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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 20 из 293” In fact, he was in prison for trying to kill me one too many times, and for other crimes that the queendidn’t want even the court to know. He should have been executed for some of them, but she’d bargained for her only child’s life. He was to be locked away for six months, tortured with the very magic he had used against sidhe-ancestored humans. Branwyn’s Tears, one of our most guarded ointments. It was an aphrodisiac that worked even against someone’s will. But more than that, it made your body crave to be touched, to be brought. He was chained and covered in Branwyn’s Tears. There were bets around the court that what little sanity he’d been born with would not survive it. The queen had given in to one of his guards only yesterday, to let the woman slack Cel’s need, save his sanity. And suddenly I had not one, but two, no, three attempts on my life, and one on the queen’s. It was more than a coincidence, but the queen loved her son.
Madeline was back in front of me, looking at me. “Are you all right, Princess?”
“Sorry, I’m getting a little tired. Did I miss a question?”
She smiled and nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
They repeated it, and I wished I’d missed it again. “Do you know where your cousin the prince is?”
“He’s here in the sithen, but I don’t know what he’s doing this exact moment. Sorry.”
I needed off this subject, off this stage. I signaled to Madeline, and she closed it down with a promise of a photo op in a day or two, when the princess was fully healed.
A tiny faerie with butterfly wings fluttered into camera range. This was a demi-fey. Sage, whom I’d “slept with,” could make himself human tall, but most of the demi-fey were permanently about the size of Barbie dolls, or smaller. The queen would not be happy about the little faerie fluttering in front of the cameras. When there was press in the sithen, the less-human-looking stayed away from them, and especially away from cameras, or faced the queen’s wrath.
The figure was a pale blue-pink with iridescent blue wings. She fluttered through a barrage of flashbulbs, shielding her eyes with a tiny hand. I thought she’d land on me, or maybe Doyle, but she flew the length of the stage to land on Rhys’s shoulder.
She hid herself in his long white curls. She whispered something in his ear, using his hair and hat as a shield. Rhys stood up and came to us smiling.
Doyle was standing beside me, but even that close I couldn’t hear what Rhys whispered to him.
Doyle gave a small nod, and Rhys left the room ahead of us with the tiny fey still tangled in his hair.
Madeline was back in front of me, looking at me. “Are you all right, Princess?”
“Sorry, I’m getting a little tired. Did I miss a question?”
She smiled and nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
They repeated it, and I wished I’d missed it again. “Do you know where your cousin the prince is?”
“He’s here in the sithen, but I don’t know what he’s doing this exact moment. Sorry.”
I needed off this subject, off this stage. I signaled to Madeline, and she closed it down with a promise of a photo op in a day or two, when the princess was fully healed.
A tiny faerie with butterfly wings fluttered into camera range. This was a demi-fey. Sage, whom I’d “slept with,” could make himself human tall, but most of the demi-fey were permanently about the size of Barbie dolls, or smaller. The queen would not be happy about the little faerie fluttering in front of the cameras. When there was press in the sithen, the less-human-looking stayed away from them, and especially away from cameras, or faced the queen’s wrath.
The figure was a pale blue-pink with iridescent blue wings. She fluttered through a barrage of flashbulbs, shielding her eyes with a tiny hand. I thought she’d land on me, or maybe Doyle, but she flew the length of the stage to land on Rhys’s shoulder.
She hid herself in his long white curls. She whispered something in his ear, using his hair and hat as a shield. Rhys stood up and came to us smiling.
Doyle was standing beside me, but even that close I couldn’t hear what Rhys whispered to him.
Doyle gave a small nod, and Rhys left the room ahead of us with the tiny fey still tangled in his hair.