The Immortal Queen

by Jennifer L. Hart

  “Water,” I counter, unwilling to shed one ounce of my inhibitions in this place. Well, one ounce more than I’d already done. I need every advantage I can get.

  The sun is high in the sky. Large palms flank the patio, providing adequate shade. He hands me the glass and then turns to take in the view. “Magnificent, isn’t it? Much warmer than you’re used to, I’ll wager, even this time of year.”

  I study him out of the corner of my eye. It’s unclear if he’s referring to the old Nicneven who lived in an ice palace or to Nic the mountain girl. Questions abound. How much does he know about me? Was he the one who pixed us from the fairy hill?

  I am not a game player, unless you count hunting and stalking as a game. But word games and political machinations aren’t my forte. I decide to put my cards on the table. “What is it you want from me, Wardon?”

  He flashes that shark’s grin. “And what makes you think I want anything?”

  “You didn’t send your trolls out to collect me just for the pleasure of my company,” I take a sip of water.

  “Perhaps I just wanted the chance to see if the rumors are true.”

  I quirk a brow. “Rumors seldom are.”

  “I’m not so sure.” He pulls up a chair beside my chaise, and leans back, steepling his fingers while he scans me. “You look different from before, as rumor reported. Smaller, younger and obviously mortal. But the gauntlet will take care of most of that.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “It’s going to make me bigger?”

  He laughs. “Not in body, but in spirit. I have yet to see a mortal reach immortality that didn’t overflow with a sense of purpose. Only the strongest survive, you are aware.”

  He doesn’t wait for my response, but continues. “No, it’s going to make you harder. The gauntlet breaks a soul down to its core and builds it back up again. Life is hard and unending life is harder still. It takes something unbreakable to go up against the vastness of forever.”

  It takes all my self-control not to react to his description. A sense of purpose? I have been set on this path by others, those who want me to reclaim the Shadow Throne. Wardon apparently believes I have what it takes to come out victorious. Is he mistaking hardness for coldness, determination for pride?

  To distract myself I ask, “What other rumors have you heard?”

  “That you continue to serve in the same capacity, collecting diseased souls to serve the Wild Hunt. That you have no mortal compassion, no feelings for anyone and are completely self-serving.” He raises a glass, his filled with an amber liquid. “My kind of woman.”

  I drink to his toast sans argument then set my glass aside. “And where would a Seelie king hear such gossip?”

  Quicksilver eyes glitter. “From my spies, of course. You don’t think Brigit was the only one keeping tabs on you?”

  I offer a tight smile, even as the image of the brown eyed stranger who had been eyeballing me in the cafeteria surfaces. “And why go to the trouble of spying? What is it you hope to gain?”

  Instead of answering, Wardon sets his empty glass aside and stands. “With Brigit gone, I am the oldest monarch in any of the courts. That role comes with certain responsibilities. To uphold tradition and continue to rule as I always have or, if the situation warrants it, to create new and more suitable roles. The lives of the fey have not markedly changed for eons with magic being the dividing line between the haves and have nots.

  The fey courts were split before mankind even crawled from the ooze yet most of our people live in squalor. You have spent time in Underhill, surely you know of this plight.”

  I nod once, refusing to ask another question until he answered the previous one.

  “One monarch is dead, with no obvious heir to claim the Fire Throne and the Unseelie nobles squabble like children over a teacake. The Shadow Throne sits empty, awaiting your return. The two thrones together make up the Unseelie Court. I want you to claim them both and then unite with me to take the Green Throne from Pan’s heir. Four thrones, two rulers.”

  I blink at him. “You want to unite the fey?”

  His thin lips curved upwards. “Imagine, ruling both the Seelie and the Unseelie together.”

  My stomach feels hollow, and not just from lack of food. “By together you mean...?”

  “I want you to marry me.”

  I stare at him, my lips parting. Out of all the things he could possibly say... “Why marriage? Why not simply a truce?”

  He gestures back through the open glass doors to the driftwood shelves that hold rows and rows of books. “I’ve been studying mortal history. Many great empires united through marriage to form lasting alliances. If it works for the mortals it can work for us as well. Imagine it, Nicneven. All the fey united under one banner.”

  My heart is thundering in my chest but outwardly I am calm. Cold. The Ice Bitch. “I’m surprised you didn’t propose this to Brigit.”

  “I did.” He says without an ounce of remorse. “Why do you think she murdered you in the first place?”

  “YOU DID WHAT?” AIDEN’S hands are fist at his side, the knuckles white.

  Apparently, he’d appeared on the balcony in time to hear the confession. Fantastic.

  “Ah, here’s your wolf. Now. If the two of you will excuse me, I have some royal matters concerning the transition of power to attend to.” Without waiting for a response, he makes to sweep past Aiden. For his part, Aiden is perfectly still, a predator ready to strike. He’s a hairsbreadth from tearing out Wardon’s throat.

  I do the one thing I swore not to do. I use our bond to command him. Aiden, stand down.

  He swings his murderous gaze to me.

  Not here. I shake my head slightly in warning. In the glass door, I see Wardon’s lips curve up in a self-satisfied smile. Obviously, the fey King wants the two of us to fight. Why can’t Aiden sense the trap? He’s supposed to be better at this than I am, my guide in navigating the quagmire of fey politics. Yet he’s playing right into Wardon’s hands.

  Play along. I mentally project to Aiden. “I find I am feeling fatigued. Will you escort me back upstairs so I can rest before dinner?” The tone is a little bit entitled debutant, certainly not me, but if Wardon wants a show, I’ll give him one.

  Aiden’s jaw clenches, but he offers an arm. “As her highness desires.”

  Don’t be an ass. I think at him, though I keep my eyes staring straight ahead. I’m not considering his offer. He’s a power-hungry psychopath who teamed up with Brigit to have me killed. Don’t look relieved, I’m sure someone is watching.

  Aiden immediately schools his features back to the same tenseness and leads me out into the hall.

  He’s an idiot if he thinks you won’t take that bit about him convincing Brigit to murder you personally, Aiden says.

  I dip my head in acknowledgment of a finely dressed group of courtiers as we pass in the hallway. Right? I hold onto grudges like they’ll be back in vogue. Not the best way to pad a marriage proposal. I can’t figure out what his actual game is though. What is it he really wants?

  We ascend the steps and I sag once the door to our bedchamber closes. “I’m sorry I ordered you.”

  He huffs out a breath. “I’m sorry you had to.”

  “You need to be smarter than that, Aiden.”

  He looks away and his Adam’s apple bobs. “I know. You ran out of here so fast and the thought of you out there alone and unguarded in the viper’s den made my wolf rise. I had to fight the change before I could come after you. And then to hear that bastard admit that he practically took out a hit on you—” he breaks off, shaking his head.

  “Hey,” I say. “It’s all right. I see him for what he is and he doesn’t scare me.”

  “But I do.” Aiden keeps his distance, his heart in his eyes. “I scare you into running.”

  I swallow and look away. “Now’s not the time for this conversation. We have more important things to focus on, like finding Nahini and the spirits of the Hunt.”

  He fli
nches and it isn’t until that moment that I realize how my words might have sounded. “Aiden, I didn’t mean—”

  “That I’m not important? No, I already got that update, thanks.” He stalks to the door. “Stay here, I’ll be back before dinner.”

  “Aiden, I didn’t mean—” I say but the door is already closing behind him.

  “That could have gone better.” I slip my feet free of the sea glass shoes and shuck the dress off before crawling into bed. Though my body hurts and I am physically exhausted, sleep doesn’t come right away. The sheets are scratchy against my bare skin. I get up and pad over to the wardrobe. A layer of pajama fabric will help. But instead of the t-shirt and boxers I was hoping for I am faced with rows of lacy undergarments. Baby doll nighties, merry widows, and sexy lingerie in every color of the rainbow that have little to do with sleeping.

  With a resigned sigh I reach for a sheer black camisole and matching thong, probably the least revealing of the garments. After dressing, I head back to the bed and do my level best not to think myself crazy.

  I hate the doubt and uncertainty. Even when not in the throes of a full-blown panic attack the feelings are there, lurking just below the surface, a geyser ready to erupt at any time. And Aiden is usually the one catching the brunt of my bad temper.

  He’s right, I had been jealous earlier, to find that fey vixen sniffing around him. I didn’t even like when he flirts with mortals like Gretchen, never mind a forever young seer. If there’s a green-eyed monster in this relationship, it certainly isn’t Aiden.

  He’d described his own jealousy to me, how he felt in my last life when, during my fertile time, I had to sleep with fey nobles. How had he endured it, knowing that another male was touching my body, using it, trying to intentionally plant immortal life in my womb? I can’t even stand to see him talking to another woman.

  If I’m honest, the envy has very little to do with Aiden’s behavior. I heard him turn the seer down. It isn’t his fault that he’s flawless, that his body is made for long sweaty sessions between the sheets. Yes, he’s respectful to every woman he meets, even Freda, who treats him with contempt. And that kindness made him even more appealing than his sexual magnetism. Both traits I lack.

  Even though he makes my skin crawl, Wardon really is a more fitting match for me than Aiden. I understand his cold ruthlessness, the fact that his soul is nothing more than bare branches scraping against glass. Aiden is warmth and light and life, the opposite of the Seelie king. And of me.

  The lace on the camisole abrades my nipples, still sensitive from our earlier romp. I groan and then turn over. And then there are these damn foreign urges, the sensations that course through me whenever I look at Aiden, or get a hit of his wild scent. Twice now, I’ve been lost in the madness of sexual need. Hell, just having him look at me a certain way is enough to ignite my desire.

  Something has to give. I know it and Aiden knows it. Eventually, I’ll have to either give in to the urges or shut him down entirely. We can’t continue indefinitely in this half state, both together and not together. It’s making me crazy, wreaking hell with his control.

  I am playing with fire, in every sense of the word.

  I can’t be what it is Aiden wants me to be, open with my body, honest with my thoughts, trusting with my heart. The knowledge is there, deep in my guts. I can’t be free with my body, to trust him with it, to let my guard down so much. He says he can accept a non-sexual relationship. Maybe he even believes that’s what he wants. Yet every time we are alone together it’s as though we’re dangling a match over a keg of gunpowder. Eventually there will be an explosion and we’ll be lucky if the blast doesn’t destroy us both.

  I roll onto my side. What happens when Aiden comes back, lies down next to me? Will he reach for me? And if he does, will I go into his arms?

  I surge upright and sprint to the wardrobe thinking pillows. I fling open the door and grab a giant armful of pillows and dash back to the bed, dump my load and head back for another.

  Cocooned once more in bed, I start stacking a wall of pillows around my scantily clad body. It feels silly but a physical barrier might buy me time to think before I attack him. Task done, I flop back onto the bed and try not to think about having sex with Aiden.

  It isn’t fair to string him along this way. To use him whenever a fey spell turns me on, then shut him down when the danger passes. What’s the other option, though? To set him free, let him move on to someone else, give his devotion to another. Maybe a goddess. My fists clench at the thought of him in some golden beauty’s arms, kissing her the way he kisses me, caressing her as he touched me, being everything to her that he once was for me.

  In a way, my aunts had been right to insist that Aiden keep his distance from me. You can’t miss what you don’t remember. For if I had never encountered him perhaps the memories of my past life would have stayed buried and I would have gone on with my mortal life, never knowing what I was missing.

  And then there’s the very real possibility that I won’t survive the gauntlet, won’t make it to immortality. Everyone around me, even Wardon, seems sure I will make it, that I will come out the other side ready to pick up where I left off.

  I’m not so sure.

  No matter how many times I try to picture it, I can’t see myself sitting on the Shadow Throne. Can’t imagine ruling the Unseelie fey, dispensing justice. It’s like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole—no amount of force is going to make it fit.

  I don’t want to die but neither do I want to live forever as an immortal queen. Why are those my only options? My mind is like a bumblebee in a jar, ricocheting off an invisible prison, unable to find a way out.

  Eventually exhaustion has its way with me because the next thing I know the door to the bed chamber groans and Aiden pads inside. The cream-colored tunic and pants he’s wearing is wrinkled and crusted with sand around the ankles and his hair appears windblown.

  Green eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s okay.” I sit up and half a dozen pillows topple from the stack.

  Awkward silence.

  He shuts the door, comes into the room. I struggle upright, wishing I had come to some sort of decision about how to approach him, to tell him the truth he needs to accept.

  “I think I know where Nahini has gone.” Aiden says.

  That pulls my mind from the downward spiral into self-pity. “Where?”

  “The valley of lost souls.”

  “Sounds promising.” When he frowns I add, “For the missing members of the Hunt. How far is it from here?”

  “About two days overland on foot. Faster if you can convince Wardon to lend me a horse.”

  Tossing the covers back, I set my feet on the floor, ready to go. “You mean us a couple of horses, right? For both of us?”

  He shakes his head. “You should stay here.”

  “And why is that, exactly?”

  I expect him to say something about how it’s too dangerous for my mortal self. Truth be told, all of Underhill is too dangerous. But he surprises me.

  “You should consider his offer.”

  My mouth falls open. “The offer of marriage? The one you were fuming about not even an hour ago?”

  He looks away, the green of his irises focus elsewhere. “Wardon would be a powerful ally, something you’ll need to combat whichever of Brigit’s progeny lays claim to the Fire Throne.”

  “You’re joking, right? Tell me you are kidding.”

  He doesn’t respond, doesn’t as much as twitch.

  I stalk towards him. “You actually want me to marry the bastard who suggested to Brigit that she should kill me in the first place?”

  His lids lower somewhat, his voice sounds detached when he speaks. “Brigit is dead. Things are different. You’re different and pretending you aren’t won’t help us.”

  “I’m not attracted to Wardon.” I raise my chin.

  A muscle jumps in his jaw. “It doesn�
�t matter.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t,” I snap.

  “What he’s proposing is a political alliance. You’ve seen the fey of Underhill, see how they struggle. Forever young beings that die of starvation and exposure. You could put a stop to that.”

  “By becoming Wardon’s brood mare?” I snap.

  “You said you wanted to make things right,” Aiden snaps backs. “To make up for your past sins. This will let you do so without fey bloodshed.”

  “So, instead of sleeping with hundreds of fey I don’t desire, I only have to sleep with one? You know what the difference is between a queen that marries for position and a back-alley whore? Some high-end fabrics and a warmer place to do the deed.”

  “An alliance in the Seelie Court could make a difference come Ragnorok,” he says quietly. “You’d be able to do something to stop the end of the world.”

  “And that matters more to you? You’d trade me for the rest of the world?”

  His face closes like a shop at the end of the workday. Take your business elsewhere, his expression says. We’re no longer interested. “In a heartbeat.”

  My breath hitches, as though he’s hit me in the diaphragm. Here I thought I would have to find a way to let him down, to set him free. Had he been looking for his own escape all along or is this a recent development?

  I turn away from him, not wanting him to see my loss of composure. Or the pain that’s ripping through my system like jagged glass.

  “Fine,” the word comes out thin, but audible enough that I know he hears. “I’ll get you a horse. Do you need anything else?”

  “I’ll make do.” His tone is detached.

  I nod, then straighten my shoulders. Through the window I can see the light purpling, the shadows growing longer. Almost dinner time.

  “I better get downstairs.” I say. “You should go.”

  He doesn’t respond, doesn’t protest at all. The door shuts quietly behind him. There won’t be any chasing after me this time, no mad dash to keep me under guard. I’m a commodity now, valuable only in what he can buy with me.