Adjusting to the nonverbal oddities of dating a Cait Sidhe has been strange, but rewarding, and in a way, I think I’ve been getting ready for this for years. I looked back over my shoulder as I stopped in front of the door to May and Jazz’s shared room, flashing him a quick smile. “You okay back there?”
“Yes,” he said. “I do believe I am.”
“Good.” I turned back to the door, knocking as I called, “Is everybody decent? I need to talk to you.”
“We’re clothed,” said May, opening the door. I could see Jazz behind her on the bed, pulling her blouse down in a way that implied “clothed” might have been an exaggeration. I didn’t say anything about it. Their sex life is none of my business. “What’s up?”
“I’m about to do something I really, really don’t want to,” I said. “You want to come?”
May pulled a face. “The Queen’s Court? Really? Tonight?”
“I don’t see another way to take care of this, do you? I can’t just sit here and let more changelings die without telling her what’s going on.”
“Okay.” May looked over her shoulder at Jazz, and then back to me. “We’ll be ready when you are.” She shut the door. I blinked, taking a step back.
“I guess they’re coming with us,” I said, and turned toward my own room. Tybalt followed, pacing me down the rest of the hall. I flashed him a small smile and said, “You can come in, but you’ll need to sit on the bed while I get changed.”
“I believe I can manage that,” he said gravely.
“Cool.” I flicked on my bedroom light, handing Tybalt my half-empty coffee mug before starting for the closet, where I kept my relatively small assortment of Court-suitable formal wear. I shrugged out of my leather jacket, hanging it on the closet doorknob. “I’ve been assuming, but I didn’t ask. Are you coming to the Queen’s Court with me?”
“I’d like to,” said Tybalt, following my instructions and sitting down on the bed. “I know your Queen thinks little of me, but as she thinks even less of you, my presence cannot help but improve the situation.”
“If nothing else, it’ll give her something besides me to be pissed off about.” I crossed my arms, scowling at my clothes. Most of the time, when visiting a noble who demanded “proper respect,” I would just have created an illusory dress for myself, weaving it out of dead leaves and butterfly wings and whatever else I had to hand. The Queen of the Mists, unfortunately, didn’t approve of illusions. Whatever I wore was likely to get permanently transformed into something else. Unless I went in assuming she was going to do that. On those occasions, I usually wound up disrespectfully underdressed in front of her entire Court.
“That is admittedly one of my goals,” said Tybalt.
“You’re a smart guy—ha!” I pulled a low-cut silk gown the color of dried blood out of the back of my closet. It was surprisingly simple, given that it was one of the Queen’s designs. It had started out as one of my favorite pairs of jeans. I held it up against myself, checking the fit. “What do you think?”
“I think that, given how often you accessorize yourself with bloodstains, it’s for the best that the color flatters you,” said Tybalt solemnly. He put my coffee down on the bedside table as he leaned back on his hands. “I also think you should wear dresses more often. They make me itch to peel you out of them.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Now isn’t the time, but that’s good to know.” I hung the dress on the back of the door before starting toward the master bathroom, trusting Tybalt to follow. I shed clothing as I went, letting the pieces lie where they fell. “I really don’t want to see the Queen.”
“I know.”
“But I can’t handle this on my own, and I can’t go to Sylvester when this isn’t his demesne. I have to find out whether she’s willing to put her dislike of me aside and deal with something that’s a real threat to this Kingdom.” I bent to turn on the shower.
“I know that too, and I love you for it.” Tybalt’s hand landed on my shoulder. I straightened, turning to face him. It didn’t matter that I was naked and he wasn’t; he didn’t need to be naked to make my knees go weak, especially when he was smiling at me like I was all that mattered in the world. Still smiling, he leaned forward and kissed me.
I’ll never get used to kissing Tybalt. More, I’ll never get used to being allowed to kiss Tybalt, to it being a normal part of my life that I’m not supposed to think twice about. I leaned into him, reveling in the heat of his skin and the sweetly musky pennyroyal taste of his lips. He put a hand on my upper arm, pulling me toward him, and I raised my own hand to touch his cheek, letting my eyes close. This was real; this was really happening.
This was why I had to see the Queen. Because for my life to be a calm enough place to allow for moments like this one, I needed her to be doing her goddamn job. I couldn’t take care of the goblin fruit problem without her.
“Love you, too,” I murmured, as he pulled away from me.
I opened my eyes to the sight of Tybalt’s smile. “I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.” He let go of my arm. “Please allow me to help with the laces on your gown when you’re ready.”
“Gladly.” The moment over, I stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed between us.
I showered quickly—something that wouldn’t have been possible if Tybalt hadn’t gone back into the bedroom; I was angry and worried, not dead—and dried my hair with a towel as I walked back to meet him. He had the dress unlaced and ready to lower over my head.
It fit like it had been made for me, which technically, it had been. Tybalt laced me into it, pulling the bodice so tight that I couldn’t have concealed anything in my cleavage if I’d wanted to. I squeaked in protest, and he kissed the side of my neck before giving the laces one last tug and saying, “If you appear to have suffered in the name of fashion, she will respect you all the more for your efforts. You are stunning. Now you only need to do something with your hair, and you’ll be the prettiest potential accuser at the ball.”
“I feel like a giant Barbie.”
“I do not become romantically involved with plastic people,” said Tybalt dryly.
“That makes me feel much better.” I turned to kiss him, planting both hands flat on his chest to keep the gesture from turning into anything more involved. “Can you get my ankle sheath? It’s on the dresser.”
“Certainly.” As he turned to find it, he asked, “Have you considered how to make your entrance without soaking your skirts?”
The entrance to the Queen’s knowe required us to pass through a frequently semi-flooded cave. My gown was floor-length. “Maeve’s tits,” I swore. “I’m going to get drenched. Again.”
“Not necessarily.” He smiled as he turned to offer my sheath. “The Queen of the Mists is required by treaty to allow the Court of Cats entry through the Shadow Roads. I believe it would cement me as the target of her frustrations if I were kind enough to allow you to shortcut her watery pranks for the evening.”
I blinked, and then grinned. “You’re brilliant. Can Quentin pass through the shadows too, or does he have to wade?”
“I believe I can transport you both a short distance.” He sighed as he watched me strap on the sheath. “You’re intending to drive to the beach, aren’t you?”
“I’m not comfortable when I haven’t got my car. Besides, you said yourself that you could transport us both a short distance. We’re close to the Queen’s knowe, but we’re not that close.” I grabbed a hairbrush off the dresser, beginning to brush the snarls out of my wet hair. It was slow going. As I worked, I offered, “You could meet us there, if you’d rather?”