Page 22 of Tasteful Anarchy and Tangled Auras
I struggle to not roll my eyes as I put my hand in Bryn’s arm, trying to avoid a repeat of his defense of my honor. “Can I do something for you?” I ask politely.
“I was wondering when you were going to send a gift.” Her face is pouty. When I stare blankly, she adds, “For my marriage. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it at the Temple.”
“I was out, attending the people, and I got hung up in Orrinshire with a tough birth. Then I was called back to the Court before I could return and speak to the other sisters. Surely your wedding notice is in my rooms there.” I lie smoothly. Bryn shoots me an appreciative glance.
That old wives’ tale about Fae not being able to lie? Nonsense. Don’t believe a word out of our mouths.
Her eyebrows raise, but honestly, she seems to have inherited none of her mother’s smarts. I sigh inwardly. Another reason I should attempt to take the throne. Eira would only be a figurehead, controlled by her mother, or maybe her husband.
“And whom did you grace with the honor of your hand?” I ask. Bryn is silent, as protocol says he should be with two females of much greater status and who have not acknowledged him. But I get the feeling he’s taking her measure more than simply being proper.
“Rian ab Iona.”
I cock an eyebrow. Goddess, these games are too much for me. That’s why Iona spoke against me. “I’m sure he’s lovely. Where is he?”
She smiles. “I didn’t feel like untying him. He’s really only good for one thing.”
Bryn’s arm slides around my waist. I let the warmth of him comfort me as I slip closer. Ireallydon’t want to have this conversation, but I have a feeling that Eira is baiting me with something besides the fact that she’s using a male for some messed up breeding kink.
Before I can speak, Bryn states, “He must be honored to have a wonderful wife such as you.”
Her rage hits Bryn. I can tell she’s angry, but luckily, family can’t feel each other’s anger in the regular nymph-lust way. Which is good because that would be awkward as hell. Her eyes slip below his waist. The tight bell bottoms do nothing to hide that her anger affects him naught. Eira makes a displeased noise and Bryn’s hand twitches, but there are no blades on him tonight.
“Well, perhaps you need a second consort, cousin,” she says in a conversational manner. “But in the meantime, you should let me train him—”
I hiss. I actuallyhiss. Shit, my control is unstable if I’m channeling one of my forms. I’m absolutely not allowed to kill my cousin. I don’t know what the hell Grandmother would do. Eira dead; me thrown in the torture chambers for decades, if not eternity. Both her new heirs lost.
Death would probably be kinder than the fate that would await me. I wonder if I can just wound her greatly. How long of a sentence would that earn me? My thoughts must be flying across my face, because Bryn chokes back a laugh.
“An absolute pleasure to meet you, Princess Eira,” he states flatly. Then he leads me away.
When did I become so bloodthirsty? And have such a tenuous hold on my powers? This does not bode well for me becoming a monarch. Nonetheless, I’m irate. I have no idea where I let Bryn guide me until I see the blue glow of his hand on the door to our rooms.
He pulls me into our rooms, holding both my hands, then says tenderly, “My dear prickly a chroí. I’m concerned for your control. Should we consider training?”
My muddled brain interprets this as a fully sexual comment. An image flashes of him holding me down and bringing me to the edge again and again without allowing release. My body responds appropriately to such an idea. He growls. He must be guessing the dark, intense thoughts I’m having. “Sounds lovely,” I babble quietly.
He chuckles tightly. “Adelaide, I meant training with blades.” He raises his dark eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you’re capable of, but you obviously have some skill. It would help me to know to what extent.” A wicked grin spreads across his face. “And I’m sure I could advance your knowledge.”
Damn, is this all a double entendre?
He gets closer and closer to me as he speaks, his voice dropping, getting husky. I take a deep breath and try to get a grip on myself. Of course he’s not coming onto me. He’s turned me down repeatedly. He’s done the absolute bare minimum to pass as consorts. He wants nothing to do with me, sexually. Honestly, who can blame him. Besides the major Court-flaw of being very human and selkie-looking, I havesucha fucked up family. He’s probably concerned I’m going to tie him up and not let him leave.
“That sounds good, Bryn. Maybe we can start tomorrow. I’m going to bed,” I say and slip away to the bedroom. Dejection has its claws in me. I briefly ponder a half-hearted assassination attempt on Eira just to cheer myself. Parricide is going to have to get filed under “almost always a bad idea,” though.
