I opened my eyes slowly, blinking until I felt myself slide more firmly into the here and now. I smiled. "My apologies, King Taranis, but Doyle is correct. I am a touch overwhelmed by your glowing presence."
He smiled. "My most sincere apologies, Meredith. I do not mean to cause you discomfort."
He probably didn't, but he wanted me to come to his little party. He wanted that badly enough to try to «persuade» me magically.
I wanted so badly to simply ask why it was so important that I come to his little soiree. But Taranis knew exactly who had raised me, and no one ever accused my father of being less than polite. Direct sometimes, but always polite. I couldn't pretend to be an ignorant human, as I had with Maeve Reed. He'd know better. The problem was, without direct questions, I wasn't sure how to learn what I needed to know.
But it didn't matter. The King was far too busy trying to bewitch me to worry about anything else.
I didn't try to match glamour with one of the greatest illusionists the courts have ever birthed. I tried truth first. "I remember your hair like a sunset woven into waves. So many sidhe have golden-yellow hair, but only you have the colors of the setting sun." I did a pretty little frown, an expression that women have been using for centuries to good effect. "Or do I misremember? Most of my memories of you when you were not clothed in glamour are from a child's memory. Perhaps I only dreamed of such color, such beauty."
I wouldn't have fallen for it; none of my guards would have believed it; Andais would have slapped me for such obvious manipulation. But none of us had known the social coddling that Taranis had grown accustomed to. He'd had centuries of people speaking to him just like that, or even sweeter. If all you ever hear is how wondrous you are, how lovely, how perfect, is it really anyone's fault that you begin to believe it? If you believe it, then it no longer seems silly or manipulative. It seems like the truth. The true secret was that I did think that his honest form was more attractive than the light show. I was being honest, and flattering. It could be a powerful combination.
It was as if the golden waves were twisted, carved into individual locks of hair, so that his true hair didn't simply appear all at once but was brought slowly into view, like a striptease. His true color was that crimson that sunsets can have, as if the entire sky is filled with neon blood. But woven through were locks of that red-orange that sometimes hap pens when the sun is just sinking below the horizon, as if the sun itself had been crushed across the sky. A few strands of hair played throughout, like the yellow of the sun drawn down to threads that winked and shimmered through the more solid waves of his hair.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I had not lied when I'd said his natural color was more spectacular than the illusion had been.
"Does this suit you better, Meredith?" His voice was rich enough to touch, as if I could have grabbed handfuls of it and clutched it to my body. I couldn't quite figure out what it would feel like in my arms, but something thick, sweet, maybe. Like covering yourself in cotton candy, all air and spun sugar, something to melt and grow sticky.
I jerked back to myself when Doyle touched my shoulder. Taranis had been using more than simple glamour. Glamour changes the appearance of something, but you still have the choice of accepting it or not. Glamour might make a dry leaf appear to be a sweet bit of cake, and you are more likely to eat the cake illusion than the dry leaf of fact; but you must still choose to eat it. The glamour changes only the experience. It doesn't make your choice to accept it.
What Taranis had just done would try to make my choice for me. "Did you just ask me something, Your Highness?"
"He did," Doyle said, and his voice reminded me of dark, thick, sweet things, like honeyed mead done nearly black. I realized that a touch of glamour made me think that. But Doyle wasn't trying to control me; he was trying to help me fight against the King's power.
"I asked if you would do me the honor of attending a feast in your honor."
"I am honored that you would go to such trouble, Your Highness. I would be more than happy to attend such a function in a month or so. Things are so busy right now, Yule preparations and all, you know. I do not have a cadre of servants to make my plans go as smoothly as yours." I smiled, but inside I was screaming at him. How dare he try to manipulate me like I was some befuddled human or lesser fey. This was not the way you treated an equal. I shouldn't have been surprised. All along his treatment of me had been shabby, at best. He didn't see me as an equal. Why should he treat me as one?
I could turn my hair a different color, tan my skin, make small changes to my appearance. I was a master of that kind of glamour. But I had nothing that would keep me safe from the immense power Taranis was so casually throwing at me.
What did I do better than Taranis? I had the hand of flesh, and he didn't, but that was something that could only kill, and only by touch. I didn't want to kill him, just keep him at bay.
His sweet voice continued. "I would very much enjoy your company before Yule."
Doyle's hand tightened on my shoulder. I reached up to touch his hand, and the feel of his skin helped steady me. What did I do better than Taranis?
I moved my hand so that Doyle wrapped his fingers around mine. His hand was very real, very solid. It was as if the touch of his hand helped push back that heavy voice and shining beauty.
"I would hate to say no to Your Highness, but surely the visit could wait until after Yule."
His power pushed at me in a nearly raw wave. If it had been fire, I would have burst into flames; if it had been water, I would have drowned; but it was persuasion, almost a type of seduction, and I could no longer remember why I didn't want to go to the Seelie Court. Of course I would go.
A sudden movement stopped me from saying yes. Doyle had sat down behind me, putting his legs on either side of my body so that I was cradled against him. His hand stayed pressed against mine. It stopped me from saying yes, but it wasn't enough. The press of his skin against my hand was still more precious to me than his entire clothed body against me.
I reached out blindly, and Frost found my hand. He squeezed it, and that helped, too.
I looked back at the mirror. Taranis was still a shining thing, beautiful like a work of art, but he was not the kind of beauty that made my pulse race. It was almost as if he was trying too hard for me to take him seriously. He looked a little ridiculous in his shining mask and his clothes made of sunlight.
His power surged again, like a warm slap in my face. "Come to me, Meredith. Come to me in three days, and I will show you a feast the likes of which you have never seen."
The opening door saved me that time. It was Galen. He stared at Doyle on the bed and Frost holding my hand. "You called, Doyle?"