“As I heard you say, there isn’t much this baby won’t get from Maiwenn. Most of these nobles are more interested in making the queen happy, not the baby—hence all the useless gifts.”
“Why, Leith,” scolded his mother. “That’s ridiculous. I’m sure Maiwenn’s child will absolutely love the crystal dinnerware we brought.”
When I finally excused us, Leith kissed my hand again and spoke in a voice too low for Katrice to hear.
“I’m sorry about her. She doesn’t always think before she speaks.”
I laughed. “It’s okay,” I murmured back. “She’s a queen. That’s her job.”
More loudly and properly, he said, “I hope you’ll come visit us. Mother’s been dying to receive you at our court.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “One of these days.” I tried to reciprocate the politeness. “You should come visit us too. I’m not around much, but you’re welcome whenever.”
He brightened, as did Katrice who actually stayed silent for a change. “Thank you, your majesty. I’d love to. I’ve heard amazing things about your land. They say it’s very fierce. Fierce, but beautiful.”
Shaya laughed softly as we departed. “Oh, you don’t know what you’ve done.”
I stared at her. “What do you mean? I think I handled that well, considering that woman’s endless chattering.”
“Don’t let her surface fool you. She’s shrewder than you think. And powerful. Unfortunately, her son is not.”
“Leith? What do you mean? Magically?”
She nodded. “His magic is almost nonexistent. He won’t be able to inherit her kingdom.”
“Whoa…” Considering how long gentry lived, I’d never thought much about inheritance issues. “But he seemed pretty competent. Very intelligent.”
“He is. Extremely so. He’s an inventor of sorts. He’s created things that have revolutionized their kingdom—and the others, slowly. He most recently created tools to print text in books the way your people do. It’ll save a fortune in scribes.”
“Like a printing press? Wow.” Who knew? Leith was like a fairy version of Gutenberg. Cool. Maybe the Otherworld was well on its way to the Industrial Revolution. “And that doesn’t count for anything with ruling?”
“No.” Shaya didn’t sound sympathetic in the least. Magical strength was the greatest measure of a gentry’s worth, which is why my bastard father had been held in such high regard. Those who believed I would match him one day regarded me similarly. “Ingenuity alone is not enough to inherit the throne or bind the land. However, his odds might improve if he had a powerful consort.”
I suddenly tripped on my own feet when I caught her meaning. “What, you mean me?”
“By their estimation, you’re a good match. Powerful, already ruling a kingdom. Your human blood and ability to conceive makes you extremely attractive, your role in the prophecy doubly so.”
“Christ. You people are nuts.”
She seemed to be enjoying my dismay. “Like I said, Katrice is shrewd. She wasn’t lying when she said she wanted to meet you. She’s probably planned this for a while. You inviting Leith to visit fulfilled her dreams. Just wait, he’ll come soon.”
“How come you guys have no concept of ‘just friends’ around here? Why is every guy I meet a potential mate? Leith was nice enough and cute, but I mean…come on.”
I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. The gentry had much looser sexual mores than humans—as a few couples in the room’s corners were currently demonstrating—so they probably treated everything as a possible romantic encounter. Considering the wights’ less-than-romantic bid for my affections earlier, I should have been grateful for Leith’s more civilized courtship. Still, I found it all wearying.
Shaya introduced me to a number of other nobles that afternoon. Most blurred together. I simply smiled and nodded a lot, fantasizing about being home in bed with Kiyo. Near the end of the party, one new person actually caught my attention.
The first interesting thing was just how dark his skin was—a rarity in the otherwise Caucasian gentry of this portion of the Otherworld. His black hair hung around his face in a shower of tiny braids, perfectly setting off the burgundy satin cloak around him. He bowed low over my hand, sweeping his cloak away with a flourish.
“Your majesty,” he said with a faint French accent. “It is an honor and a privilege. The stories of your beauty do not do you justice. I am Girard de la Colline.”
I accepted his hand kiss with astonishment. “You must be from very far away.”
The Otherworld mirrored my own world in geography. The residents here, near Arizona, spoke variations of American English. I wondered idly if those who ruled now had supplanted an American Indian version of the gentry.
“Such a journey is well worth it to be in your presence, but sometime, if you like, I would be honored to tell you stories of my homeland. Its beauty is enough to make a man weep, though I’m given to understand that the terrible beauty of your own kingdom can make men weep as well—for different reasons.”
I laughed. “I suppose so. Those who respect it can survive it; those who don’t…well, don’t.”
“It sounds just like its queen.” He inclined his head. “I also have a small talent with metalwork, if you would ever like anything crafted. I live in the Rowan Land now but would happily take a commission if you require one.”
I thanked him for the offer and said I’d think about it. When we left him, I turned to Shaya. “I liked him. But let me guess—he wants to woo me and father my child, too?”
“Oh, he wouldn’t be opposed to it, but that’s not his short-term goal. He really is quite a gifted artisan—he’s even got a little human blood in his ancestry, which lets him somewhat touch iron. But a man like him…well, he’s a courtier. He hangs around nobility and tries to find connections that might help him rule a kingdom of his own one day.”
“Which, my dear Shaya, is a very kind way of saying he is a schmoozing bottom-feeder who will do anything to further his own political aspirations. I will agree with you on his artistic talents, however. Why, we should have him make our good friend the Thorn Queen here a proper crown and solidify her title.”
That smooth, laconic voice sliced my heart in two, and I froze. Turning around slowly, I met a pair of long-lashed green eyes flecked with gold and hazel, all framed by a sweep of long, fiery hair that rivaled the trees of autumn in his kingdom.
Dorian, King of the Oak Land.
“Your majesty,” exclaimed Shaya happily, giving him a low curtsey. “How are you? How is your domain?”
Dorian smiled and lightly chucked her chin. “Are you afraid my household has fallen apart without you? I confess, it does run a bit less smoothly than before, but we endure what we must. I have no doubts your new mistress has more need of your services than I, so I shall suffer longer for her sake.”
He
