Page 38 of The Blood Queen

“Mm.” The brownie starts packing up his sewing supplies while the other three fae who helped do the same. “Down the hall, take a left, down two stairs, three lefts, a right, two lefts, across the—”

At my gaping stare, the brownie releases a disgruntled huff.

“Follow me,” he groans and toddles out the door.

We walk at a sedate pace through the palace, though I want to urge him to hurry. How long’s Alyth been in the ballroom alone? I didn’t think to make sure she’d wait for me.

The brownie leads me past the Faerie Queen’s throne room. We stop, bow; I shudder, noting another spider in the corner.

Alyth and I are really gonna break in there? We’ve done some fool things, but—

Finally, the brownie waves at a set of double doors thrown open just ahead. Without another word, he’s gone, and I’m left standing there as the pull of harp strings swells and the chatter of voices floats out of the room.

I approach, shoulders leveling, breath trapped in my lungs.

The ballroom is an echo of the rest of this world, opulence mixed with nature. This is meant to be a swamp, I think; moss drapes from the ceiling, candles magically float on fallen logs throughout the room, and the floor is a shifting, swirling kaleidoscope of deep, dark blues and hazy greens. The edges of the room are made of tree trunks, the snarled, reaching kind found in bogs, sturdy but imposing in their harshness.

I’m struck at the wonder of the room and at the mix of guests already here. Some are dancing, swirling under the floating candles to the airy, tinkling music, and I brace against a sudden panic.

Last time I heard music in the fae realm, it got me lost in my own desires. I remember clinging to Alyth and wanting so much it consumed me.

This music creeps across my head the same. I feel it prickle my scalp and drench my insides, each note adding another layer. But I don’t have any of that same delirious need I got swept up in at the goblin market; this is more just a sense of calm. Part of me wants to giggle, like I chugged down a glass of wine on an empty stomach.

Still distracting but far easier to brush off.

The guests aren’t fighting the levity of the music like I am; they’re laughing, spinning, already giving in to the night. Everyone I see is dressed to match the ambience. One woman with long, pointed ears wears a gown made entirely of frilled orange mushrooms. Another has a gown of delicate lacy flowers, and the back is a golden spine—no, not a spine, that leaf design again, only placed on her back, it’s intentionally macabre. Their outfits make me realize the fit of my suit now: ferns, like those found in a swamp.

I survey the crowd again, more purposefully now—

And damn near trip over my feet.

Alyth’s off to the side of the room, near a table set with goblets and finger foods.

She looks up at my movement, and her gaze locks on me.

The base of her gown is sheer crystalline blue fabric, fitted to her body before flaring out around her hips. One shoulder is bare, showing the scars still bright across her skin, and her other arm is covered to her wrist in a wrapping lily pad vine. Water lilies drape over that shoulder, spread down across her bodice, and loop her waist, bursts of pink and butter yellow against the calm, cool blue. Her hair’s left loose and curled around her face, delicate makeup highlighting her dark eyes, her full red lips.

I cross to her in a trance more potent than any damn fae music. When I reach her, I grin like a hopeless dope.

“Wow,” rushes out of me. “Wow, Alyth. You’re beautiful.”

She blushes. “Thank you. And you look—”

“He’s late,” a voice says behind her.

Her eyes roll shut, but she quickly schools her face and takes my hand as she turns to two fae behind her. “You remember my father? And this is Keryth, Selkie Prince of the Seelie Court.”

I squeeze her hand, purposefully bowing to give myself time to avoid Drest’s eyes.

When I straighten, I’m composed. The Samson who infiltrated Mary’s court. Who stayed alive in Southwark far beyond the time I should’ve died.

“Thank you for inviting us,” I say.

Keryth has his head tipped back so he has to physically look down his nose at me. Sharp dark eyes are set in an imperious glower, his features all fine and regal, hypnotic with their perfection. His sleek brown hair hangs over his shoulders and shifts like a waterfall when he cocks his head.

“Ah.” He sips from a gold goblet in his hand. “A human.”

“He is Leth,” Alyth says with an amicable smile. “As am I.”