Page 100 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

He says nothing, and it’s only moments later that I notice he’s quaking beneath my hand. A glance up at his face shows the corners of his lips are twitching—as if he wants to smile but plans to fight it to the very end. His eyes are dancing with mirth and his face is flushed with it. I stare at him, silently praying that he’s not laughing at my failure of a dramatic exit, because I’m already embarrassed enough without him adding to it.

“What’s so funny?”

He drags a hand across his face, physically trying to erase the expression. “Sorry, my lady.”

“Jaro.” I’m growling.

“It’s just… that’s the Duke of Gwenstylwyn in the Autumn Court. He’s Cressida’s grandson, and a rich one at that.”

“So…”

“So your mother spent years and years trying to placate him, and in two minutes, I think you might’ve just undone all her hard work.”

My fury tapers out, and I grimace. “Shit.”

Jaro coughs in surprise. He’s not used to hearing me swear. Oops.

“It’s not an issue,” he insists. “It’s just funny to see him finally get treated the way he deserves.”

Except I’ve just completely ruined what—knowing the fae—is probably centuries of my mother’s good work.

“I was hoping I’d be good at diplomacy,” I grouch, huffing out a breath. “Especially since Kitarni said Nicnevins are either good at that or war, and I’m definitely not cut out for fighting.”

Jaro says nothing, but he doesn’t have to. Within seconds, I’m swarmed by another group of fae—where were they when I was trying to escape the creepy duke?

Half an hour passes, but I don’t feel like I’m making many friends. Most of the fae who approach me seem to be doing it out of curiosity, or with a kind of worshipful reverence that makes me uncomfortable. Titania reports back on their own, bland assessments of me after they leave.

It seems they don’t know what to make of me, either.

I feel like a failure.

“Now would be a good time for any innate powers of diplomacy to kick in, Danu,” I mutter under my breath as I bid goodbye to yet another group of seelie.

Jaro chuckles. “Relax. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“Maybe you can let slip to Florian—gently—that parties are not my thing?” I whisper. “Don’t hurt his feelings, but…”

“You hate this.”

Give the male a medal. “Yup.”

“Well—”

He’s cut off by yet another fae. An unseelie lady this time. She gets halfway through introducing herself before Mab appears beside me.

“Trouble on the patio outside,” she warns. “Your púca is getting cornered.”

What?

I jerk out of Jaro’s hold, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt.

“Excuse me,” I mumble. “Something requires my attention, but I really do hope to speak to you again.”

It’s rude and I feel terrible, but not enough to stop me from striding—okay, wobbling furiously in these damned shoes—after Mab.

“What’s happening?” Jaro demands, keeping pace with me easily.

“Bree,” I mutter. “He’s in trouble.”

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