Page 18 of Wicked Things

“Not at all. I was younger than Conner when Father got me started.”

We turned and walked toward the table where my mother was sitting then, leaving Sheilagh spluttering her protests behind me. But young men in our kingdom needed knowledge of how to defend themselves if they wanted to be safe—especially brothers of the king. If she didn’t want my supervision and guidance, then she should have gone to another of the king’s residences after he died.

I finally turned toward my mother, the Shadow Queen Orlaith and my sister Bridget. Both were dark-haired and both of them looked like they were in their twenties or early thirties, more like sisters than mother and daughter. It was the way of Faeries not to show their age. I was aware that my mother was quite a bit older than she looked and tried to make allowances for it.

She preened and extended her hand to me in a regal fashion, and I kissed the back of it.

“How are you this evening, Mother?”

“I’m well, darling. I’m so glad you’re back from the mortal world. I worry about you when you go there. It’s so savage.”

My sister stepped forward and I did the same for her after she had curtsied to me and smiled sweetly over at Braden. She was as yet unmarried, and I had to soon find her a suitable husband—one with drive and ambition, but not too much of it. He’d need to be loyal to me and be someone I could trust implicitly. Darragh came to mind. He was the son of a nobleman and would die for me if necessary. My mother wouldn’t like it, but that simply made it all the more appealing.

“May I present Braden Wanderer to you both,” I said. “ Braden is the son of King Callum of Gorias.”

“His bastard son, I believe,” my mother said, turning her nose up a bit. As I’ve said, she was not a kind woman. I felt Braden flinch a little—he was very expressive, and I’d noticed that from the first time I’d seen him.

“You must be tired tonight, Mother. I’ve rarely known you to be so rude and ill-mannered this early in the evening.”

She gasped and pulled her hand away from mine, looking offended. Good—I’d intended her to be offensive. I put an arm around Braden’s waist and turned him away, leading him over to the feasting table. She needed to learn how things would be from here out and if she couldn’t do that—well, that was a problem for another day.

Chapter Seven

Braden

King Fionn drew me toward my chair and saw me seated before he sat down. I reached for my glass, but he pulled my arm down and shook his head.

“Go easy on the cream. Pure cream is rich and potent for Faeries or even halflings.”

I was going to argue with Fionn some more—I think we both enjoyed it, actually—but then more food and drink started to arrive. There were so many lavish dishes I could barely believe it. All manner of soups and cheeses, followed by more of the lovely Goblin fruit. And then the main courses arrived—braised leeks simmered in wine and spices, a delicious looking cabbage dish that I later learned was a “tatin,” featuring caramelized layers with gruyère; a whole roasted cauliflower, basted with spices and dill, and a classic dish in the style of the Franks. Fionn called it “ratatouille” and it was fashioned into a stunning spiral. It looked too good to eat. There were also quiches and salads and so much more—things I didn’t learn the names of until much later.

The king was served first, of course, and then me, and I eagerly took a little of everything that was offered to me. It all looked so delicious, and I was enjoying it until I noticed Fionn was watching me with a little smile on his lips.

“You don’t have to eat so quickly, you know. No one will take it away from you.”

I was embarrassed but barely slowed down. The slice of cake I was eating at the time had a sweet vanilla flavor and was covered with a cream sauce. It was the best thing I’d ever had in my life.

“I remind you to go easy on the cream,” Fionn advised me. “It will make you drunk if you have too much.”

“How in the world could it do that?”

He simply smiled and turned away to speak to his captain, who had taken his place right behind him, so I shoveled more cake in my mouth while he wasn’t looking. I had, in fact, begun to feel warmer and a little bit dizzy, so after having the last bite on my plate, I reluctantly declined another piece. I told myself it was the idea of Fionn having to widen the doors like he’d teased me about earlier that was the deciding factor, rather than any fear of “getting drunk.” It was cream, for God’s sake. But I had heard the old stories, and I did have to wonder if any of them could have been true.

People said you could put out a dish of cream to gain the good will of the Faeries—but that you shouldn’t put out too much, because it would intoxicate them. If my reaction to the cream frosting, not to mention the glasses of cream I’d had made me a little dizzy, then what did that say about me? It would make me one of them, wouldn’t it? By at least half. And I wasn’t quite ready to admit that my mother’s ravings could have had some truth in them, and that I was indeed a half Faery, or a halfling, like Fionn sometimes called me.

When Fionn turned toward me to lean over and tell me it was getting late and that we should retire, I think I’d dozed off a little, because it felt as if a lot of time had passed without me noticing it. Fionn urged me again, saying no one would leave until we did, so I jumped to my feet. I was shocked to find that I got immediately dizzy. I had to hold onto the table for a moment to get my balance. Fionn’s mother, the queen and her daughter Bridget, came over to kiss Fionn on both cheeks, but rather pointedly ignored me. As they left the room, I saw Bridget gaze at me curiously. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but her mother tugged on her arm and people began to crowd around us, so she had to move on. I looked for Fionn’s stepmother and his brothers, but they’d already been swallowed up by the crowd.

As we left the dining hall, I had to lean on Fionn’s arm more heavily than usual as we went up the stairs to our bedchambers.

Instead of taking me to mine, however, he turned toward his door and opened it to usher me inside. I wondered for a moment why he was taking me to his room before realizing—and I must truly have been drunk not to have done so before—that he might be expecting to have sex with me.

I went a little weak in the knees, then, because I wasn’t sure I could go through with this. It wasn’t that I wasn’t attracted to him. I’d been wildly attracted from the first moment I saw him. But I had been raised in a society that believed two men being together in such a way was a sin and an abomination, and I had suppressed my attraction to young men all my life. And even though I had rejected almost all of the Church’s thinking long ago, old habits died hard.

I turned to look at him as I stood there by the fireplace, and he must have seen the hesitation in my eyes. He had been shrugging off his jacket and taking off his tunic when he’d sensed my regard, and he hesitated a moment before he went back to undressing.

“Is there a problem, mo stór?”

Was that another endearment? I desperately wanted to know what it meant.