’re in your home.”
The insides of my elbow-length gloves are sticky with sweat. Rhion always makes me nervous.
It’s not just his beautiful face—closely cropped black hair, moonlight-pale skin, violently blue eyes—it’s the way he says everything like it’s a joke, like he finds the cruelty of Bram’s court hilarious.
I place my hand on the banquet table for balance but stick my palm directly in the center of a cracked pomegranate. Its jewel-like seeds squish under my weight, leaving my gloves looking bloodied.
Fiona Devon and Althea Jones saunter up to us, and I can sense Marion’s annoyance. They both came out in society last year with us. Althea, who bargained with Queen Mor to become more beautiful, is back to the slightly mousy, familiar face of our youth. I heard a rumor that her new husband, Baron Rousting, was very disappointed when Queen Mor’s bargains were made null and void.
“Ivy!” Althea greets me warmly. Then she blushes and corrects herself. “Your Majesty, I mean.”
I still don’t know how to behave around people I’ve known my whole life. I want to scream at Althea and Fiona to take their shiny new husbands and run as far from this court as possible, but British aristocracy has followed Bram to Bath. It seemed the fashionable thing to do, I suppose, and the humans were unable to resist the siren song of more magic, more bargains, more inhumanly beautiful Others.
“How have you been getting on?” she asks with two kisses on my cheeks.
“Oh, you know. It’s always so taxing, setting up a new house,” I reply tightly. “My parents stayed in London, and of course Bram is busy, so I haven’t had much help.”
“Where is Emmett these days?” Fiona asks lightly. The blood drains from my face. I can’t think of him, not here, not now.
“He’s not at court,” I answer flatly. It’s the same answer Bram gives. He’s spread a rumor that Emmett has begged off, shirked his responsibilities as a prince, and is drinking his life away in a far-off, cozy country estate, seducing all the willing milkmaids he can find.
Only I and my ladies-in-waiting know the truth, that he’s locked up somewhere for the crime of loving me. Or dead. But I can’t bear to consider that.
“You’d think Britain’s most notorious rake wouldn’t miss the opportunity to seduce a whole new court of beautiful girls.” Fiona giggles.
Althea frowns. “You know, he never tried with me. I’m a bit offended.”
Fiona preens. “He kissed me once at Lord Gregory’s Yuletide choral performance. Fabulous kisser. What a mouth.”
“What happened after?” Althea gasps.
Fiona shrugs. “He got bored of me and moved on to Miss Tremaine. Then he got bored of her, and I think it was you next, Faith?”
Faith raises her brows. “Something like that,” she answers tightly. The room shifts a little and I fear I’m going to be sick.
Rhion grabs my hand, the one that’s sticky with pomegranate juice, and tugs. “Come with me to the fires!”
“No, I’d rather stay.” I need Bram to see me performing my role as his devoted, dutiful wife after the disaster with Aurelia, but Rhion’s grip is strong and I don’t want to make a scene by resisting. Truthfully, I’m a little grateful for the chance to walk away from Fiona and Althea and their talk of Emmett.
“Nonsense.” Rhion loops my arm in his and we exit the ballroominto the biting night air. The oval lawn in front of the Royal Crescent is transformed at night. It’s dotted by half a dozen roaring bonfires, with groups of fae and humans alike reveling among them.
Some courtiers dance in dizzy circles, while others lounge on an array of velvet cushions, attended to by their human companions. Perhapscompanionsis too generous a word.Petsmay be more apt.
All Emmett and I ever wanted to do was end Queen Mor’s cruel bargain system. We may have achieved our goal, but now, instead of one faerie making bargains to contend with, we have dozens. It’s like a hydra from the books my father used to read me. I chopped off one head, and one hundred others sprang up in its place.
It’s constant now, the faeries playing tricks on the humans, luring them into bad bargains or impossible-to-win games. What’s worse is the humans were used to Mor’s code of conduct; she made her bargains with some sense of honor. These new faeries have none of that. The cruelty is the point for them.
Rhion settles us down next to one bonfire where they’re in the midst of a drinking game. A tall blond faerie man is flipping a golden coin. Heads, he drinks; tails, the human next to him drinks. It lands on tails every time, and the human, in agreeing to play this enchanted game, is forced to bring his cup to his lips again and again. He’s in tears at the faerie’s feet, begging him to stop. His glassy eyes droop, nearly unconscious. He heaves and vomits all over his shirtfront.
The gathered fae just laugh and laugh as the man pleads and sputters.
I snatch the coin out of the fae’s hand and toss it into the bonfire.
“Excuse me!” the blond faerie shouts in anger.
“Excuse me,Your Majesty,”I correct him.
He keeps yelling but I pay him no mind. I kneel down at the drunk man’s level and whisper, “Go home. Go as far from here as possible.”
