by K. M. Shea
“Go to your room.”
“I’m going, but I see no reason why you have to go with me.” I found the staircase I needed and started going up. I felt the weight of my staff immediately—lugging it up stairs wasn’t fun.
Rigel tugged it from my grasp. I hesitated for a moment, then let him. Naturally, he carried it with one hand, as if it weighed nothing.
“Although it hasn’t seemed to occur to anyone, there’s a possibility that another trap was set for you during the fight,” Rigel said.
“What, and you want to protect me?” I glanced back at the assassin.
“Obviously,” he said.
“That’s rich. Now you care, do you?” I grumbled.
“Since we were married I’ve cared about your security,” Rigel said.
“Yeah, sure. Then where have you been for these last two months?”
Rigel was silent, his expression blank and unreadable.
I sighed as I climbed the last few stairs. “That’s what I thought.”
Rigel followed me as I thumped down the hallway, heading for my bedroom.
“Why does my prolonged absence bother you?” he asked. “You know I wasn’t responsible for the trap between our rooms. I left in the middle of the night. Chase said the trap activated in the morning after you’d already passed through into your room.”
Chase! I mentally growled.
Perhaps my director of security was a little too good at his job.
I stormed past the display of teacups, each collected from a different country—seriously, I don’t get the fae’s obsession with tea—and darted around a giant crystal sculpture of a stylized crescent moon positioned in the center of the hallway. “I’m upset because you disappeared without telling me, didn’t send a message or anything, and then you were gone for two months!”
“That hardly impacts you,” Rigel said. “I’ve never done much to help you with your workload, and you have the other monarchs enough under your thumb that I was not needed for intimidation purposes.”
“Rigel, I didn’t know if you were alive or dead, or if you’d betrayed me and I now had to be worried about you coming to kill me,” I said. “Newsflash, that kind of thing is ‘upsetting!’”
“During, yes, but I’m back now,” Rigel said with fae logic.
“That doesn’t automatically fix everything!”
“Why not?”
I paused outside the door to my bedroom and turned to look at him, unable to believe his callousness.
Fae are twisted—or is this on me? Because I was stupid enough to go and fall in love with him when he obviously sees our relationship as something way more shallow? And isn’t that what I promised him when we first got married?
“You left me for two months,” I repeated.
Rigel blinked. “And now I’m back—”
“I know you’re back!” I snapped. “But you abandoned me, Rigel. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”
“No.” Rigel slightly tilted his head, making his silver hair glint in the artificial lighting—he was one of the few male fae who kept his hair cut short in more of a human style. “But I can see it has affected you.”
Yeah, he totally doesn’t get why I’m upset. I’m an idiot for loving him.
I sighed and opened my bedroom door, slowly slipping inside.
“But Lady Chrysanthe has done far worse things to you—and now you count her as a friend.” Rigel followed me into my bedroom—of course—and leaned my staff against a wall.
I rubbed my forehead, trying to lessen the headache I felt coming on. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love you!” I yelled, the admission ripped from me. “And you abandoned me! I didn’t know if you were coming back, or why you’d left in the first place! I wanted to see you and talk to you, and you were gone.” I twisted around to shout directly at him.
Naturally, his expression hadn’t changed. He was still unreadable. “There’s no need for a ruse right now—”
I stalked across the room and grabbed my staff, wordlessly activating it—that was probably my favorite feature of the Original Creep’s staff—and tilted it in Rigel’s direction. “If you say my feelings are a lie, or a ruse, I’m going to get violent.”
Rigel’s lips creased in a slight frown—which was expressive for him. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, you don’t understand, because you—” I sighed, and all the fight in me left, leaving me weak in the knees. “It’s fine,” I said. “I know you don’t get it. It’s fine.” I leaned my staff on the wall again and shuffled off to the bathroom, zigzagging through the maze of dog beds and water bowls that littered my room.
I flicked the bathroom light switch on and pulled the drapes across the window.
“You love me?” Rigel said, directly behind me.
I yelped in surprise—I hadn’t heard him follow me into the bathroom—and slapped my hand over my heart.
His expression had changed again—though I couldn’t quite point out how. There was something strange about the light in his black eyes. When he was hiding how he felt they looked dead, but I’d seen hints of humor and maybe even something similar to affection. But now they were…I don’t know…unsure?
“Yeah,” I said. “I love you.”
He almost started to shake his head, but locked up. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” I tiredly asked.
“What do you gain by loving me?”
“Nothing. That’s why I’m upset.” My headache—or maybe I should call it what it was, heartache—had sprouted roots and was starting to make my eyeballs throb with pain.
Rigel watched me for several moments. “Get showered,” he said. “Indigo will destroy your shirt.” He soundlessly left the bathroom, and when I heard the click of my bedroom door opening and closing I was pretty sure it was only because he wanted to let me know he was gone.
I shut the bathroom door and leaned against it.
Wow. Wasn’t that what every girl dreams of when they tell a guy they love him? He questioned my feelings and then left without saying anything.
I miserably glanced at my reflection in the giant bathroom mirror—seriously, my enormous bathroom had been my main solace when I was unwillingly crowned.
“It’s not his fault he doesn’t love me,” I reminded myself. “This is on me. And it’s going to be fine.”
I yanked off my long-sleeved shirt and tried to ignore the twisted sensation in my stomach that said I was never going to be fine again.
The next day I felt defeated and worn, but queens don’t get days off, so I dressed appropriately for the day. That morning I was supposed to meet with a bunch of nobles, so I was wearing a long-sleeved purplish-blue gown with dark blue netting that had white flowers embroidered into it—and put on an appropriately polite smile.
My real feelings—my heartache over Rigel and my continued feud with Lord Linus—must have still leaked through, though, because in the early afternoon, Skye, Indigo, and Chrysanthe made their move.
“My accountants have sorted through the nightmare of the USA tax code, and as a Court we should finally have all current information on our tax returns from here out,” I said. “But we are still working out a tax code that I will levy on the Night Court, and pay the US federal taxes from there.” The topic made me shiver in revulsion even though I was wearing a comfy warm cardigan over my dress.
“Is it really necessary to uphold the federal taxes?” Lord Argyos asked.
I didn’t know what he was doing at my mansion—I didn’t like the guy, and he’d once tried to strong arm me into marrying his son.
“Yes,” I snarled. “It’s extremely necessary. You think we fae are bad about demanding prices for bargains? The IRS will clear us out like werewolves at an all you can eat buffet if we don’t get current with them.”
“But we shouldn’t have to pay,” a fae lady complained. “In fact, they should pay us for deigning to liv
e here!”
You can’t kill them. It’s wrong, and also their heirs would probably be twice as whiny and ungrateful.
“That’s not how it works,” I said with what I felt was an admirable amount of calmness.
The doors to the sitting room we’d taken over for the meeting opened, and Indigo marched in.
“If you’ll excuse the intrusion, Queen Leila, but the chef has finally finished the refreshments,” Indigo announced.
I stared at her. “The what?”
I didn’t call for any refreshments. I’m not feeding these guys unless absolutely necessary. They eat enough to ruin the mansion’s monthly grocery budget!
“I’m preparing to serve tea in a separate sitting room that everyone might relax and take a moment of solace.” The lenses of Indigo’s cat eye glasses gleamed as she stepped to the side and gestured to the open door. “If you would follow me.”
The lords and ladies practically leaped to their feet—their relief obvious.
“Yes, we would enjoy taking tea with Queen Leila,” one lord said.
“Queen Leila won’t be joining you,” Indigo said—making me almost flop over in relief.
Some things are worth breaking grocery budgets for.
“But then we couldn’t possibly leave,” Lord Argyos weaseled. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
“I’m certain Queen Leila wishes for you to partake in the peace a moment of tea will bring,” Indigo said truthfully—because I totally would get behind the idea if it meant I didn’t have to be with them for a few minutes!
Unfortunately, my mulish lords and ladies exchanged stubborn looks, and for a moment I worried I’d have to be dragged along.
It was then that Chrysanthe stormed into the room, her blond hair coiled in a sensible braid, and wearing jeans—shocking!—and a warm sweater. “That’s it, everyone out!” she snarled at the group. “And that means you, too, Lady Hestia. And I saw you pocket that porcelain moon figurine, Lord Argyos—put it back, now, or I’ll call the Director of Security to have a chat with you! Go on, off with you!”
Chrysanthe bossily shoved everyone from the room with the efficiency of a herding dog, and I heard her barking at them down the hallway.
“Indigo? What’s going on?” I asked.
Indigo winked. “We thought you might need a break. Skye will be here shortly—enjoy!” She was gone before I could ask any more questions.
I leaned back in my chair and almost rubbed my eyes before I remembered the eye makeup Indigo had carefully applied on me that morning and caught myself.
The tap of heels outside the door made me look up just in time to see Skye carrying a wooden tray.
“Hey, Skye.”
“Good afternoon, Queen Leila.”
Skye set the tray down in front of me, and I was not surprised to see a small pot of tea along with a teacup, until I saw the to go cup and caught a whiff of the heavenly scent of coffee.
“Is that…is that coffee?” I snapped to an upright position and stared at the cup.
“Azure made a run to King’s Court Café for you,” Skye said.
I snatched up the drink and took a swig—it was a peppermint mocha, one of my favorite coffee drinks to imbibe during January. Rhonda, the café owner, must have picked it out—she knew what I liked.
“Thank you.” I shut my eyes. “This is heaven.”
“Indigo was the one who made the arrangement for a break,” Skye said. “Chrysanthe embraced it, though. She is the one who will be telling the lords and ladies your schedule has changed and you won’t be able to finish your meetings.”
I cracked an eye open. “Why?”
Skye poured herself a cup of tea. Watching her move the teapot and her teacup was like observing an art form. “Because,” she said. “You are exhausted. The last thing you need today is to deal with the nobles who try your patience on a good day.”
“You could tell?” I asked.
“My Sovereign.” Skye glanced at me, her eyebrows pulling together. “Yesterday you were attacked by spiders and your missing consort reappeared. Anyone else would have refused to leave their bed this morning after those kinds of experiences.”
I laughed a little. “You’re too good for me.”
Skye smiled as she nudged a tray of heart shaped cookies covered with thick red frosting toward me. “Made by Indigo,” Skye said. “Although it is not yet February, she said something about getting ready for Valentine’s Day.”
We sat in silence—Skye elegantly sipping her tea and me guzzling my peppermint mocha with glee.
It was nice to have silence after all the talking and prattling of my nobles, but when I was on my second cookie and Skye set her teacup down with a kind of finality, I happily broke the silence. “What are you thinking?” I asked.
“I wanted to ask if you are feeling any better, or if there is any way for Indigo, Chrysanthe, or myself to help you,” Skye said.
I shrugged. “It’s not like you can change Linus so he’s not such a bozo, or make Rigel magically grow emotional intelligence.”
“You are troubled by Lord Linus?”
“Mom practically ordered me to talk to him—she says I don’t understand the whole story of why he left us.” I wiped my fingers off on my napkin. “I don’t know that I can stomach listening to him make excuses.”
“He might surprise you and tell you everything,” Skye said.
“Lord Linus—the guy who acts like his entire diet consists of Froot Loops? Not likely.”
Skye pressed her lips together.
“You think I should give him the chance?” I guessed. “What has he done to win you over?”
“There isn’t anything in particular that Lord Linus has done—or not done,” Skye said. “It’s…I think…” She stared at her teacup for several long moments.
I drank the last of my mocha as I waited for her response—if I said anything she might not continue, and I valued what Skye had to say as both my steward and my friend.
“I have very few memories of my father,” Skye abruptly said. “He died when I was very little. I cried a lot after he died and my mother—a fae noble—and I moved into her father’s household, where I was raised as a fae.”
She crossed her legs at the ankles and straightened her slacks. “I don’t remember much about him. He was Thai American, and he called me Malee. He had no surviving family besides my mother and me. I never had a way to learn more about him. I wish I did. There were so many times when I felt my humanity—which my mother couldn’t understand, even though she loves me dearly—and I wanted someone to talk to.”
Skye raised her dark brown eyes. “You still have the opportunity with Lord Linus. I know his actions hurt you. But I don’t think he’d stand with you today if he was as selfish as he appears to be.”
I shrank in my chair—feeling the sharp stab of guilt knife through me.
“You’re right.” I tried to smile. “I should talk to him. It’d be different if he used me or was abusive in any way. But while he has the mental stability of a juice box, he hasn’t done anything to hurt me since he arrived—unless I ask him stupid questions,” I added.
I’d once asked him if he was sorry he missed my childhood. Wow had I regretted that when he’d told me, stone faced, that he didn’t.
“Your mother would never suggest something that would hurt you,” Skye said. “I imagine there must be more to Lord Linus’s disappearance from your life than you believe.”
I puffed out my cheeks when I exhaled. “I’ll find the time to talk to him.”
“I know the prospect might be scary, given that his words have the power to hurt you,” Skye said. “But he’s stepped in to protect you several times. I don’t think he would be purposely cruel to you.”
“Yeah. He’s got something sketchy going on anyway—Chase sniffed through all his records and hasn’t found any kind of debt—gambling or otherwise. I should stop tip toeing around him and clear the air.”
Skye finally picke
d her teacup up. “I hope it helps.”
I made a noise in the back of my throat as I looked past her, to the glass tea set on display on a sideboard.
It used to be out in the stables, but I’d put my foot down and said no tea sets out there—I didn’t want the glooms or shades knocking them over when they played together and potentially hurting themselves.
I stared at the tea set, feeling more than a little confused.
Why on earth does every room in my mansion have a tea set as a decoration? And I know there must be a bunch in storage, because they change!
“Skye, why are the fae obsessed with tea?” I asked.
Skye poured fresh tea into her cup. “What do you mean?”
“It’s one thing to like drinking tea, it’s another to turn tea implements into interior decorations. There are bushes outside trimmed to look like teapots. Why?”
“It’s long been a cultural practice for fae—it was taught to us by the elves,” Skye said.
“Yeah, and yet I don’t see any elvish magic artifacts sculpted into trees out back,” I said. “There’s something more to it than that—something cultural because I totally don’t get it.”
Skye set her teacup down on its saucer with a quiet clack and pursed her lips in thought. “I see. Give me a moment, and I’ll see if I can put it into words.”
I chose a third cookie and devoured it while Skye carefully traced the rim of her cup.
Several minutes passed, before she spoke again. “I believe you’re right—our love of tea is cultural,” Skye said. “It’s one of the few things that we’ve openly adapted from human society—we’ve greatly enlarged the flavors and methods of making tea since the elves first taught us, and many of those methods were pioneered by humans.”
“Which must mean there’s something special about it, if fae are willing to stoop to copying humans,” I said. “Unless fae just copied them out of desperation—because it let them project an image, like the way they wear different clothes?”
“No.” Skye shook her head. “Not at all. Tea, to a fae, is sacred, because it’s one of the few true moments of peace we have.”
I hunched my shoulders. “Peace?”