not,” he said, too quickly. “You are the only thing I have that is neither duty nor obligation, the only thing I chose for myself.” He paused. “The only thing I want.”
She let a small teasing smile creep onto her face. “Really?”
He snorted, shaking his head. “You think I’m being absurd, don’t you?”
“I think you’re trying to be nice,” said Kaye. “Which is pretty absurd.”
He walked to her and kissed her smiling mouth. She forgot about his sullen servants and the coronation and the bracelet she hadn’t given him. She forgot about anything but the press of his lips.
Chapter 2
There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.
—E DNA S T . V INCENT M ILLAY , “T AVERN ”
Roiben had not expected an envoy from the Seelie Court to seek him out before he wore the crown on his brow. Silarial had not moved against him these two long months between Samhain and Midwinter’s Eve, and he began to wonder what she intended. The dark, cold months were considered an unlucky time for the Seelie Court to strike, so perhaps she only waited for the ice to melt into spring, when she would have every advantage. Still, he could occasionally believe that she had considered renewing the truce between the Bright and the Night courts. Even with her greater numbers, war was still costly.
“The envoy from the Seelie Court is here, my Lord,” Dulcamara repeated, the silver soles of her boots ringing with each step. Roiben heard “Lord” echo off the walls again and again, like a taunt.
“Send him in,” Roiben said, touching his mouth. He wondered if Kaye was already in the hall, if she was alone.
“If I might presume to inform, the messenger is a she.”
Roiben looked up with sudden hope. “Send her in, then.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The envoy stepped out of the way, letting the faerie woman come forward. She was dressed in glacial white cloth, with no armor whatsoever. When she looked up at him, her silver eyes gleamed like mirrors, reflecting his own face.
“Welcome, little sister.” The words seemed to steal his breath as he spoke them.
Her hair was cropped close, a white halo around her face. She bowed and did not lift her head.
“Lord Roiben, my Lady sends you her greetings. She is saddened that she must fight against one of her own knights and bids you reconsider your rash position. You could even now renounce all this, surrender, and return to the Bright Court.”
“Ethine, what happened to your hair?”
“For my brother,” she said, but still did not look at him as she spoke. “I cut it when he died.”
Roiben just stared at her.
“Have you any message?” Ethine inquired.
“Tell her I will not reconsider.” His voice was clipped. “I will not step down and I will not surrender. You may say to your mistress that having tasted freedom, her service no longer tempts me. You may tell her that nothing about her tempts me.”
Ethine’s jaw clenched as though she were biting back words. “I am instructed to remain for your coronation. With your leave, of course.”
“I am always glad of your company,” he said.
She left the hall without waiting for his dismissal. As his chamberlain walked into the room wearing a wide and toothy grin, Roiben tried not to see it as an ill omen that of late he was better at pleasing those he hated than those he loved.
Cornelius leaned back against the rough bark of an elm tree just inside the cemetery. He tried to concentrate on something other than the cold, something other than the iron poker clutched in one bare hand or the fishing wire in the other. He had turned his white clothes inside out just in case some of the shit from the books worked, and he’d rubbed himself down with pine needles to disguise his smell. He hoped, in the gray and starless night, it would be enough.
No matter how ready he had told himself he was, hearing faeries shuffling through the snow filled him