"I still wonder about it," I said.
His brow furrowed, eyes searching my expression. "Wonder about what?"
"Whether you're the villain in my story."
~~~~~~~
Mara Monroe is at the center of a war she wanted no part in.
But with her new throne she fac...
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"War? What war?" I asked.
I'd spent the last few months attempting to stop a war from occurring between the Summer and Winter courts. Once I returned Ollie, their prince and my nephew, talk of war ceased between our two courts and things were unusually quiet. Maddox had dispatched spies to the Autumn court to warn us of any potential attacks, but they never had any news to report.
The Autumn king, Cenred, was planning something.
I knew he wouldn't take my rescue of Ollie, nor my rise to power lightly. My personal theory was that he'd already started on whatever he was planning. I'd told Maddox that I believed his attack on the Summer Kingdom was an attempt to veil his true purpose, but I'd yet to think of what his true purpose might have been.
There was only one other person who might have known, but I hadn't spoken to nor thought about him in weeks. I'd kill him the next time I saw him, so I probably wouldn't even have enough time to bother asking. A fact that may have put a small damper on obtaining information that way.
Emyr, calm and stoic as ever, landed his icy eyes on me. Fittingly, they were the color of frost, somewhere between a blue and gray, almost fading into the whites of his eyes. I expected nothing less from a Lord of Winter—though I did have the urge to try and match the color to the paints I had in the studio. Then dismissed that thought very quickly. It brought back memories I was content to leave buried.
"We are not prepared to allow the Autumn King's treachery to stand. We thought that you might agree. He did indeed take members from both our courts. While ours was returned, yours..."
It felt suddenly as if a cold wind had come and stolen the breath from my lips. My grandmother, the queen, killed in her home by Autumn soldiers. Simply because I trusted the wrong person.
My face, however, smoothed into stone. All traces of grief were tucked away in that deep pit of myself where I felt my Élan Vital yearn to be loosed. I shoved the grief down on top of it. Not many fey had the ability to sense or even see another's Élan Vital, a person's lifeblood, but I wasn't taking any chances with Emyr. Alliances and trust in Elphame, were not easily made and quick to lose. I wasn't risking anything anymore.
"Indeed," I replied, still adopting the formal tone I'd learned in the faerie courts, "the Summer Court has not forgotten our enemies... and we will not anytime soon."
Emyr cocked his head, his expression reading mine.
"I forget that this is your realm," he gestured around him to the night streets of the Upper East Side. "You speak so much like you were raised for a courtier's life in Elphame."
I wasn't sure if it was a compliment. The lines between fey and human were blurred when it came to me. Lately, it seemed that I was the worst parts of both.
"It isn't without effort, My Lord."
That much was true. My first instincts were always human instincts, but I was learning to push them down just as I was learning to push down the grief and the anger. The fey were a stoic people, and recently I'd begun to understand why.
