“Gaming debts?”
“No!” He stared at her, appalled, and she smiled an apology, stroking his arm. Galen wished she’d chosen the other arm; his still-healing bruise ached under her hand. He controlled his wince, though, lest he get her thinking about his supposed encounter in Covent Garden, and whether that might have something to do with his “affairs.”
Taking her hands in his own, Galen said, “Cyn… I’ll be like this a while longer, I fear. It’s all right, though. I need to get more sleep—you’re right about that—and I promise I will try.” His stomach rumbled embarrassingly, and he laughed. “Also more food. I forget to eat, sometimes.”
“By the time you wed, you’ll be a stick,” she said chidingly. “You’ll be half the man Delphia said she would marry.”
Delphia. Galen’s grin slipped. “I’ll fatten up for the wedding. Fat and gouty, just like Father.” She smacked him on the knee. “In all seriousness… thank you.”
“For what?”
“For caring.” Lack of sleep made him too easily tearful; he fought the urge back, though his vision swam a little. “As you said, all Father cares about is Delphia’s dowry. And Mother isn’t here, making sure I eat and rest. You are. And I cherish that.”
Cyn rose up on her knees so she could hug him more easily. Galen laid his cheek against her hair. She was and always had been his favourite among his sisters, and the one thing he would miss when he and Delphia established their own household.
“You had better take care of yourself,” she said into his shoulder. “Or I’ll follow you with a plate in one hand and a pillow in the other.”
More laughter bubbled up. “I will.”
And thank you, dear sister, for the favour you did unawares. This ambush, Cynthia concerned for his well-being, curious about his absences—it settled the question that had plagued his heart since May.
He did not want Delphia to suffer such doubts.
By his prerogative as Prince, he would tell Miss Philadelphia Northwood of the Onyx Hall.
The library of the fae was a marvel. Galen laughed at the thought; everything in this place was a marvel. More than a year since he’d gained entrance to the Onyx Hall, and he still gaped like a country squire come to London for the first time, stunned afresh by each new wonder.
No one could blame him in this instance, though. The shelves rose in three levels around him, rimmed with silver balconies and ladders of ivory, a temple to the written word. Surely even the great library of Alexandria had not been this grand. He saw works in Greek and Latin, French and stranger tongues—and then, as if to bring him back to earth before his thoughts grew too lofty, shelf after shelf of common novels, including all twenty-three volumes of La Calprenède’s Cléopâtre and what looked like the complete works of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.
“Novels are very popular among the fae.”
He would have recognised that clear, musical voice blindfolded. Galen turned and bowed deeply to the Queen of the Onyx Court. “Your Grace. I did not hear you come in.”
She moved like a ghost, to approach unheard in the hush of the library. There had been others in here when he entered—an Irish lady he’d seen before, a mortal man who seemed to be the place’s caretaker—but they had vanished, leaving him alone with the Queen.
Who looked ghostlike indeed in her white gown. She wore it for mourning, he knew; black was too common a colour in this dark realm for it to carry the significance mortals gave it. Court rumour said she would wear it until she chose a Prince to replace the one who had recently died. Galen didn’t know what had befallen Lord Hamilton; rumour had plenty to say about that, but none of it agreed with any of the rest. The man hadn’t been seen in months, except by Lune’s closest advisers, and then one day she told the court he was gone.
The Queen beckoned for him to follow, and led him away from the novels to one of the tables at the centre of the library. Someone had moved a chair away so that it faced the open carpet, and here Lune settled herself, white skirts floating down like a cloud. There was no chair for Galen, but he wouldn’t have felt comfortable taking one anyway. She came here seeking me. Why?
When he first came to the Onyx Hall, he’d counted himself lucky to glimpse the Queen from afar. He attended her court audiences as often as he could purely because they afforded him a chance to watch her, regal as sovereignty itself, seated upon her great silver throne. In the last few months, though, his luck had grown beyond measure: he’d been invited to attend upon her in the lesser presence chamber, or to escort her during an idle walk in the night garden. Thus he’d found that her mind was as great as her beauty, and turned often to varied subjects, from Britain’s strife with France to the reception of the latest opera. Indeed, that was how he’d discovered the library; the Prince’s valet, Edward Thorne, had told him that many newspapers and magazines could be found there. If Galen was to keep the Queen’s interest, he needed to read more widely than his restricted allowance would permit.
Now this—a private audience…
She said, without preamble, “Mr. St. Clair, I have come here today to say something that may seem like a generous offer. I assure you it is not. Rather call it a favour—one I must beg of you, for the good of my court.”
He had to be dreaming. God knew he’d dreamt this many times: Lune coming to him, some deed only he could accomplish, and then her gratitude… embarrassment and surprise made him fumble his reply. “Anything for I— that is, anything I can do for you, madam, I’ll do without hesitation.”
Her silver eyes were grave. “No, Mr. St. Clair. I want you to hesitate, for I want you to consider this with all due care. But I have come to offer you the title and office of Prince of the Stone.”
It was a dream. Galen would have pinched himself, only he didn’t want to wake up.
“You know the danger that threatens this realm,” the Queen went on. “Whatever Prince stands at my side will be in peril; he cannot escape it. But without a Prince, I am weakened. The Onyx Hall needs both a mistress and a master. I have chosen you to replace Lord Hamilton, but the ultimate choice is yours. If the burden I would place on you is too great, you are free to refuse.”
With every word she spoke, reality struck more strongly home. This was not a dream. She was truly here, and so was he, and she wanted him to be Prince of the Stone.
I’m not qualified.
He’d seen Lord Hamilton. A gentleman of about forty, with a sharp mind and connections throughout society; that was what a Prince should be. Not the twenty-year-old scion of an impoverished family, who had been in the Onyx Hall for scarcely a year.
Some fragment of that last thought must have escaped his lips, for Lune smiled. It was the first bright expression he’d seen on her face since Lord Hamilton’s death. “You might be surprised to hear that you’re far from the rawest newcomer to be elevated in this fashion. Other Princes have had less time. And they’ve done perfectly well.”
But surely they were more prepared! He managed to keep that reply behind his teeth. Under no circumstances could the Queen be permitted to know his doubts.
If he was concerned about that… then he had already made up his mind.
Prepared or not, qualified or not, Lune had come to beg a favour of him. He would have cut off his left arm and given it to her if she asked; he could do this, too.
Belatedly, Galen sank to one knee. The sapphire toe of her shoe extended past the hem of her skirts, and upon this he fixed his gaze. “Your Grace, everything I am, everything I have, and everything I can do is at your disposal, now and forever. If you want me as your Prince, then I can do nothing but accept.”