Page 165 of Atop the Faerie Throne
Bree’s ears twitch in humour. “I’m sure they’ll explain when they get here. Expect Prae, her mates, and Bramwyn to turn up with them. They’re bringing gifts, apparently.”
A smile graces my lips at the thought of Prae’s precocious little daughter, and I wonder if the twins volunteered to bring her, or if the young Fomorian princess demanded it.
“A gift?” Cadogan’s head pricks up, all thoughts of whatever lecture Jaro is attempting to give him forgotten. “Did they say what it was?”
Our son levels his best innocent look at his púca father, but it doesn’t work.
“Even if he did,” Bree replies smoothly, “if you don’t tidy your room before they get here, it won’t matter. Drystan will call off the party, and there won’t be any presents.”
Cadogan’s face goes slack with panic. “I forgot!” he says. “I’m going, I promise!”
He takes off across the palace courtyard at a full sprint.
Funnily enough, using Drystan as a threat worked when the twins were younger, too. It took them years to work out that, of the six of us, he’s secretly the biggest pushover. At least Caddie’s room will remain clean for a little while longer before he makes the same discovery.
If only it had worked on our eldest. Life would’ve been a lot calmer.
“You shouldn’t be so mean,” I tell Bree as Jaro collects the abandoned wooden swords and leans them against the wall to my right. “Did Tali say much else?”
My twins couldn’t be much more different. One púca and one dullahan. One bright and charismatic, and the other stoic and serious. Yet their bond is a fierce, quiet thing that reminds me of their fathers’. It’s a good thing, too, because without Tadhg’s grounded good sense, Taliesen would’ve accidentally portalled himself into some horrible fate decades ago.
“He was vague as ever.” Bree pulls a letter from his pocket, handing it to me.
My eyes scan the neat lines of text, smiling at the description of Tadhg’s grumpiness and the predictable lack of solid plans. Tali is many things, but organised isn’t one of them.
“Probably because he got caught up in something incredibly embarrassing and Tadhg had to rescue him again,” Lore pipes up, and I crane my neck to find him sitting on the roof above us, enjoying the late summer sun.
That quickly, he’s beside me, pressing a deep kiss to my lips.
“How’s the ballroom looking?” I ask as soon as he pulls away. “Did you get everything done?”
“Caddie wanted real warrior decorations,” Lore grins. “So I filled the space with every single pointy object in the armoury.”
That… wasn’t what I had in mind. I sigh and smile. After five hundred years and four warrior sons, even Drystan has given up truly trying to scold Lore for his enthusiasm.
Maybe I’ll keep my news to myself a little longer… My grumpy guard will undoubtedly disapprove of me entering the ballroom of spikey things if he learns what Kitarni confirmed this morning, and I don’t want to ruin Cadogan’s big day. My hand flutters to my abdomen protectively, and my púca’s eyes latch onto the motion, both of his ears swivelling to focus exclusively on me.
“And the food?” I ask, trying to distract him.
It probably won’t work. Last time this happened, Bree could hear the heartbeat a month or so in, and it’s been six weeks since my last fever. Really, I should’ve insisted my mates take a contraception potion. In my defence, I never expected to conceive again so soon after Caddie.
Danu loves surprises.
“Aerla’s got it,” Jaro says, oblivious. “If nothing else, our son’s guests will enjoy the cake as they’re being torn to shreds by the decor.”
“Just keep Bramwyn away from the ballroom,” Caed mutters, still lounging on the cushions on the ground. “If I hear one more complaint from my cousin that her child has smuggled more inferior fairy weapons under the mountain, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“Bold of you to assume that she’s the one smuggling them,” Lore grins, stealing another kiss.
“Lorcan,” Jaro growls. “We talked about age-appropriate gifting…”
“Oh, keep your tail on, wolfie. It’s a couple of daggers, not a greatsword. Besides, she’s half-Fomorian. They cut their teeth on flails and maces, right?”
“She’s four,” Jaro retorts.
“She has a pet drake!”
“Only because her gift is animal-speak!”
