“I need someone I trust to go to Philadelphia.” Oberon’s waist-length silver hair gleamed in the reflected moonlight coming in through the huge wall of windows that showcased the rugged, snow-covered Rocky Mountains. He’d chosen a truly inhospitable place to put his Gray Palace, and had allowed Robin to build his home beside it. Robin loved it, loved the view of the mountains and the lake, the freedom to run as he wished, when he wished, as did several of his people.
“You need me to check out those rumors we’ve been hearing?” Robin accepted the glass of cognac Oberon handed him. He swirled the glass in his hand slowly, warming the amber liquid. They’d made themselves at home in each other’s places far too long for him to be offended that Oberon had gotten into his liquor. Robin watched his liege through his lashes, observing the nearly imperceptible movements of frustration and annoyance that anyone not closely associated with his king would have missed.
“Titannia is up to something.” Oberon faced the windows once more, and Robin hid a wince at his arctic tone. Oberon had adored his ex-wife, been devastated when she’d betrayed him. Her duplicity had cost him, emotionally and politically. He’d lost a piece of himself when the gods severed their bond, and he was darker for the loss. “Gloriana’s nephew has been taken.”
Well. Titannia had certainly upped the ante this time. “Shall I retrieve him, sire?”
“No. Not yet. For one, we don’t know where she’s stashed him.”
Robin prayed she had not taken the boy to the Black Court, but chance would be a fine thing. Titannia would do anything to achieve power, even take a naive, innocent boy and twist him into her own image. Whoever she had been before the betrayal, she was undeniably evil now. Her pact with the demon had whittled away at her until Robin doubted she had anything left of her soul.
When Titannia betrayed Oberon it caused a rift in the Fae realm that would never be healed. Titannia, now the Dark Queen, ruled what had become known as the Unseelie, or Black Court. Gloriana, the White Queen, ruled over the Seelie, or White Court. By decree of the gods themselves, Oberon ruled over both Courts as the High King of the Gray Court, the final arbiter of justice when Titannia and Gloriana could no longer contain their hatred of one another. Oberon’s task was to see to it that all-out war did not erupt between the kingdoms and ensure the safety of Fae-kind everywhere by maintaining the Seeming. The gods had decreed it; indeed, the gods were the only thing that had stayed Oberon’s (and thus Robin’s) hand at his faithless wife’s throat. Their bond had still been in place, and though it had hurt Robin grievously, he had thought it would be better that Oberon die than Titannia live. Oberon had agreed, but had been spared the loss of his life at the price of Titannia’s.
Both lived, and only one suffered for it.
Still, Titannia sought to overcome the decree handed down by the gods, turning this way and that to try and unseat both Oberon and Gloriana. This, the kidnapping of one of Gloriana’s royal house, was but the latest move in a never-ending chess game that Robin was growing weary of. Perhaps Oberon would allow him to change the rules.
He’d always been fond of backgammon.
“Find out what Titannia is up to, but do not attempt to extract the boy unless all other hope is lost. Delegates have been sent to negotiate his release, arbitrated by one of our own.” Oberon finally turned around. Robin wasn’t surprised to see his king’s eyes had turned silver-gray, almost white. They only changed that way when he discussed the Black Queen. “The negotiations cannot be interrupted for any reason. Titannia must return Gloriana’s nephew before the next full moon or we’ll have full-out war.”
“I can retrieve the boy.” Robin laughed. “It would be fun.” He shot his liege a wicked glance.
Oberon sighed. “If it becomes necessary, yes. For now, I’d prefer to use diplomacy to achieve the same result.”
“And Gloriana would owe you one?”
Oberon raised a weary eyebrow, his eyes returning to their normal, stormy gray. “I don’t really care one way or the other, Robin. Just see to it the boy is returned, preferably unharmed.”
Robin bowed his normal, mocking bow. “Do we know who holds the boy?”
“No one is sure. That is another reason I need you there. Find out where the boy is being held, and by whom. If necessary we will retrieve him ourselves.”
Robin shook his head. “What does she think to gain by this?”
The stormy gray eyes turned silver once more. “I have no idea, but she won’t succeed.”
Robin took a sip of his cognac, thinking. “I can easily infiltrate the Black Court contingent if it’s large enough. If she’s decided to send only a few delegates, then things become…trickier.”
“I leave it all in your capable hands.” Oberon turned once more to the windows of Robin’s study.
Robin interpreted this as a dismissal and began backing out of the room. Oberon would leave when he was ready, and welcome he was to the little warmth Robin had to offer.
After all, had it not been for Oberon, Robin would not exist.
“One more thing, Robin.”
Robin halted at the soft tone of Oberon’s voice. When Oberon spoke that way, all listened with respect, even Puck.
“You’ll have assistance with this assignment.”
Robin was certain he’d misheard. “My liege, I work alone. I always have.”
“Not this time.”
Oberon’s back remained turned to him, but Robin could hear the faint smile in the king’s voice. “All the times, my king.” Even when he assisted his Blades, Robin worked alone.
“Do not defy me in this, Hobgoblin.”
Robin sighed. When the king called him that, he was displeased, a state of affairs Robin actively avoided. “May I ask why, my liege?” He was careful to keep his voice neutral.
Oberon waved his hand.
The chair, the white-on-white chair that Robin hadn’t even noticed was there, shifted slightly, shocking him. The chair stood and stretched, its arms elongating, its legs growing, until before him stood one of the shape-shifting pookas. The pooka smiled at Robin, his shimmering, golden eyes with their horizontal, slit–shaped pupils watchful in his narrow, aristocratic face. He wasn’t much taller than Robin’s five foot ten inches, and he was graced with a fall of blond hair that would make a Sidhe lady weep. Ridged gray horns curled up from his forehead and blended into his hair. This one must be a master shifter indeed, to hide itself from me. He saw at once why such a talented shifter would be useful in his upcoming mission. If the delegation were smaller than hoped, who would notice one more chair? And if the pooka could fool the Hob, he could more than likely fool the Black Court idiots Titannia would be sending.
Then again, Robin had not been expecting a spy in his own study. The Black Court delegation would be on their guard for tricks, especially if they knew Robin would be there. And how could they not? He was Oberon’s Blade.
“This is Lord Kael Oren. He will be coming with you. He is a cousin of the missing Prince Evan.”
Oh, this should be fun! Not. Robin smiled at the other man. He remembered the scandal following Prince Edmond Yate’s mating of a pooka commoner. The White Court had been utterly appalled that one of Gloriana’s brothers had lowered himself so, forcing Gloriana to raise the girl’s family to the peerage. Prince Edmond had told them all to go pound sand and declared that he was abdicating any right to the throne of the White Court to be with the woman the gods had declared was his.
Robin had sent them a lovely mating gift.
Robin bowed, graceful yet mocking, and saw his bow returned, mimicked nearly perfectly.