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“So, you seduce magic into doing your bidding?”

“What better lover to take than one that could devour you whole?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Now get up, Banfhlaith. You have yet to tell us where our merry band is destined, and I can already hear the rumbling of your stomach.”

I dressed with Iron Thorn looming behind me, taking every opportunity to place teasing, searing hot kisses on unattended flesh. Any moment I thought perhaps I would be able to take a deep breath, he threw another log on the fires of my yearning and left me panting. The silky chemise that clung to my body did not help; his fingers brushed my skin, leaving tingling want in their wake.

The gown he procured from the chest brought me back to reality, shattering the lust-soaked spell he had so expertly woven around me. It was the deepest dark-purple silk velvet, gobbling up the light in some places and reflecting it in a strange rainbow of blackberries, amethyst, violet, and a jammy grape as he moved it. Hidden sparkling diamonds flashed along the length of the gown in clusters, casting mesmerizing colors where the light caught them. The gown was a simple cut, off-the-shoulder, with snaps to secure it to a comfortable bodice that cinched just enough to cling to my torso and still be hidden under the drape of the dress. The sleeves were cut long, and as I slid my arms into them, little tabs inside brushed my skin.

I held my breath as he laced up the back of the bodice, then the gown over it. I did not miss the press of his rock-hard cock, nor the way his fingers found every opportunity to brush my skin. “Until we leave the Fómhar lands, inner sleeves too, I think, just to keep you warm. The weather shifts here quickly from comfortable and warm to bone-chilling.”

Detached sleeves were procured from the chest of a beautiful, icy lavender embroidered with the same star motif; these, however, shifted and swirled, animated by unseen magic. “Dressing me to match your eyes?” I teased.

He looked from the sleeves to me and back again. “No, my lady. I’m dressing you as the Banfhlaith of the House of Magic. The house crest is a purple belt bordered in silver, adorned with twin stars flanked by eight smaller stars. Did you not know this?”

I blushed. “No. I mean, yes, I’ve seen the coat of arms in a book, but I . . . I didn’t think—”

“You should, though. It is yours by right to claim and adorn yourself in the heraldry of your house.” He reached into the long wings of my sleeves and tied them to the tabs. “Even if the House is destroyed, you should claim your birthright. Let no one take it from you again. It is yours to own. And one of those ways is to adorn yourself in its trappings. It states clearly and without apology that you are who you are. You will be challenged at every turn, especially with the false Speaker at the palace making a similar claim. She, too, adorns herself in her claim. You, however, will be able to weave magic like your father. You will conjure the twin stars while she could never and has not proven her claim to her supposed birth. This may seem as simple clothing to you, Banfhlaith, but it is a declaration of ownership and a declaration of war against the lies. It pronounces your claim in a tongue so old that it speaks to the core of a Fae.” He finished dusting imaginary specks from the velvet. “Hmm, I regret that I do not have appropriate ear caps for you, Banfhlaith. You will forgive my oversight?”

I smiled at him, resting my hand on his forearm. “You’re my friend, not my servant.”

“Oh, my lady, I am though. Your friend. Your servant. Your confidant. Your champion. Maybe one day, your lover.” Once again, he pressed his lips to the line of my golden hair.

“Would I wear your heraldry too? When and if we become lovers? If I remember correctly, there was one at your chamber doors. Two dogs?”

He chuckled and smoothed my hair down. “No, you would only wear my heraldry if we were betrothed or married. But when the time comes, you could wear a favor, not the hidden beads. But perhaps a belt of oak leaves, a circlet of twisting roots, or sleeves with leaves entwined with the stars. Though these would have been the favors of Brittle Spear, and you would have to suffer the twisting thorns of Iron Thorn instead. Would you tolerate that, Banfhlaith?”

I rose on bare feet, pulling him down to press my lips to his in a tender, hesitant kiss. I ignored the razor slice of it. I wanted to. I needed to. My feet were already pointed forward and I needed to keep walking. “We’ll see. I don’t know if I like this Iron Thorn chap too much. He will have to endeavor to impress me as much as his predecessor.”

Mirth and mischief sparkled in his eyes as they slowly faded into the normal dark browns of the disguise he wore. “As you wish, Banfhlaith. Let us not keep our company overlong. They await us to break their fast, and I believe I hear a little doll plotting to break her delicate foot off in your sumptuous backside. I’d prefer it if it were not overly destroyed by the time I have a chance to lick and kiss it.”

“Gross,” I hissed, taking the offered open flap as I hitched up one side of the long dress.

“You will find, Banfhlaith, that there is not a single inch of your fields I would not rain attention on if given half the chance,” he purred. “Oh, and Banfhlaith?”

I turned, my hand still holding the flap closed. “Hmm?”

“I know you mourn him. I feel your sorrow as keenly as another body in our bed. I will not dissuade you from your games, but you will have to stop running eventually.”

A frown curled around the weightlessness our simple morning had created and anchored it within me. “I’d like very much if everyone would quit telling me to stop running. It’s what I’m best at.”

“We all must adapt, Banfhlaith.” He reached over me and pulled open the flap, ending the conversation.

Every single person stopped and turned to look at me as I stepped into the light. Two dozen eyes leveled on me, and I instantly regretted indulging in the lavish gown that adorned my body. Rainbows danced across the red grasses and bounced off the small camp tables, and the entire camp seemed to go silent.

“Titanium,” Brittle Spear whispered into my ear before flicking his tongue against the sensitive tip and straightening. “My lady.”

He offered his arm, and I drew around me the years of armor I had woven for myself. My back went rigid, and my gaze drifted away from his arm to stand on my own. If I was going to do this, if I was going to be who I needed to be to bring this realm to its knees, I needed to do it on my own two feet and not be guided by someone else.

A wolf whistle shattered the fragile silence, and my head turned to see Green Man, braiding Emerald’s deep seafoam-green hair.

Violet glowered at me, but a smirk was curling on her face as she tried to fight it. “Hope you don’t think I’m mucking out your chamber pot or calling you my lady just because you pulled on a pretty dress.”

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” Brittle Spear said with venom in his tone as if challenging her to push further.

“Oh aye, it’s grand. Never seen a feral cat wearing velvet. Only an Ard Tiarna of Fómhar would be so daft as to try something like that. Might as well put lipstick on a pig and set it loose in a brothel.” She crossed tiny pale arms across her flat bosom. The lacy pale blue dress she had escaped in was gone, and in its place was a simple linen tunic and short breeches over black calfskin boots. She looked less like the doll of a courtier and more like a ghostly young boy.

“Careful, doll. One could easily mistake your teasing for true barbs waged at my companion.” Brittle Spear’s tone was casual, cool, and almost bored.

“Then one would be a daft idiot because I am absolutely insulting her.”