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“She can’t do magic, which is why I reminded her that you can. However, she does have powerful friends. Don’t antagonize her needlessly.”
“She antagonized me first.”
“Even then.”
“But I can antagonize her needfully, right?”
He glanced at me, amused. “Should I worry about you becoming a tyrant?”
“Probably,” I agreed cheerfully. “Always was one of my stretch goals. Should I worry about every other female needling me about having shared your bed in the past?”
His lips twitched. “No. I doubt it can be more than every third one. I may be immortal, but I’m not that old.”
“Ha-ha.”
We greeted several more guests and I studied the diamond in my ring under the guise of toying with my wineglass, which I’d filled with water. Sigh. What had bothered Nasty Tinker Bell about it so much?
Though we sat alone at the end of the table, with no one flanking us, the rapid arrival of more guests awaiting introduction kept me from broaching the question I should have asked in the first place—wherehadthe diamond come from, if he hadn’t magicked it up? A good lesson there. Never get so overwhelmed by the sparklies that you neglect to ask for provenance.
Or for the price tag.
The arriving guests slowed to a trickle and I thought we might finally get to eat. Probably a good thing there was no fae equivalent of the bread basket or I’d likely have decimated it by now. On top of snarfing what amounted to a round of Brie while I got dressed. I spotted Starling by the door the servers had emerged from last time, flushed with her new status as seneschal, being imperious to a fae woman I didn’t know. That boded well for dinner coming soon.
Putting her in charge had been a good idea. Starling wouldn’t let me starve. I turned to Rogue to mention my staffing additions, when a whirlwind of pink, green and yellow burst through the archway. Lord Puck, surrounded by dancing dragonfly girls, each wearing a dress in a different pastel, executed a complicated whirling dance step down the carpet. Draped in flowing scarves in all the colors of his companions, he resembled nothing so much as an exploded carnival cotton-candy machine.
He ended up before us with a flourish and a tickle of unseen bells, bowing grandly, long strawberry ringlets bouncing. “Lady Gwynn!” he exclaimed, as if totally surprised to find me there. “At last we meet again. And to think they claimed you’d been eaten by dragons.”
“Not this time.” I had to laugh at his antics. “I confess I’m surprised to see you here also. Didn’t you say you were obliged to stay with General Falcon on the front lines?”
“But the war is ever soboringwithout you there.” He made an exaggerated moue of disappointment. “Besides, we heard that this is the place to be for all the latest developments in battle fashion.” Puck slid his mismatched gaze over to Rogue, the green-and-blue eyes sharp with interest.
“I believe you shall not be disappointed,” Rogue replied.
“Excellent!” Puck did a spontaneous jig that included jazz hands, bizarrely enough. “I do so detest disappointment. So…disappointing. I’m glad we all decided to come here instead.”
“All?” I echoed and looked over to Rogue to see if he knew what Puck meant. If Rogue had been the type to roll his eyes, he would have.
“All the pigs one might wish to have rain from the sky!” Puck agreed, obviously expecting me to be delighted. “Consider it a wedding gift, fair sorceress Gwynn. A girl can never have too many pink piggies.”
With that he danced away, his entourage following.
“I havenoidea what that was about, do you?” I asked Rogue, but his face had gone eerily remote, his profile sharp with displeasure. Not with Puck, I thought. Using his method, I laid my hand on his, raising my brows in silent question. He looked at me, eyes sparking with irritation, the black lines shimmering with incipient movement. Pointedly he looked to the archway at entrance to the hall and General Fafnir stepped into view.
Stern as an old soldier, but resplendent in silver-gray that matched his close-cropped hair, he cut an imposing figure. His gaze sought me immediately and he strode down the runner, his face showing as close to an expression of pleasure as I’d ever seen on him.
“Lord Rogue,” he acknowledged with a dip of his chin, ever polite, then he swept me a deep bow. “And Lady Sorceress Gwynn. You look beyond ravishing, an oasis of beauty in the endless desert. I understand felicitations on your upcoming nuptials are in order.”
Rogue turned his hand and laced his fingers with mine. A bit too tightly to be a gesture of affection.
“Indeed, General Fafnir,” I answered, keeping my attention on him. What was Rogue’s problem with the man? “I did not expect to see you this evening. Surely you don’t dwell within the castle, as I’ve discovered so many do.”
I hadn’t really meant to slip in that barb, but Rogue didn’t have much room to be annoyed at my connection with Fafnir with the likes of Nasty Tinker Bell prancing about. At least mine had clothes on. Every third female indeed.
The pattern of gray on Fafnir’s face—the right side for him—shifted as he inclined his head. More abstract than some, the dappling reminded me of blurry snowflakes or oddly articulated scales. “As soon as I heard thegood news, I could hardly stay away.”
This seemed directed at Rogue, who did not respond, and the odd emphasis on “good news” struck me as referring not just to the wedding, but specifically to my pregnancy, which I had denied the last time we met. In all honesty, but still.
“Apparently no one expected me, so I used unorthodox measures to enter the castle. Locked up tight as a drum, Rogue—well done—though you might check the chinks here and there.”
