could only imagine the thoughts running through her mind, the indignity her virtue would force her to feel.
“I …” She jumped up, tears trickling down her cheeks. “You have humiliated me, sir.”
“No,” he said, his voice harsh as he reached for her. “There is no shame in desire.”
“There is a very great indignity in animal lusts, my lord. And you, sir, are the worst sort of defiler.”
“Does my passion disgust you?” he asked as he captured an errant curl and ran his finger through it, “or is it your response to my lust that mortifies you?”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted on a silent word. The ugly creature inside him rose, gnashing its teeth, wanting retribution for her slight. His sin wanted to take her, to ravish her and show her shame, humiliation. And the Dark Fey … He wanted to lash out as well, his pride stinging at her hurtful, if not accurate, assessment of him.
He captured her, brought her up hard against him so that her bare breasts were pressed against his silk waistcoat. She gasped as a button rubbed against her nipple, pebbling it. “You feign innocence so well,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “You act as though you’re offended, disgraced, ruined, but still your body heats for a touch. Your scent perfumes the air, and I would wager that if I were to search beneath the layers of lace, and innocent white linen of your petticoats, I would find your tight little cunt wet for me.”
She slapped him hard across his cheek. “Never.”
He smiled and allowed her to walk away, if only for a moment so he could collect what was left of his honorable intentions. “Have you thrown the gauntlet down, Lady Chastity?” he called after her.
“I will never submit to you,” she sneered as she righted her dress. Reaching for her, he brought her up against him, whispering hotly in her ear.
“You will do more than submit, I assure you. When I next have you, you’ll beg.”
FIVE
“WELL?”
“They have found them.”
The smash of a crystal goblet against the gold wall made the handful of pixie handmaidens hovering about the faery queen jump with fear.
“Leave us!” the queen snapped, further frightening the easily agitated pixies. Crom watched the servants file out of his mother’s salon. They knew as well as he did that it was never a good thing to invoke the ire of the queen. She was one of the most powerful fey in the world, and she did not suffer setbacks easily. Her thirst for the annihilation of the Unseelie Court kept her strong, focused and easily angered.
She whirled on him, the silver robe she wore over her long gown billowing out like a puff of smoke. Her beautiful features twisted into a mask of horror, anger and perhaps fear. “How can this be? How have the Dark Fey learned of the virtues?”
“I do not know. But I assure you, they have.”
“No,” she huffed as she paced the perimeter of the gilded room. “No, it is impossible. They could not have discovered that the mortal blood they need to end their curse is that of the virtues. That secret has been safe for two hundred years. I made it so,” she seethed. “It is my spell, my curse, and the virtues,” she scoffed, now in full-blown anger, “are my creation. Mine. Designed for use in my court. I control them. I use them. Not,” she huffed breathlessly from her tirade, “the Dark Fey.”
“Mother, calm yourself,” Crom suggested as he reached for the decanter of mead. Pulling the crystal out of his hand, she slammed the decanter back onto the table.
“I want answers, Crom. It is impossible that Niall, or any of the others, could have learned of the virtues and their importance in the curse.”
“Perhaps,” Crom murmured as his gaze followed her about the room, “you have a spy in your court.”
That stopped her cold. She glared over her shoulder, violet eyes glistening with malice. “There is no snitch here.”
“Are you certain?”
“Completely. No one would dare defy my orders or betray their queen.”
“What of Viviana? She has escaped our court. Perhaps she is aiding your Unseelie son now.”
His mother stopped pacing, paused to look out the window and steadied herself, while pondering the thought. “She is a mortal, born a hundred years ago. Of course, living in our court slows her aging, but once she leaves …” His mother turned to him, her violet gaze now steady and assured. “She’s been gone six months, which is three years in the mortal realm. If she’s still alive she’s an old woman, probably crippled and babbling away. But more likely she’s turned to ash and the wind has carried her far away.”
His mother was usually right, of course. But in this matter, she wasn’t thinking clearly or broadly enough. Viviana was the virtue of diligence. Persistence. She had been brought to the Seelie Court with the first seven virtues and mated to a fey who was domineering and harsh. She had not been treated like the other six virtues. No, Crom thought, remembering the painful cries of Viviana as her fey husband mated with her. No, if anyone had the will to see something through, it was her. If anyone had a reason to betray the queen and the court, it was Viviana.
“Absolutely not,” his mother murmured. “It is not Viviana. Besides, Sucellos had a firm hand on her. She was submissive and content at last with her lot in life.”
No, she hadn’t been. His mother was deluding herself if she truly believed it. Sucellos was the fey warrior who ruled over fertility and death. His magic was powerful and dark, and Viviana had feared him, the monster Sucellos was. Twisted by his power in the Seelie Court, and the darkness that seemed to simmer in him, Sucellos was cruel, depraved and commanding. Crom would bet his riches that Sucellos carried inside him the blood of a Dark Fey. A fact that Sucellos was scrupulous about keeping from the queen.
“If not Viviana,” he asked, “then who?”
“No one in my court,” she firmly replied. Crom flicked a piece of lint from his lace cuff and glanced at her. So blind, he thought wonderingly. When had it been that his mother’s desperation for justice had started to overshadow the well-being of her own court? She was consumed by the need to bring the Unseelie to their knees. To see them obliterated. Their destruction was her every waking thought, and no doubt, her nightly dream.
“Perhaps,” he suggested carefully, “you underestimate my brother’s mental fortitude. He is not a simpleton, but a powerful Unseelie king.”
“He is a bastard barbarian,” she spat. “Born of that brute who raped me.”
“You forget something elemental,” Crom said, knowing he was going to enrage her. “Your blood also flows through his veins.”
“Do not talk to me of that … that monster,” she roared. “He is a Dark Fey, an abomination. I need no reminders that he came from my womb.”
“Still, he is your son—with at least half of your powers.”
She blanched. The beautiful, imposing queen of the fey actually paled, and
