“Your wife?” I ask as I take one of the few available seats.
He laughs. “Oh no. We met last night, I think.” He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “What’s your name, beautiful?”
“Libby!” she hollers, and goes back to sipping a bottle of champagne she’s just pulled from between the floral couch cushions.
Rhion turns back to me. “I’m unattached. I don’t share Bram’s respect for the institution of marriage.”
“Does he respect it?” It’s too bold a question but I can’t help myself.
Rhion takes a bite of croissant and shrugs. “You should hear how he speaks about you when you’re not around.”
I don’t know what to make of that. I don’t like the idea that Bram speaks about me much at all.
“And what of my sister?”
A curious expression flickers over Rhion’s face. If I had to put a name to it, I’d call itpain.“Oh, Lydia” is all he says.
“You know her?” I gasp. “Is she in the Otherworld now? Is she all right?”
Rhion frowns. “I’d rather talk about you, Your Majesty.” He plops down on a worn armchair by the fire, and, like flowers toward the sun, all the humans in the room shift toward him. Two spectacularly pretty girls position themselves at his feet and curl up like elegant cats.
“I’m grateful for your time. You’ve spent so much time learning our customs”—I gesture to his outfit, halfway sarcastically—“yet I still know so little of the Otherworld. Please.” I can’t stop myself from begging. My heart is racing at the mention of Lydia’s name.
I look to the doorway and spot one of my footmen standing like a tin soldier. He must have finished disposing of the deer mask girl’s body. I wonder what they did with it. Every time I blink, I see her eyes staring up at me from the sidewalk.
I turn back to Rhion. With the footman watching me, I’ll have to be careful. I can’t ask about how to get to the Otherworld directly like I did yesterday. But maybe if I’m lucky, if I make Rhion like me, he’ll let his guard down eventually. I don’t doubt his loyalty to Bram, but he does seem to be careless.
“Did you ask your friend about her errands?” He completely ignores my previous remark and my hope deflates.
“There’s no need, I trust her.”
Rhion glances at one of his pets knowingly. “Tell me, Benedict, did I imagine it?”
Benedict, who is in an undershirt and a tricorne hat, strokes Rhion’s shoulder affectionately. “No, my lord.”
Rhion turns to me, as if to sayHa!
The freckle-faced girl at his feet passes him the bottle of champagne and he takes a swig. “What has a neck but no head?”
“Excuse me?”
“A bottle!” He laughs and offers it to me.
“I don’t make a habit of drinking before ten a.m.” I don’t make a habit of drinkingever, particularly around the Others, but that seems rude to say.
“How have you found England? Is it much different than home?” I make a second attempt at conversation.
“Damper here. I don’t know how you stand it. But I recently learned aboutthe umbrella. A fascinating contraption. We’d never have the patience to devise such a thing back home. We’d simply magick the cloud to stop raining. It’s why I love you.” I’m not quite sure who he’s speaking to when he saysyou, but he reaches down and pats the brunette’s head.
“If you dislike the damp so much, why stay through the winter? It’s only going to get worse. You could return to the Otherworld. Bram and I could go with you. I could see my sister.”
He gestures to the people around the room. I swear, five more have entered since we began talking. I don’t know where they’re coming from. “How could I leave now?”
“Are any more lords soon to arrive?” From what I have gathered, the Otherworld court doesn’t bother with the array of titles we have here. There are no viscounts or dukes or baronets. There is simply King Bram and the lords and ladies under him. The first night the portal was open—our wedding night—Bram brought over the twelve most important lords, the men who make up his council, and their wives. In the months since, he’s transported more aristocracy and members of his guard. Every few weeks he goes missing for a day or two, and suddenly revels look a lot more crowded. But any time I’ve tried to engage anyone in conversationabout how traveling to the Otherworld works, I’ve been met with a stone wall.
Thoughts of the Otherworld consume me. If I can just figure out how it all works, I could go there, get Emmett and Lydia back, and then, maybe, find a way to shove Bram and his awful companions back through the door and bolt it behind them.
The one person who has ever spoken with me about the door to the Otherworld was Bram’s mother, Queen Mor. The last time I saw her was on my wedding night, when her son had her imprisoned in the Tower of London. I went back to visit her again a few weeks later.
