She followed the shuffling feet of a hunchbacked steward to the doors of Roiben’s chambers.
“He will be with you soon,” the steward said, pushing open the heavy door and stepping inside. He lit several fat candles along the floor before retreating silently. A tufted tail dragged behind him.
Roiben’s rooms were largely unfurnished, the walls an expanse of smooth stone broken up by stacks of books and a bed covered in a brocade throw. There were a few other things, farther inside—a jade bowl of washing water, a wardrobe, a stand with his armor. The chamber was formal, austere, and forbidding.
Kaye dropped her coat onto the end of the bed and sat down beside it. She tried to imagine living here, with him, and failed. The idea of putting a poster on the wall was absurd.
Reaching over, she pulled a bracelet from one of the pockets of her coat, cupping it in her hand. A thin braid of her own green hair, wrapped in silver wire. She’d hoped to surprise him before the ceremony started, hoped that even if she couldn’t see him for a while, he’d keep it with him, like storybook knights wore their ladies’ tokens when they rode into battle. Lutie and Armageddon had even gone ahead to the hall so that she’d have a moment alone in which to present it.
Next to the grandeur of the room, though, her gift now seemed ugly and homemade. Not worthy of a King.
There was a sound like the clatter of hooves in the hall and Kaye stood, pushing the bracelet back into the pocket of her coat, but it was only another glowering servant, this one bringing a glass of spiced wine as thick and red as blood.
Kaye took the glass and sipped at it politely, then set it down on the floor as the servant left. She flipped through a few books in the flickering candlelight—military strategy, Peasepod’s Ballads, an Emma Bull paperback she’d loaned him—and waited some more. Taking another sip of wine, she stretched out at the end of the bed, wrapping the brocade cloth around her.
She woke suddenly, a hand on her arm and Roiben’s impassive face above her. Silvery hair tickled her cheek.
Embarrassed, she sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She had slept restlessly, and the coverlet was half on the floor, soaking up spilled wine and melted candle wax. She didn’t even remember closing her eyes.
A scarlet-clad servant bearing a long cloak with black opal clasps stood in the center of the room. Roiben’s chamberlain, Ruddles, was near the door, his mouth overfull of teeth in a way that made him seem as though he wore an unpleasant grin.
Roiben frowned. “No one told me you were here.”
She wasn’t sure if that meant that he wished someone had or that he would have preferred her not to be there at all. Kaye slung her coat over her arm and stood up, her cheeks hot with shame. “I should go.”
He stayed seated on the wreckage of his bed. The scabbard on his hip touched the floor. “No.” He gestured to the servant and Ruddles. “Leave us.”
With shallow bows, they departed.
Kaye remained standing. “It’s late. Your thing is going to start soon.”
“Kaye, you have no idea what time it is.” He stood and reached for her arm. “You’ve been asleep.”
She stepped back, clasping her hands together, pressing her nails into her palm to keep calm.
He sighed. “Stay. Let me beg your forgiveness for whatever it is I’ve done.”
“Stop it.” She shook her head, talking faster than she was thinking. “They don’t want you to be with me, do they?”
His mouth curved into a bitter smile. “I am forbidden nothing.”
“No one wants me here. They don’t want me near you. Why?”
He looked startled, ran a hand through silver hair. “Because I’m gentry and you’re…not,” he finished awkwardly.
“I’m low class,” she said dully, turning her back to him. “Nothing new there.”
Roiben’s boots tapped against the stone as he walked behind her and pulled her against his chest. His head rested in the crook of her neck, and she felt his breath as he spoke, his lips moving against her skin. “I have my own thoughts on the subject. I care nothing for anyone else’s.”
For a moment, she relaxed into his touch. He was warm and his voice was very soft. It would be easy to crawl back under the coverlet and stay. Just stay.
But Kaye turned in his arms instead. “What’s the big deal about you slumming?”
He snorted, one of his hands lingering on her hip. He was no longer looking at her; his stare focused on the cold stone floor, the same gray as his eyes. “It is a weakness. My affection for you.”
She opened her mouth to ask another question, and closed it again, realizing he’d answered more than she’d asked. Perhaps that was the reason that the servants didn’t like her, perhaps it was the reason that courtiers sneered at her, but it was also what he believed. She could see it in his face.
“I really should go,” she said, pulling away. She was relieved to find that her voice didn’t catch. “I’ll see you out there. Break a leg.”
He released her from the cradle of his arms. “You cannot stand on the dais during the ceremony nor walk in the procession. I do not want you to be taken for part of my court. Above all, you must not swear fealty. Promise me, Kaye.”
“So, I’m supposed to act like I don’t know you?” The door was only a few steps across the floor, but she was conscious of each one. “Like you don’t have any weaknesses?”
“No, of course not,” he said, too quickly. “You are the only thing I have that is neither duty nor obligation, the only thing I chose for myself.” He paused. “The only thing I want.”
She let a small teasing smile creep onto her face. “Really?”
He snorted, shaking his head. “You think I’m being absurd, don’t you?”
“I think you’re trying to be nice,” said Kaye. “Which is pretty absurd.”
He walked to her and kissed her smiling mouth. She forgot about his sullen servants and the coronation and the bracelet she hadn’t given him. She forgot about anything but the press of his lips.
Chapter 2
There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.
—EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY, “TAVERN”
Roiben had not expected an envoy from the Seelie Court to seek him out before he wore the crown on his brow. Silarial had not moved against him these two long months between Samhain and Midwinter’s Eve, and he began to wonder what she intended. The dark, cold months were considered an unlucky time for the Seelie Court to strike, so perhaps she only waited for the ice to melt into spring, when she would have every advantage. Still, he could occasionally believe that she had considered renewing the truce between the Bright and the Night courts. Even with her greater numbers, war was still costly.
“The envoy from the Seelie Court is here, my Lord,” Dulcamara repeated, the silver soles of her boots ringing with each step. Roiben heard “Lord” echo off the walls again and again, like a taunt.
“Send him in,” Roiben said, touching his mouth. He wondered if Kaye was already in the hall, if she was alone.