Page 109 of Amidst the Insidious Courts
“Like you actually paid attention when I tried to teach you to kick ass. Now, go teach those seelies that the Fifth Nicnevin isn’t to be trifled with.”
I don’t want to fight the summer king, but I don’t bother telling her that. Although I intend to make a point, I’d also like this to go well. Since Eero hasn’t imprisoned my mate, I don’t have to worry about Danu’s rage screwing this up for me. The summer king may be a difficult person to deal with, but my mother managed. Maybe I can, too.
My gut tightens as I remember the taunting gift he sent to my coronation. Okay, so perhaps it won’t be so easy.
“We’ll be with you,” Titania promises. “We’ll stay unseen, so we don’t distract you, but we’re always here.”
Fisting my hands, I nod. It will be hard, but I owe it to my people to try.
True to her words, the three of them fade away as I walk up to the deck, my mind racing. I’m so caught in my thoughts of what I might say to the crown princess that I draw up short when I find two females wearing golden circlets staring warily at Wraith as they wait for me.
They couldn’t be more different. One is slender, with graceful limbs and long thin braids woven across her skull, while the other is curvy, with much darker skin and short hair that halos her head in a soft cloud. Both of them are wearing flowing white gowns, decorated with exquisite, beaded embroidery that hugs their breasts and exposes their middles, contrasting beautifully with their gleaming skin, rich brown eyes, and black hair. Their ears and noses are pierced with golden hoops, and their arms are wrapped in hundreds of bangles.
They look regal, and the tilt of their chins says they know it.
I don’t think anyone is prepared for me to walk up onto the deck wearing my leggings, a pale blue tunic, and the silver breastplate, least of all my Guard. Drystan’s mouth purses with disapproval, Bree’s ears flick with agitation, and Jaro jerks like he’s been struck.
Lore simply beams, flashing so much fang that it makes me shiver at the memory of him sinking them into me.
Not the thoughts I need right now.
Both of the golden princesses dip their heads the second I approach, pressing one hand to their hearts while extending the other behind them in a graceful flare.
“Nicnevin,” they intone gracefully.
“Nicnevin, may I introduce Princesses Máel and Ciara of the Summer Court, Daughters of Eero, Son of Lark,” Kitarni says.
They each nod as they’re announced, telling me without words that the long-haired princess is Máel and the curvier one Ciara.
“Good evening,” I reply dutifully.
“Our father sent us to escort you to Siabetha,” Máel says, smoothing the lines of her already immaculate dress. “He sends his apologies that he can’t attend to you himself. There are rumours of a white hart along the northern border.”
I frown.Eero isn’t even here?
“Our father is a great hunter, Nicnevin,” Ciara hastens to add, her words falling over each other with nervousness. “He won’t take long to find the beast. In the meantime, to apologise for his absence, he’s instructed us to see to your every need. I’ve even taken the liberty of preparing a tutor for you while you wait for him… You are still learning to read, are you not?”
How did they know? More importantly, is this a jab? Their open expressions don’t seem to hold any hints of guile or smugness, but I can’t say for certain. They’re not lying—fae can’t—but also…
“Has he forgotten there is a war going on?” I ask them, honestly. “Remaining here for however long it takes him to chase a deer around the forest is costing lives in Elfhame.”
“The white hart is a sign from Danu,” Titania murmurs, reappearing beside me. “It bestows wisdom on the fae who finds it. The quest to capture it is a noble one.”
“If it’s even really been seen,” Maeve grouches, picking imaginary lint from under her nails. “There have been rumours of a white hart before, and it turned out just to be some off-world shifter—”
“Still bitter about that one?” Titania arches a brow. “What wouldyouhave done with a gift of wisdom? Stabbed it?
“I might’ve listened,” Maeve grumbles, though we all know that’s unlikely.
“It won’t be long,” Máel promises. “And until he returns, we’ll show you every hospitality that Siabetha can offer.”
Sighing, because I don’t really have a choice unless I plan to order Eero back to his city—which will do nothing to endear him to me—I nod. This delicate balance between playing nice and being firm with the minor royal is giving me a headache. I have to observe the formalities and give them what they want, because their vows are supposed to be freely offered, but I can’t let them walk all over me and forget that I’m supposed to be in charge, either.
It leaves too much room for me to second-guess myself. All I can do is trust Kitarni, my Guards, and my guides to know whether I’m doing this right.
“Your things will be brought along shortly,” the captain promises. “And your horse, sir knight.”
Drystan gives the faun a look that promises a hundred years of pain should Blizzard lose so much as a whisker during transport before tilting his head in acquiescence.
