Walther was originally from the Kingdom of Silences to the north, overlapping the human state of Oregon. His aunt and uncle were the rightful rulers of the place, and he’d been raised, along with his sister Marlis, under the expectation that he’d eventually become one of their court alchemists. Only there’d been a war, and his family had lost the throne for a hundred years. During that time, Walther had fled to avoid elf-shot or enslavement—the two fates that befell the rest of his family—and had eventually become a chemistry teacher. The work suited him. He would probably never have gone back to Silences if I hadn’t dragged him.
Good thing: going back to Silences had resulted in his family regaining their place. Better thing: we’d come away with a functional cure for elf-shot, the purebloods’ weapon of choice when it came to waging war. Little enchanted arrows that could put a person to sleep for a century. Problem: having a cure changed everything. We’d barely managed to get home before the edict had come from the High King, asking us to keep the cure secret while he decided what to do next. And now he was coming here, which was a whole new problem.
Arden cleared her throat. “The beds were designed by a Coblynau crafter who knew what would be best for our sleepers,” she said. “Now let’s wake those sleepers up.”
“Before High King Sollys gets here and says absolutely not, don’t do it,” I said.
She shot me a sharp look. I shook my head.
“I came when you asked me to. That means I’m going to be in just as much trouble as you are. More, it means I’m supporting you in this. If he asks, ‘Did Queen Windermere wake her brother after I told her not to?’ I’ll tell him the truth, but I’ll also tell him you had a good reason to do what you did. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend you had permission.” I turned to Walther. “You have a queen and a hero, which is another word for ‘scapegoat,’ telling you to go ahead and wake them up. So go ahead. Wake them up.”
“You’re also the only person I know who’s been elf-shot twice and can still give orders,” said Walther. He gave his rose-colored liquid one more swirl and turned to Arden. His posture shifted with his attention, becoming formal and serious. Arden hadn’t been kidding about the way people behaved when they were talking to royalty. “Who would you like me to wake first, Highness?”
“My seneschal,” she said, without hesitation. “Madden will want to know what happened, and Nolan is going to need a lot more catching up.”
Walther nodded, and moved to Madden’s bedside, bending to press the lip of his wine snifter against the other man’s lips. He placed his free hand under Madden’s head, bringing it a few inches up from the pillow, so that gravity would be working on his side. I wanted to ask how he could be sure that Madden wouldn’t choke, but I held my tongue. Walther had already managed to wake me, May, and his entire sleeping family. He knew what he was doing.
After a moment, he pulled the snifter away and stepped back, letting Madden’s head return to the pillow. I risked a glance at Arden. She had folded her hands and pressed them beneath her chin, eyes wide and solemn as a child’s as she watched.
Seconds ticked by, and everything was silence and the growing scent of roses. I shivered. Elf-shot had been created by Eira Rosynhwyr, the Firstborn of the Daoine Sidhe, and the countercharm was made using roses that matched the precise smell of her magic. Eira and I have . . . calling it “a history” seems too simple, but I don’t know how else to describe a relationship defined by her lying to me and me being so eager for approval that I’d never seen the signs. She’s dangerous. She’s terrifying. She’s asleep, thanks to her own elf-shot, which once would have meant she was out of the way for a hundred years. Now, with Walther’s cure in play, there’s no telling when she’ll wake up. So no, I do not care for the scent of roses.
Madden sighed. It would have been unremarkable, but he’d been elf-shot, and people sleeping under an enchantment don’t sigh. Arden clasped her hands tighter. He yawned. And then, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, he opened his eyes.
“That’s not the sky,” he said, sounding puzzled. “I was outside a second ago. Why isn’t that the sky?” He sat up, frowning at Walther. His eyes flashed wolfish gold. “Do I know you?”
“Madden!” Arden dropped her hands and flung herself at him, slinging her arms around his neck.
Madden caught her easily, taking his attention from Walther in order to frown at his friend and liege as she buried her face against his shoulder. “Ardy? What’s wrong? Why do I feel like I missed something?”
“That’s an excellent question,” said a semi-familiar voice. My heart sank.
It kept sinking as I turned to see High King Aethlin Sollys standing in the doorway. He was wearing a charcoal-gray tailored suit that would have looked perfectly appropriate on a San Francisco street corner. His tie was wine-red and snowy white: the colors of the Westlands. He wasn’t wearing a human disguise, allowing the points of his ears and the burnished bronze color of his hair to show. His eyes were sunrise red, and narrowed as he watched Arden and Madden’s embrace.
“Why,” he said, echoing Madden’s words, “do I feel like I’ve missed something?”
THREE
ARDEN SCRAMBLED TO EXTRICATE herself from Madden’s embrace, wiping the tears from her cheeks with quick, almost shamed swipes of her hand. She positioned herself so that her body blocked Walther and Madden from the High King. It was a noble gesture. It was also a futile one—she was a slender girl, and Madden alone could have made two of her; there was no way she could shield them from Aethlin’s regard—but the fact that she was willing to try made me feel a little better about the situation. A little. Not nearly enough, especially since she wasn’t shielding me.
“Your herald said we should expect you next week, Your Highness,” said Arden. Her voice was thick with tears and worry. “I apologize that I was not prepared for your arrival.”
“Really? It looks to me as though you were taking advantage of every moment you believed you had before I got here,” said High King Sollys. He raised an eyebrow, looking briefly so much like his son that it hurt. This man, tall and regal and terrifying, was Quentin’s future. This was his birthright. No matter how much I enjoyed having him with me, I was only ever going to be a way station on his path to the throne.
If that was dismaying for me as his knight, how did it feel for Dean as his boyfriend? Had they even talked about it? Dating is hard for the children of the nobility. Maybe that’s why they have formal courtships. Putting all those layers of formality and obligation in the way of casual dating made things easier on the heart.
Arden bit her lip, and didn’t move. “Please. I didn’t mean to defy you. I just . . .”
“Madden was elf-shot by an agent of Silences as part of the declaration of war against the Mists,” I said. High King Sollys looked at me. I forced myself to remain casually seated on the bed, resting the bulk of my weight on my hands. Every etiquette lesson I’d ever been given was screaming for me to stand, but that was exactly why I couldn’t do it. If I kept things informal, maybe he’d do the same. “Everyone else who was elf-shot during the failed attempt at a coup has been woken up. He would’ve been, too, if we hadn’t been so quick about telling you what was going on. It was fair.”