Taranis’s eyes never even moved to look at the lawyer. “But you are here, now, and you are more beautiful than I remember. I was very lax in my attentions to you, Meredith.”
I laughed, and it was a harsh sound. “Oh, no, Uncle Taranis, I think you were quite thorough in your attentions to me. Almost more thorough than my mortal body could endure.”
Doyle, Rhys, and Frost all tensed against me. I knew what they meant by it: have a care, don’t give away court secrets in front of the humans. But Taranis had begun it, dragging us out before the humans. I was only following his lead.
“Will you never forget that one moment in your childhood?”
“You nearly beat me to death, Uncle. I am not likely to forget it.” “I did not understand how fragile your body was, Meredith, or I would never have touched you so.”
Veducci recovered first, saying, “Is King Taranis admitting that he beat you as a child, Princess?”
I looked at my uncle, so large, so imposing, so regal in his gold and white court clothes. “He is not denying it, are you Uncle Taranis?”
“Please, Meredith, uncle seems so formal.” His voice was wheedling. From the way Nelson began to walk closer to the mirror, I think the tone was meant to be seductive.
“He is not denying it,” Doyle said.
“I am not speaking to you, Darkness,” Taranis said, and his voice tried to thunder again. But as the seduction had not worked, so now the threat fell flat as well.
“King Taranis,” Biggs said, “are you admitting that you beat my client as a child?”
Taranis finally turned to him, frowning. Biggs reacted as if the sun itself had smiled at him. He actually stumbled in his speech and looked uncertain.
Taranis said, “What I did years ago has no bearing on the crime that these monsters committed.”
Veducci turned to me. “How badly did he beat you, Princess Meredith?”
“I remember how red my blood was on the white marble,” I said. I looked at Veducci as I spoke, though I could feel Taranis’s magic pushing at me, calling me to look at him. I looked at Veducci because I could, and because I knew that it would unnerve the king. “If my Gran, my grandmother, had not interfered I believe he would have beaten me to death.”
“You hold a grudge, Meredith. I have apologized for my actions that day.”
“Yes,” I said, turning back to the mirror. “You have recently apologized for that beating.”
“Why did he beat you?” Veducci asked.
Taranis roared, “That is not the business of humans.”
He’d beat me when I’d asked why Maeve Reed, once the goddess Conchenn, had been exiled from his court. She was the golden goddess of Hollywood now, and had been for fifty years. We were all still living on her estate in Holmby Hills, though the recent addition of so many men was beginning to tax even her space. Maeve had given us some new room by going to Europe. It was far enough away to stay out of Taranis’s way—or that was the hope.
Maeve had told us Taranis’s deep dark secret. He had wanted to marry her after putting away a third wife for barrenness. Maeve had refused, pointing out that the last wife he’d put away had gone on to have children with someone else. She dared to tell the king that it was he who was barren, not the women. A hundred years ago Maeve had told him this, but he had exiled her and forbidden anyone to speak to her. Because if his court found out that a century ago he had known that he might be barren, and said nothing, did nothing…. If the king is barren, the people and land are barren. He had condemned them to a slow death as a people. They lived almost forever, but no children meant that when they died, there would be no more Seelie sidhe. If his court found out what he had done, they were within our laws to demand a living sacrifice, with Taranis in the starring role.
He had twice tried to kill Maeve with magic, horrible spells that no Seelie would admit to doing. He had tried to kill her, and not us, even though he had to wonder if we knew his screct. He feared our queen, or perhaps he didn’t think his court would believe anyone who was part of the Unseelie Court. Perhaps that was why Maeve was the threat and not us.
“If you abused the princess when she was a child, that may affect this case,” Veducci said.
“I now regret my temper in that moment with this woman,” Taranis said. “But my one thoughtless moment decades ago does not change the fact that the three Unseelie sidhe before me did worse to the Lady Caitrin.”
“If there is a pattern of abuse between the princess and the king,” Biggs said, “then his accusations against her lovers may have a motive behind them.”
“Are you implying a romantic motive for the king?” Cortez put a great deal of disdain in his voice, as if it were laughable.
“He wouldn’t be the first man to beat a girl as a child, then turn to sexual abuse as she grew older,” Biggs said.
“What did he accuse me of?” Taranis asked.
“Mr. Biggs is trying to prove that you have romantic intentions toward the princess,” Cortez said, “and I am telling him that this is not so.”
“Romantic intentions,” Taranis repeated slowly. “What does he mean by that?”
“Do you have sexual or marital intentions toward Princess Meredith?” Biggs asked.
“I do not see what such a question has to do with the savage attack by those Unseelie monsters on the beautiful Lady Caitrin.”
All the men touching me tensed again or went very still, even Galen. They had all realized that the king had not answered the question. The sidhe only avoided answering a question for two reasons. One, sheer perversity and a love of word games. Taranis had no love of word games, and was one of the least perverse of the sidhe. Two, that the answer was something that they didn’t want to admit to. But the only answer Taranis could possibly want to avoid was “yes.” It couldn’t be “yes.” He couldn’t have romantic designs on me. He couldn’t.
I looked up at Doyle and Frost. I looked for a clue as to what to do. Did I ignore it, or pursue it? Which was better? Which was worse?
Cortez said, “Though we have sympathy with the princess’ childhood tragedies, we are here to investigate a new tragedy, the attack by these three men on Lady Caitrin.”
I looked at Cortez. He actually looked away from my gaze, as if his statement sounded harsh even to his own ears.
“You do understand that you are all being magically influenced by him?” I asked.
“I think I would know if I were being influenced, Princess Meredith,” Cortez said.
“The nature of magical manipulation,” Veducci said, coming forward, “is that you don’t know it’s happening. It’s why it’s so very illegal.”
Biggs faced the mirror. “Are you using magic to manipulate the people in this room, King Taranis?”
“I am not trying to manipulate the entire room, Mr. Biggs,” Taranis said.
“May we ask a question?” Doyle asked.
“I will not speak to the monsters of the Unseelie Court,” Taranis said.
“Captain Doyle is not accused of any crime,” Biggs said. I realized that the lawyers on our side were having less trouble with Taranis’s magical presence than those on the other side, except for Veducci, who seemed to be doing just fine. The lawyers had entered into an agreement with Taranis, just a verbal one, but that would be enough for someone of his power to have more of a hold over all of them. It was the subtle magic of kingship. If you agreed to be a true king’s man, there was power to that agreement. Taranis had once been chosen by faerie to be king, and even now there was power to that old bargain.
“They are all monsters,” Taranis said. He looked at me, gave me all the longing those green-petaled eyes could hold. “Meredith, Meredith, come to us before the power of the Unseelie makes of you something horrible.”
If I hadn’t broken his spell on me earlier, that appeal might have drawn me to him. But I stood safe among my men, and our power.
“I have seen both courts, Uncle. I found them both equally beautiful and horrible in their own ways.”
“How can you compare the light and joy of the Golden Court to the darkness and terror of the Darkling Throne?”
“I am probably the only sidhe noble in recent history who can compare them, Uncle.”
“Taranis, Meredith. Please, Taranis.”
I didn’t like his insistence that I call him by name and not title. In front of the Unseelie, he was always very aware of his title. In fact, he hadn’t asked for all his appellations to be read. It wasn’t like him to forgo anything that built him up in the eyes of others.
“Very well, Uncle…Taranis.” The moment I said it, there was more weight in the air. It was harder to breathe. He’d joined his name to the spell of attraction so that every time I said his name, it would bind me more tightly. That was against the rules. Duels had been fought over less between the sidhe in any court. But you did not challenge the king to a duel. One, he was king, and two, he’d once been among the greatest warriors the sidhe could boast. He might be diminished, but I was mortal, and I’d swallow any insult he tossed our way. Maybe he’d counted on that?
Doyle said, “We need a chair for our princess.”
The lawyers brought a chair, apologizing for not thinking of it sooner. Magic can do that, make you forget what you’re about. Make you forget the mundane things like chairs and that your legs get tired, until you realize that your body hurts and that you’ve been ignoring it. I sat down gratefully. I’d have worn lower heels if I’d known I’d be standing this much.
There was some confusion as I sat so that for a moment not all my men were touching me. Taranis was edged with golden light. Then the men settled into their places and he was ordinary again. All right, Taranis was as ordinary as he would ever be.
Frost stayed standing at my back with his hand on my shoulder. I’d expected Doyle to take his place at my back as well, but it was Rhys who stood at my other shoulder. Doyle knelt on the floor beside me, with one hand on my arm. Galen moved in front of me so that he sat tailor-fashion at my feet, leaning his back against my hose-covered legs. One of his hands moved up and down my calf, an idle gesture that would have been possessive in a human but might have simply been nerves in one of the fey. Abe knelt at my other side, mirroring Doyle. Well, not exactly mirroring. Doyle had one hand on the pommel of his short sword, his other hand quietly on mine. Abe’s hand gripped my other hand, squeezing. If he’d been human, I’d have said he was afraid. Then I realized that this might have been the first time since Taranis cast him out that he had seen his ex-king. Abe had never been one of Queen Andais’s favorites, so he wouldn’t have been included on the mirror calls between courts.
I leaned over enough so I could lay my cheek against his hair. Abe looked up, startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to return his gestures. The queen was more for receiving than giving, in everything but pain. I gave his surprise a smile, and tried to tell him with my eyes that I was sorry I hadn’t thought what seeing the king might mean for him this day.
“I must take part of the blame that you sit among them so happily, Meredith,” Taranis said. “If you had only known the pleasure of a Seelie sidhe, you would never let them touch you again.”
“Most of the sidhe around me now were once part of the Seelie Court,” I said, simply leaving off his name. I wanted to know whether if I ceased to say “Uncle,” he would try to get his name to pass my lips for some other made-up reason. I’d felt the pull of magic when I said his name.
“They have been nobles of the Unseelie Court for centuries, Meredith,” Taranis said. “They have become twisted things, but you have nothing to compare them to, and that was a grave oversight on the part of the Seelie. I am most heartily sorry that we neglected you so. I would make it up to you.”
“What do you mean, they are twisted things?” I asked. I thought I knew, but I’d learned not to jump to conclusions when I dealt with either court.
“Lady Caitrin has told of the horrors of their bodies. None of the three of them are powerful enough in glamour to hide their true selves during intimacies.”
Biggs came to my side as if I’d asked. “The lady’s statement is quite graphic, and reads more like a horror movie than anything else.”
I looked at Doyle. “You read it?”
“I did,” he said. He looked up at me, his eyes still lost behind the dark glasses.
“Did the lady in question accuse them of being deformed?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
I had a thought. “The same way the ambassador saw you all.”
Doyle gave the smallest movement of the corner of his mouth, hidden from the mirror. I knew what that almost-smile meant. I was right, and he thought I was on the right track. Okay, if I was on the right track, where was this little train going?
“How deformed did the lady say they were in her statement?” I asked.
“So much so that no human woman would survive an attack,” Biggs said.
I frowned at him. “I don’t understand.”
“It is the old wives’ tale,” Doyle said, “that the Unseelie have bone and spikes on their lower members.”
“Oh,” I said, but strangely, that rumor had a basis. The sluagh, Sholto’s kingdom within our court, had had nightflyers. They looked like manta rays with tentacles that dangled, but they could fly like bats. They were the flying hounds of the sluagh’s wild hunt. A royal nightflyer carried a bony spine inside his member that stimulated ovulation in female nightflyers. It also proved that you were of royal nightflyer heritage, because only they could make the females give up their eggs so that they could be fertilized. Rape by a royal night-flyer might have given rise to the old faerie horror story. Sholto’s father had been one of the nonroyals, because his sidhe mother hadn’t needed the spine to make her ovulate. He’d been a surprise baby in many ways. He was gorgeously, wonderfully sidhe, except for some extra bits here and there. Mostly there.
“King Taranis,” I said, and again his name pulled at me, like a hand tugging for attention. I took a deep breath and relaxed into the weight of Rhys and Frost at my back, my hands on Doyle and Abe. Galen seemed to sense what was needed because he slid his arm between my calves, so that he wrapped himself around one of my legs, and forced both my legs apart a little wider so he could cuddle more tightly. There were very few of my guards who would have been willing to look so submissive in front of Taranis. I valued the few who were more willing to be close to me than to keep up appearances.