A Caress of Twilight (Merry Gentry #2)(48)

"You are truly beautiful, Frost. I had forgotten that." She frowned. "I seem to be forgetting a lot of things lately." She sounded almost sad; then her voice became brisk again, hers again. Just the tone made all three of us stiffen, almost shiver, and it was a shiver of anticipation, but not of pleasure. 
"I have not enjoyed myself this day. These were people whom I respected, or liked, or valued, and now they will never again be my allies. They will fear me, but they feared me before, and fear is not truly the same as respect. I'm learning that, at last. Give me something pleasant to remember this night by. Let me watch the three of you together. Let me see the lights from your skin brighten the night like fireworks."
The three of us sat there for a second, then Doyle said, "I have had my night with the princess. Frost has made it clear that he does not wish to share her tonight."
"He will share if I say that he will share," Andais said. It was hard to argue with her, blood soaked and nude, looking like some terrible primal things but we tried.
"I would ask that Your Majesty not do this," Frost said. He wasn't looking arrogant. He was looking almost frightened.
"You would ask? You would ask? What is it you are asking of me?"
"Nothing," he said, head hanging so that the shine of his hair hid his face. "Absolutely nothing." He sounded bitter and sorrowful when he said it.
"Aunt Andais," I said, keeping my voice level, soft, like I was trying to talk a crazy person out of setting off the bomb strapped to her body. "Please, we have done nothing to displease you. We have done everything we can to please you. Why would you punish us for that?"
"Were you going to have sex tonight?"
"Yes, but -- "
"You are going to fuck Frost tonight, are you not?"
"Yes."
"You fucked Doyle last night, correct?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Then what difference does it make if you fuck them both right now, tonight?" Her voice was rising again, losing its calm edge.
My voice went lower, more even as hers began to unravel. " I have not been with both of them at once before, Your Majesty, and a menage a trois must be done carefully or you spoil the game. I think that Doyle and Frost are both too dominant to share me comfortably."
She nodded. "Very well."
I think we all relaxed, let a breath out.
"Then replace one of them with one of the others. Give me a show, niece of mine, give me something to enjoy this night."
I'd done my best reasoning, she'd even agreed with it, and it hadn't helped us. I looked from one man to the other. "At this point, I'm open to suggestions." I hoped Andais thought I meant suggestions on who to invite in or who to replace. But I hoped that the men understood that I was still wanting a way out of all this.
"Nicca is less dominant," Frost said slowly.
Had he understood what I meant?
"Or Kitto," Doyle said.
"Kitto had his turn today, and Nicca isn't due for two more nights. I think everyone would agree on Nicca being moved ahead before they would agree to Kitto being allowed two turns back-to-back."
"Agree?" the queen said. "Why do the men have to agree to anything? Don't you just pick among them, Meredith?"
"Not really. We've got a schedule and we usually stick to it."
"A schedule, a schedule?" She began to smile, then to grin. "And how did you arrive at this schedule?"
"It was alphabetical," I said, trying not to sound as puzzled as I felt.
"She has an alphabetical schedule, alphabetical." She began to laugh, a low trickle of sound at first, then it grew into a huge genuine belly laugh. She half doubled over, clutching at her sides, laughing until tears trailed out of her eyes to trickle through the blood.Belly laughs are usually infectious; strangely, this one was not. Or rather, it wasn't to us. I could hear others behind her joining in. Ezekiel and his assistants probably thought it was a hoot. Torturers have such an odd sense of humor.
The laughter slowed, and finally Andais stood up again, wiping at her eyes. I think we were all holding our breaths, wondering what she'd say. She managed to gasp, laughter still thick in her voice, "You have given me the first true pleasure of the day, and for that I will give you all a reprieve. Though I fail to see what is so wrong with doing in front of me what you will do when I leave you. I do not see the difference."
Wisely, we kept our opinions to ourselves. I think we all knew that if she didn't already understand the difference, there was no way to explain it to her.
The queen went away, leaving the three of us to stare into the mirror. I looked shell-shocked, stunned by our near miss. Doyle's face showed almost nothing. Frost got to his feet and screamed, a sound of such rage that it reverberated through the room and brought the others to the door with guns drawn.
Rhys looked around the room, puzzled. "What's happened?"
Frost wheeled toward him, naked, unarmed, but there was something fearsome in him. "We are not animals to be paraded for her amusement!"
Doyle stood up, motioning the others back. Rhys looked at me, and I nodded. They left, closing the door softly behind them.
Doyle spoke softly to Frost. Some of it was simple soothing talk, but some was more insistent. "We are safe now, Frost," I heard Doyle tell him. "She cannot hurt us here."
Frost raised his head and grabbed Doyle by the shoulders. The pressure of his pale hands mottled Doyle's dark skin. "Don't you understand yet, Doyle? If we are not the one who fathers Merry's child, then we are back to being Andais's playthings, her neglected playthings. I don't think I could bear it again, Doyle." He shook him, just a little. "I can't go back to that, Doyle, I can't!" He shook the other man, back and forth, back and forth.
I kept expecting Doyle to break his grip, to force him away, but he didn't. He'd raised his forearms to grip Frost's arms. Other than that he'd remained immobile.
I caught the shine of tears through the silver of Frost's hair. He slowly fell to his knees, his hands sliding down Doyle's arms, but never losing contact. He pressed the top of his head against the other man, his hands holding on. "I can't do it, Doyle. I cannot do it. I'd rather die. I'll let myself fade first."
With that last choked word he began to cry in earnest, great racking sobs that seemed to come from deep, deep inside him. Frost cried as if it would break him in two. 
Doyle let him cry, and when he had quieted, Doyle helped me get Frost into bed. We laid him between us, Doyle spooning from the back, and me entwined from the front. There was nothing sexual about it. We held him while he cried himself to sleep. Doyle and I gazed at each other over Frost's curled body. The look in Doyle's eyes, his face, was more frightening than the sight of Andais covered in gore.
I watched a fearful purpose be born that night. Maybe it had been born a long time ago, and I just hadn't noticed. Doyle wouldn't go back, either. I saw it in his eyes. We held Frost; and finally we both slept, as well.
Sometime during the night Doyle got up and left us. I woke up when he moved, but Frost did not. Doyle kissed me gently on the forehead, then laid his hand against the soft glimmer of Frost's hair.
He spoke softly, his deep voice like a purr, more than a whisper. "I promise."
I raised up enough to ask, "Promise what?"
He just smiled, shook his head, and left, closing the door softly behind him.
I snuggled down beside Frost, but sleep eluded me. My thoughts weren't friendly enough for sleep. Dawn's light had greyed the window before I drifted into a fitful rest.
I dreamed that I stood beside Andais in the Hallway of Mortality. All the men were chained to the torture devices, untouched, unharmed, the only shining clean things in all that dark place. Andais kept trying to get me to join her in torturing them. I refused, and I wouldn't let her touch them. She threatened me and them, and I kept refusing her, and my refusal somehow made it so she couldn't touch them. I refused until Frost's small whimpering woke me. He was twitching in his sleep, struggling. I woke him as gently as I could, stroking down his arm. He woke with a scream half-choked in his throat, eyes wild.
The scream had brought the other men to the door. I waved them away as I hugged Frost to me. "It's all right, Frost, it's all right. It was just a dream."
He choked on that and spoke fiercely, his face buried against my body, his arms hugging me so tight it hurt. "Not a dream, real. I remember it. I will always remember it."
Doyle was the last one in the doorway, closing it slowly. I met his dark eyes, and I knew what he'd promised.
"I'll keep you safe, Frost," I said.
"You can't," he said.
"I promise I'll keep you safe, all of you."
He raised his hand, covered my mouth with his fingers. "Don't promise, Merry, don't promise that. Don't be forsworn for something you have no hope of doing. No one else heard. I forgive it. You never said it."
Doyle's face was just a dark shape in the nearly closed door. "But I did say it, Frost, and I meant it. I will make the Summerlands into a wasteland before I let her have you back," I said. The moment the words left my mouth, there was a slight sound, though not a sound, it was almost as if the very air held its breath. It was as if in that moment reality itself froze, and then remade itself, just a little bit different than it had been.
Frost crawled out of bed and wouldn't look at me. "You're going to get yourself killed, Merry." He walked into the bathroom without looking back. I heard the shower a few moments later.