How could I tell him that it was his new resolution that made me sad? I couldn’t; we were all being changed by the events of the last year. We were parents now, and that would change us more.
“Kiss me, my green knight, and it will wipe the sadness from my eyes.”
I was rewarded with that brilliant smile of his, the one that had been making my heart skip a beat since I was fourteen, and then he leaned over, bending that six feet of muscle down to lay his mouth upon mine. The kiss was chaste by our standards, but the ambassador finally cleared his throat.
I had to break away from the kiss and explain, “Throat clearing is a human way of expressing awkwardness, or impatience with something sexual, or romantic.”
Galen glanced at the ambassador. “That wasn’t sexual by court standards, not by Unseelie standards anyway.”
“I’ve been told that sexuality is freer among the sidhe,” he said.
“If you try the throat-clearing routine with my aunt, the queen, either it will prompt her to say something scathing, or she will be more vigorous at whatever is bothering you.”
“It was not the kiss, but the fact that I think you are changing the subject from the princess having extra security from our government, that made me want to interrupt. I think of myself as fairly bohemian.”
“Bohemian,” Rhys said, “that’s not a term I’ve heard in a while.”
Benz looked at him, and there was intelligence in all the charm, which was good; he’d need it. “Is it the wrong word to use?”
“No, but to thrive at the Unseelie Court, you’ll need to be a little bit more than bohemian.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Profligate, perverse, but perhaps not.” Rhys looked at Galen and me.
“You’ve thought of something,” Galen said.
“I was just thinking that the queen never allows the human media to see her at her most flagrant. I was wondering if a human ambassador to our court might have a … calming effect.” His eye was full of humor at the very mildness of his word choice. If Queen Andais had to behave for human sensibilities, then torture as dinner entertainment might be over. It was always mild torture, by her standards, and it wasn’t common, but her love of true torture might have to be more controlled if Benz was visiting our court—if she could control herself and hadn’t gone so far into her own madness that nothing would help her regain herself. That was actually the question that stood in the way of her visiting the babies. Was she truly mad or just aiming her grief at her own court because she could? If she had to find other outlets for her grief, I wondered if I could talk her into grief counseling. She’d gone to human fertility specialists; maybe she’d do therapy.
Rhys came to join Galen, adding his arms to the other man’s so he had an arm around both my waist and Galen’s. “Now it’s you who’ve thought of something interesting, our Merry.”
I nodded. “We’ll discuss it later.”
“When I’m not here to listen in,” Benz said.
I glanced at him. “Yes,” I said.
He laughed then, and said, “You know that most humans would have denied it, just to be polite.”
“It’s too close to a lie, and a lie that you would know was one. Why should I bother?”
“Ah, Princess Meredith, I think I am going find being ambassador to you a very interesting, even educational, experience.”
“Which means it could be good, or bad,” I said.
He nodded. “I don’t know which it will be myself, yet.”
“Be careful, Ambassador Benz,” Rhys said, “or we’ll make you too honest to be a diplomat out among the humans.”
He looked surprised then, before he could stop himself, and then he laughed out loud, head back. It was the most unprotected and real expression I’d seen from him.
“Oh, Lord Rhys, a diplomat who cannot lie would be useless indeed out among the humans, but for a time I think a little brutal honesty might be a nice change. Now, about adding some diplomatic security agents to the princess’s detail …”
We let him talk, and I hoped that the “brutal honesty” wouldn’t be too brutal on Ambassador Peter Benz, or on us, for that matter. I couldn’t trust my aunt, Queen Andais, to be safe and sane around our babies, but I also wasn’t entirely sure we could keep telling her no. How do you tell someone who has been the ultimate power of life and death for more than two thousand years that she can’t come visit her great-nieces and nephew? That was always the trouble with dealing with the immortal; they were so used to getting their way.CHAPTER
EIGHT
DETECTIVE LUCY TATE was tall, dark haired, and dressed in the female version of the plainclothes detective pantsuit, black with a white dress shirt this time. It seemed only color varied for the detectives of the homicide bureau. When Lucy had first come through the door I’d thought she had a murder she wanted a fey perspective on, but she’d had a trio of small teddy bears in her hands, and I was pretty certain that made it a friendly visit, not business. I’d been half right.
“Merry, it’s reasonable for the local police to be worried that Maeve Reed’s estate isn’t safe. The bastard kidnapped you from there.”
“I can’t go into a safe house with the babies,” I said. The room was almost empty now. Most of the flowers had gone to other people in the hospital, as had most of the toys. We’d kept flowers and presents from actual friends, or people whose gifts it would be impolitic not to keep, and just that had filled up a second SUV, leaving room only for a driver. Lucy’s bears, two pink and one blue, had been newborn safe, and were tucked into the things we were keeping.
Doyle said, “This isn’t a homicide issue, Detective; why are you here?”
“She’s a friend, Doyle,” I said.
“She is, but they sent her because they thought a friend could persuade you where the others had failed, isn’t that right, Detective Tate?” He looked at her with that black-on-black gaze; his face was unreadable, blank so that it was almost threatening in its absolute neutrality. The way a wild animal will look at you: It doesn’t want to hurt you, but if you crowd it, it will defend itself. If you don’t crowd it, then you can depart in peace, but the warning is there. Back off, or things will go badly.
Lucy reacted to it by taking a half step back, one foot in front of the other in a stance that let her move if she needed to. I doubted she was even fully aware of what she’d done, but the cop in her had seen the implied threat and reacted accordingly. Doyle wouldn’t attack and she wouldn’t do anything to push that neutrality, but it was still unsettling to watch my friend and my love face off. I didn’t want unsettling, I wanted settled. I wanted to just be happy with the babies and the loves of my life, but my family was going to make sure this milestone was as traumatic as they’d made every other important event in my life. My father had protected me from them as much as he could, but once he died it had just been me trying to survive. I was tired of this shit, so tired of it.
“I’m not going into a safe house, Lucy. I appreciate the thought, but human cops would just be cannon fodder if the king attacks us. Read the police report on what his power did to Doyle, and think what that would have done to a human being.”
“I’ve seen the reports,” she said.
“That’s how they persuaded you to come down,” I said.
She nodded. “He can turn light into heat and project it from his hand; that’s like crazy.”
“He is the King of Light and Illusion; he can do many things with light, especially daylight,” Doyle said.
“Like what else can he do with light?” Lucy asked.
Doyle shook his head. “I’m hoping he hasn’t regained all his old abilities; if he has, then it could go badly no matter where Merry is.”
“Well, aren’t you just a bundle of cheer,” she said.
“Instead of being able to spend time with Merry and our children, I have spent the last day and night negotiating with one high court of faerie or another. The king’s courtiers have assured me that he will wait until the DNA tests come back. If they show that none of the babes are his, then he will acknowledge he has no claim on them, or Merry.”
“Merry was already pregnant when he …” She stopped as if afraid she’d said too much.
“It’s okay, Lucy, but the geneticist has informed us that it may not be that simple. The king is my great-uncle, and the sidhe of both courts have been intermarrying for centuries; we could share a lot of genetics. It’s probably not enough to prove paternity, but enough to confuse the issue if my uncle wishes not to give up his claim.”
“He won’t give up,” Doyle said.
“Is it true that if he’s not able to have children, then he has to relinquish the throne?” she asked.
I fought to keep my face neutral. I hadn’t known that the human police knew that, or any human knew that.
“The blank face from both of you is answer enough,” she said.
I cursed softly inside my head—sometimes in trying so hard not to give something away, the very effort screams your answer. The big question was: Did the police know that it wasn’t a matter of stepping down from the throne, but execution, for having cursed his court with infertility a century after Taranis knew he was infertile? The old idea that your health, prosperity, and fertility came from your king, or queen, was very true in faerie. Taranis was fighting for his very life. Did Lucy know that?