by K. M. Shea
Silence.
The monarchs stared back at me, their expressions dark—except for Solis. He was yawning.
Do they think I’m trying to get dirt on them or something?
“I’m trying to figure out how often I should expect it,” I explained. “I’m not trying to make anyone look bad.”
Fell scoffed. “With your current reputation level it is not within your abilities to make any other monarch shamed.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I got it. But how often? Are we talking just once or twice a year? Or more?”
As one, the monarchs looked away from me.
“Consort Flora, you’ve hardly said a word all night,” King Fell said. “Tell me, how is your health these days?”
Fear flickered across Consort Flora’s expression, and she glanced at King Birch.
He didn’t even look at his wife. He was too busy inspecting his half-filled wine chalice. “Very thoughtful of you, Fell, to ask—except you know how shy Flora is. She has no wish to bother anyone with concern for her.”
My eyes bugged—at both Birch’s callous comment over his own consort, and the way they’d sidestepped the conversation.
Are they really so at odds with each other that they’re not even willing to answer a simple question about something we’re all dealing with? Things are this bad, and they won’t even pretend to work together?
Their unwillingness to even help me a little was a bitter taste in my mouth.
This was what I’d have to deal with for the rest of my life? I was never going to get them to stop struggling for power. I’d be better off hoping they all died before me and then swooping in and befriending whatever fae took their place.
And isn’t that conniving in a different way?
Chapter Eleven
Leila
I glumly stared at the food I couldn’t risk eating.
It was then that Solis, in his seat next to me, leaned in. “The frequency of barrier failures depends on the Court,” he said.
I glanced at the Day King, fighting my instinct to hug him like I would a favorite uncle or cousin.
The other rulers may be pukes, but Solis makes up for it.
Solis quietly continued—though I could barely hear him over King Fell and King Birch. “If it’s unstable, the barrier will fail more often.”
Great. The Night Court is the textbook definition of unstable with our money issues, the assassination attempts against me, and everything else going on.
“On average I’d say you can expect it at least once a season, if not more,” Solis said.
My shoulders slumped. “That’s what I was afraid of. I appreciate the information, Solis.”
He winked at me, which was dazzling enough to blind me temporarily. “Of course.”
“What are you two conspiring over?” Verdant demanded, interrupting Fell’s latest soliloquy and frowning at Solis and me.
“We’re talking shop—since no one seems to be able to carry on adult conversation here,” I said.
King Birch frowned. “Shop?”
“A bizarre human idiom, I am sure,” King Fell sneered.
I didn’t take the bait, but I did glance at Rigel, who was picking at his food nearly as badly as I was.
I leaned a little closer to my husband, and King Fell continued his tirade.
“It isn’t bad enough we have to bow and scrape to human law outside our lands, now we have to deal with them invading our Courts.”
King Birch lowered his eyes and smirked across the table at me. “It’s no wonder magic is dying, eh?”
“How soon do you think we can leave?” I whispered to Rigel, ignoring the scavengers.
Rigel shrugged. “The feast typically carries on well past dark.”
“Oh heck no, I’m not subjecting us to this for that many hours,” I hissed.
“I am more concerned with our region.” Verdant pressed her lips together in a pout. “We shall be a laughing stock once the West Coast learns of all that has happened within the Night Court.”
“We ought to prepare for the likely wave of night fae seeking to swear themselves to a new Court,” Birch said. “For who could stand her as their monarch?” He nodded his head to me.
“Fae should have a ruler they can respect and fear,” King Fell said. “An individual of tradition and power.” He glanced at me and narrowed his eyes. “And proper pedigree.”
That’s it. I’m not staying for this, even if they are more powerful than me.
“Well, this has all been a bucket of laughs, but it’s time for Rigel and me to leave,” I said.
“You intend to leave before those honored today close the festivities?” Queen Verdant stuck her nose up in the air. “You really are a half blood.”
“It’s true—my human half makes me much weaker to fits of love,” I said.
Queen Rime lowered her cellphone. “Don’t—”
“Fits of what?” Queen Verdant frowned, and a curl from the mass of gold ringlets piled on the top of her head in a style similar to mine slipped free and framed her face.
Queen Rime sighed and went back to her game, effectively checking out of the conversation. Again.
“Fits of love,” I helpfully repeated. I could practically feel Skye’s eyes boring holes in the back of my head, but if I was going to be dragged to these ego-filling ceremonies, I was at least going to get a laugh out of it. “It’s love that drives me away from such a fascinating, admirable, and wonderful ceremony like the one we witnessed tonight. My love of my husband to be precise.”
Queen Verdant frowned and looked from me to Rigel. “Love of the Wrai—I mean, Lord Rigel?”
“Yes. We are deeply—and madly—in love!” I leaned against Rigel’s arm.
Rigel played along in that he didn’t shake me off or do anything besides look stone faced and intimidating.
“Which is why I made the discovery that my artistic skills are not equal to capturing Rigel’s incredible handsomeness, and the light of his gaze.”
“You’re babbling about art again?” King Birch sneered. “Your love is…” he trailed off when he glanced at Rigel, who stared at him from across the table.
He cleared his throat, then grabbed a steaming roll from a tray. He took a bite of it, then carelessly tossed it on his wife’s—Flora’s—plate.
She didn’t seem bothered by it. She ate the roll without complaining.
There is something weird about that.
“You truly expect me to believe the two of you love each other?” Queen Verdant scoffed.
“To be frank, I don’t care what you believe, but I’ll tell the world a thousand times over, I love Rigel!” I boldly declared. “Which is why I’ve come to the realization that drawings, paintings aren’t good enough to capture my fae-bae’s true likeness.”
I passionately clenched my hands and positioned myself so I could see their reactions, because this was going to be fantastic. “It can only be properly taken and recorded by a statue—because only statues can show off Rigel’s chiseled abs to perfection!”
Queen Rime actually spat out her drink, and King Fell, who’d been smirking as he cockily chewed on a cut of meat, choked.
Consort Flora’s eyes widened as she put her hand on King Birch’s arm, but Queen Verdant was probably my favorite reaction. She’d been about to bite a tiny roasted potato, but because of my announcement she missed her mouth and smeared butter across her cheek.
Indigo coughed into her elbow to cover what sounded suspiciously like a snicker. “Well played—that’ll give the fuss budgets a heart attack,” she whispered.
When I glanced back at Skye I thought for sure she’d be guzzling antacid, but the corners of her lips were folded in a very distinct smirk as she gazed at the monarchs.
I’m not the only one bothered by their insufferable quest for power.
Pleased with the chaos I’d caused, I stood up and brushed my toga off. “Let’s go, Rigel. The sculptor will arrive at the mansion before us, and
it took me forever to find an artist worthy of you. It’s time to go!”
Rigel was already standing, and he held out his arm for me.
“I don’t believe it,” King Fell said in a “whisper” that was clearly loud enough for us to hear. “I’ll never believe the Wraith is in love!”
I placed my hand on Rigel’s forearm, and was surprised when he picked up my hand and—meeting my eyes—kissed my fingers.
A glimmer of humor brightened up the darkness of his eyes. They weren’t black, but more of a playful obsidian.
I was momentarily speechless—and I wasn’t the only one based on all the choking noises emitting from the table behind me.
When Rigel turned to walk away, I had to take a peek behind us. It was too tempting—and all too vindicating.
King Birch had actually dropped his glass chalice, which shattered on his plate and marinated his food in red wine and flecked his consort with droplets.
Queen Verdant was wildly coughing—she’d apparently inhaled something during Rigel’s display, and King Fell had pushed his chair over in his shock and was frozen in a half-rising, half-sitting position as he stared.
Even Queen Rime was staring at us, delicately pressing her hand over her heart.
I smirked as I waggled my fingers at them. “Bye everyone—enjoy the banquet!” I might have cackled a little as I hopped a few steps to catch up with my consort.
Skye and Indigo were ahead of us—carrying on like champs, of course. Looking at them, you’d never guess they were just as shocked as the monarchs—perhaps even more because they knew the truth.
“That was a lot of fun. Thanks, Rigel.” It was hard not to skip in my glee. “If I were a less scrupulous person, I’d ask for a repeat performance to see if we can get Fell to choke!”
Rigel glanced down at me. “It might be worth a shot.”
“A fellow Fell hater, huh? Stick with me—he doesn’t know it, but I’m going to be cheering a lot more when he has to hand off his power to Rime, haha!”
“A royal portrait?” I repeated.
“Yes. Every monarch has one—they hang in the portrait gallery,” Skye said.
“We have a portrait gallery?”
“Yep. It used to be in the castle, but when the hall’s glass ceiling collapsed Queen Nyte had them moved here.” Indigo marched up to my chair and gave me a plateful of assorted donut holes.
“What’s this?” I stared at the plate and tried not to drool.
“Donuts. Have some—though I’ll warn you they might not be top of the line. This is my first attempt,” Indigo said.
I licked my lips as I peered over my donuts. Some were chocolate, others were covered in a glaze, and a handful of them were rolled in cinnamon sugar. “What inspired you to try?”
“You seemed to really want some when we were at the ceremony last week,” Indigo said.
I ripped my gaze from the amazing desserts. “And you made some—just for me?”
Indigo coughed and looked away. “Yeah.”
“Aww! Thank you, Indigo!” I squealed and threw my arms around the brownie, hugging her tight.
“I get it, I get it, you’re welcome.” She squirmed in my grasp, but when she paused, she patted my back.
“You’re the best.” I grinned at her as I let go. “What’s this one?” I pointed to a donut at random.
Indigo made a point of brushing herself off and straightening her sweater. “A chocolate yeast donut with raspberry sauce and a line of chocolate frosting going down the center. I call it the eye of Sauron.”
I laughed—most of the food she made me somehow referenced superheroes, books, or movies—but then I took a bite of my donut and lost the ability to sit up right—it was still warm, and the outside had just a slightly crisp texture while the chocolate matched with the raspberry made a brilliant taste. “Wow. Indigo, these are just wow.” I closed my eyes. “You win forever with these. Wow!”
I finished my donut and shook my head. “Okay, sorry Skye. I’ll be serious now.”
A slight smile played on Skye’s lips. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Have a donut—they’re filled with Indigo’s love for me.”
Indigo rolled her eyes, but Skye took a misshapen cake donut that had so much glaze on it, it looked almost waxy.
“That’s a Gollum donut,” Indigo said.
Skye nodded—even though I doubted she knew what Indigo was talking about—then she bit into it and hummed. “Indigo, this is delicious.”
“Yeah, yeah, suckups. I’ll make you more donuts even if you don’t flatter me.” Indigo took a blueberry donut hole when I offered the plate to her. “But I’ll tell my mom—the base recipe is my grandma’s.”
“Bless your grandma.” I licked my lips and eyed another donut. “Okay. Focusing. There’s a portrait gallery of all the dead royals, and you want me to get a portrait to match.”
“It’s tradition,” Skye said.
“How surprising.” I clutched my plate of donuts to my stomach and stood up. “Let’s go tour it, shall we?”
“Right now?” Indigo asked.
“No time like the present.”
Skye was already trotting off ahead of us, opening the door for me, leading the way away from my private study and down the hall. “I thought you might be interested in seeing it. I have an appointment scheduled with an artist this afternoon, but I imagine you’ll want time to think it over.”
“What’s the deal with the portrait?” I asked. “Why do you have them when cameras have been around for a while. Wait, let me guess—”
“It’s tradition,” Skye, Indigo, and I said together.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I helped myself to another donut—this time I tried a Gollum. “But what’s the point?”
“To record the leaders of our Court,” Skye said. “It’s useful for history, and in some ways it can be a lesson to the Night Court itself not to judge our monarchs based on their images, but rather what they did for us.”
“Oh really?” I followed her around a corner, through an archway I vaguely remembered—yes, even though the massive mansion was mine and I knew my way around it, I didn’t remember every single room. My schedule was too packed for me to stroll around and admire it, and there was no way I was exploring the place in the middle of the night. Lone girl going through a house filled with magic? No way—I’d seen that movie before!
The archway opened up into a large, sunny chamber. The walls were covered in a beautiful fern green wallpaper and decorated with light gray baroque swirls. I spotted the requisite tea equipment—every room in my mansion had to have at least one tea set or teacup, apparently.
The portrait gallery had a glass case of tea implements that looked like they belonged in a Japanese tea ceremony. There were several shallow, off white bowls that each had a brush of blue glaze on their sides—I was guessing those were the teacups. A bamboo tea whisk and an ivory tea scoop were set off to the side with a beautiful lacquered box and a square of white linen.
The tea implements were a stark sort of beauty compared to the overwhelming walls upon walls of painted portraits.
Starting at about chest height and reaching high up to the ceiling were dozens and dozens of portraits of long-dead fae monarchs.
All of them were solemn faced—though they kind of looked like they sat on a thumbtack—and more beautiful and perfect than I’m sure the monarchs were when they were alive.
Perfect skin, flawless hair—what, am I supposed to think they’re elves?
I frowned as I studied the portraits, looking at a few familiar faces from paintings that had been showcased in my history textbooks. “Are they out of order?” I asked.
Skye linked her hands behind her back. “Yes. They’ve been arranged in the order of, how to say it delicately…”
“Popularity,” Indigo bluntly said. “That’s why they stuck Queen Nyte all the way at the top up there.” She pointed to one of the enormous portraits that was in the top row—barely viewabl
e because it was up so high and there was a glare from the lighting.
“Hah—that is hilarious!” I turned in a slow circle, taking the gallery in.
The room didn’t connect to any other chambers, and besides the portraits, the tea stuff, a few benches, and several palm-tree type plants placed strategically around the space in giant pots there was nothing in the room.
“I’m not going to lie. With so many portraits that look ridiculously perfect, they all start to look alike after a while,” I said.
Indigo snorted. “You’re not wrong.”
“Your portrait may include Consort Rigel, if you wish. But having a couple’s portrait is not required—or even common.” She indicated to the wall of paintings. Only about half of them were of couples. Lots of them were of a single monarch—even though I knew from personal experience that they had to be married.
And each and every one of them—including the original king everyone was obsessed with, man I’d like to give him a piece of my mind if he was still around—looked icy and other worldly.
No wonder so many members of my Court are formal with me. When you have such beautiful but cold leaders like this, there’s going to be a clear line of distinction between the Court and its monarch.
“Do these get shown to the other Courts?” I asked.
Skye tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Are these portraits used for press releases or anything like that? Maybe for official ceremonies or something?” I asked.
“No, we take annual photographs—you had to sit for yours with Rigel the day after your wedding, remember?” Skye prodded.
“What you’re saying is no one besides my Court and maybe a few curious visitors will see the portrait?” I asked.
Indigo and Skye exchanged looks.
“Yes,” Skye slowly said.
“But this portrait will be how your Court remembers you once you’re gone,” Indigo said.
I ate a donut hole to cover my smirk. “Oh—I understand that perfectly. In fact, I’m counting on it.”
