"She cannot order another monarch to do anything. That is our law."
Niceven looked nervous. She feared Andais. Everyone did. "I do not wish to anger the queen."
"Neither do I."
"Do you really believe that the queen would punish her own son if he drove us away, rather than take out her anger on us?" She had crossed her legs again, arms folded over her chest, forgetting to flirt, forgetting to be regal in her fear.
"Where is Cel now?" I asked.
Niceven giggled, a most unpleasant little giggle. "Being punished for six months. There are bets going round that his sanity will not survive six months of isolation and torment."
I shrugged. "He should have thought of that before he was such a bad, bad boy."
"You are flippant, but if Cel comes out insane, it will be your name that he screams. Your face that he wants to smash."
"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."
"What?"
"It's a human saying. It means that I'll deal with the problem when and if it comes to pass."
She seemed to be thinking very hard, then said, "How would you offer this blood to me? I do not think either of us would relish a weekly trip between faerie and the Western Sea."
"I could put it upon a piece of bread, and the essence could be sent to you via magic."
She shook her head, ghostly curls bouncing around narrow shoulders. "The essence is never the same."
"What do you suggest?"
"If I send one of my people to you, they could act as my surrogate."
I thought about it for a moment, feeling Frost's stillness, hearing the heavy, almost tearing sound of Rhys pulling the brush through Doyle's hair. "Agreed. Tell me the cure for my knight and send your surrogate."
She laughed, off-key bells ringing. "No, Princess, you will gain the cure from the lips of my surrogate. If I give it to you now before I have been paid, you may think better of it."
"I have given you my word. I cannot go back upon it now."
"I have dealt with the great of faerie for too long to believe that everyone keeps their word."
"It is one of our most stringent laws," I said. "To be forsworn is to be outcast."
"Unless you have friends in very high places who make sure such tales are never spread."
"What are you saying, Queen Niceven?"
"I say only this, that the queen doth love her son much, and has broken-more than one taboo to keep him safe."
We stared at each other, and I knew without asking that Cel had made promises and broken them. That alone should have made him outcast and certainly denied him the right to any throne. Andais had always spoiled Cel, but I never realized just how much.
"When can we expect your surrogate?" I asked.
She seemed to consider this, reaching an idle hand out toward where the mouse was crouched. It crept close to her, its long whiskers twitching, ears alert, as if it still wasn't sure of its welcome. She stroked it gently. "A few days," she said.
"We are not always at home to welcome visitors. I would be loath to have your envoy receive less than our best hospitality."
"Leave a pot of flowers by your door and that will sustain him."
"Him?"
"I believe a him would please you more, would it not?"
I gave a small nod, because I wasn't sure I cared. I was sharing blood, not sex, so I didn't have a preference; or at least I didn't think I did. "I am sure the Queen is wise in her choosing."
"Pretty words, Princess. It remains to be seen whether you have pretty actions to back up all those words." Her eyes flicked back to the men and settled on Doyle and Rhys. "Pleasant dreams, Princess."
"And to you, Queen Niceven."
Something harsh crossed her face, made it look even thinner and sharper, as if her face were a mask. If she reached up and ripped her face off, I was not going to be able to hold my business face in place. But she didn't. She merely spoke in a voice that was like the whisper of scales on stone. "My dreams are my own business, Princess, and I will keep them as I like them."
I gave her another half bow. "I meant no insult."
"None taken, Princess, merely envy rearing its ugly head." With those words, the mirror went blank and smooth.
I sat gazing into my own reflection. Movement caught my gaze, and I watched Rhys and Doyle still on their knees. Muscles worked in Rhys's arms as he brushed Doyle's hair. Frost didn't so much move as just look at me in the mirror so hard that it turned me to look at him.
Frost glared back. The other two seemed unaware of my attention. "Niceven is gone. You can stop pretending," I said.
"I haven't finished brushing out all of this hair," Rhys said. "This is why I stopped growing mine down to my ankles. It's almost impossible to take care of it by yourself." He separated out another section of hair, hefted it in one hand, and began to brush with the other.
Doyle was silent as Rhys worked on his hair with the serious-faced concentration of a child. There was absolutely nothing else childish about him as he knelt nude, surrounded by a sea of black hair and multicolored pillows. His body was, as always, tightly muscled, pale, gleaming. He was lovely to look at, but he wasn't excited. Nude didn't mean sex to the sidhe, not always.
Frost made a small movement that turned me to him. His eyes were the dark grey of the sky just before a storm. He was angry; it showed in every line of his face, the tension of his shoulders, the way he sat, so careful, immobile, and shimmering with energy at the same time.
"I'm sorry if it upset you, but I knew what I was doing with Niceven."
"You have made it abundantly clear that you rule here and I merely obey." His voice was harsh with anger.
I sighed. It was early, but it had been a long day. I was too tired for Frost's hurt feelings. Especially since he was in the wrong.
"Frost, I cannot afford to appear weak to anyone right now. Even Doyle holds his opinion in public, no matter how unfavorable it is in private."
"I have approved of everything you've done today," Doyle said.
"I am so happy to hear that," I said.
He gave me a very level gaze, ruined only a little by the tugging of his hair from the brush. It's hard to look menacing when you're being fussed with. He stared at me, until most people would have looked away or flinched. I met his gaze with my own empty one. I was tired of games. Just because I could play them, and play them fairly well, didn't mean I enjoyed them.
"I've had enough power plays for one day, Doyle. I don't need any more, especially not from my own guards."
He blinked those dark, dark eyes at me. "Hold off, Rhys. Meredith and I need to talk."
Rhys stopped obediently, sitting back among the pillows, the brush still in his hand.
"In private," Doyle said.
Frost jumped as if he'd been struck. It was his reaction more than Doyle's words that made me suspect we were talking about more than just a few secrets.
"It is my night with Meredith," Frost said. His anger seemed to have vanished on the wings of possibilities he hadn't foreseen.
"If it was Rhys, then he would have to wait his turn again, but I have not had a turn, so I am within my rights to ask for this evening."
Frost stood, almost stumbling in his haste and the lack of space at the foot of the bed. "First you hold me back from helping her today, now you take my night in her bed. I would accuse you of jealousy, if I did not know you better."