A Stroke Of Midnight   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

I thought of something, and said, “So the fact that Galen was besotted means that he is not in love, not true love?”

They looked startled, glanced at each other, then both nodded. “I think the youngling would argue,” Frost said, “but yes, that is what it means.”

I tried the thought that my sweet, gentle Galen would be in someone else’s arms, and the thought did not fill me with regret. In fact, it filled me with a certain peace to know that somewhere out there the ring would find him someone so that he would not mourn me.

I smiled.

“Why do you smile?” Doyle asked.

“Because the thought does not hurt.” I went to them, and touched fingertips to both their faces. “The thought of losing the two of you… that is like a wound through my heart.” I cupped their cheeks but was careful not to touch Frost’s face with the ring. I wanted to touch them without the magic interfering. Doyle’s skin was actually warmer than normal for humans, had been since the night he’d rediscovered he could shapeshift into animal form. Frost’s skin was a little cooler than normal for humans. It wasn’t always so, but often he felt cool to the touch. I’d first noticed it in Los Angeles after he, too, had found some of his godhead through the chalice’s power.

I held them, hot and cold, light and dark, and wondered if there truly was a man in faerie who would make me forget them, and turn love-blinded eyes to someone else. I valued this love that we had built slowly over weeks and months. It had taken effort and trust, and I knew that even if all the magic in the world died, I would still love them. And after what they had shown me tonight, I thought they would still love me as well.

I moved their faces until they touched, so I could lay a kiss half on one and half on the other. I bent over them with my face between theirs. I whispered the truth against the silk of Frost’s hair, and the warmth of Doyle’s skin. “To have you in my bed for the rest of my life, I would give up faerie, the throne, all that I am, or all that I might be.”

Doyle’s arm found me first, but Frost followed, and they pulled me to my knees, enveloped me against their bodies, pressed me hard and safe against them. Doyle spoke with his face pressed to the top of my head. “If there were anyone else worthy of the throne, I would let you.” He laid his cheek against my hair. His grip was almost painful in its fierceness. “For the scent of your hair on my pillow I would trade my life, but I have served this court too long to give it into the hands of Cel.”

Frost’s hands trailed down my body, idly tracing the edge of my hip under the pants I’d put on.